This year I going to spend my summer vacation at my Aunt Roses in Bristol New Hampshire. Bristol is a small town but to get to Aunt Rose’s home, I had to go down past the Mica factory, continue on past the power station, cross over this large, iron bridge with wooden planks, where only one car at a time could pass.
Up past the saw mill and through very thickly wooded area was Aunt Rose and her favorite dog “Candy”.
Once all the greetings were finished, I entered the house where a variety of delicious aromas overwhelmed my senses.
In the middle of the knotty pine kitchen was a large, black stove where the snapping and crackling of the wood could be heard.
I could smell the homemade bread and the cinnamon from doughnuts fresh out of the oven. Lost in all the wonderful aromas, I was startled when my Aunt behind me spoke, “I made some of those small doughnuts you love”. I looked at my Aunt and was about to say something when she continued on, “Your mother told me you would walk all the way into town to the bakery for doughnuts.”
My head was spinning as the rest of the day went by so fast and the last thing I remember was everyone saying, “good night”.
When I awoke, I could hear my Aunt speaking to the dog. As I came down stairs and entered the kitchen the smell of fresh coffee brewing and bacon frying on the stove. I moved up close to the stove to get warm, since the morning air was chilly up here in the country.
My Aunt came in from collecting some eggs for breakfast and looked at me, smiling she said, “The morning air is good for you. Are you ready for breakfast?” She asked.
“Well, you can cut some bread for toast and there is some homemade jam on the sideboard if your uncle didn’t eat it all.” She said with a smile.
All of this had created such wonderful memories for me, that now when I go to New Hampshire and drive past her old home I want to stop for some home cooking and to smell the mingled aromas from the past.
As time marches on, our minds never seem to forget, all those wonderful moments we treasure so fondly.
An aroma or the crackling of firewood can still transport me back into those days gone by.