My Wisteria Lane

Springtime is North Carolina means many things, weather-wise: rain, storms, hot days/cold nights and always, constant wind. This last week it’s finally warmed up enough at night to sleep with the bedroom windows open and thank God ! This old house becomes very dusty and stinky, sealed up like a tomb through winter, trapping all the odors or a million cooked meals and a thousand sweaty feet.

I awoke Monday morning to a sweet, lightly spicy scent being blown in through the open windows that filled me with nostalgia and made me instantly long for my grandmother. The smell reminded me of the old-fashioned Avon sachet that came in little flat glass jars that my grandmother used to put on before she took me to church on Sunday morning.

I quickly got dressed and went outside to track the smell down, it was wonderful and I had to know where it was coming from. The huge wisteria bush at the end of the graveled lane leading to my house was in full bloom. Now guys, I don't know if you've ever smelled real wisteria when it's fully in bloom, but wisteria-scented Yankee candles and room deodorizer doesn't do it justice or even comes close to the true rich, heady smell that permeates the air a good 10 yards in all directions. If the color purple had a smell, it would be the smell of wisteria and perhaps, irises. Poor analogy, but that's the best I can come up with.

I went back inside to grab my camera to take a quick photo so I could remember this day and how the years had slipped away until I was once again that little freckled, blond-headed boy holding tightly to his mamaw’s hand as I trudged along beside her across the red mud fields toward the Baptist Church. I remember silently praying that we'd be too late to attend Sunday school because my teacher made us hug each other at the end of class and I just hated that because I was so shy.

Ya'll be good and if you still have a living grandmother, go see her or call her, ya hear. Don't make me hunt you down.