From when I was seven years old until a teen my parents sent me away to Interlaken Camp in Sharon, Vermont. For a tomboy like me it was ideal: camping, horses, canoeing, learning to shoot a rifle and of course the mountains. I tease all of my northern friends about the whether but there is no greater beauty than New England in the summer. The cook for our camp was a gourmet. Even at a young age we could recognise his talent. Word got out that if you picked enough blueberries for two pies he would bake you one. His pies had a crust that melted in your mouth. Combined with fresh blueberries the mixture was intoxicating. One day while hiking I found a huge blueberry patch. I rushed back to my cabin to find a container to use as a bucket. Forty minutes later I was at the kitchen backdoor giving my cache to cook. He told me to come back in two hours, but I was back in one. Waiting for the blueberry pie to finish baking is a sensual torture. The smell of blueberries simmering in butter and sugar, to this day, instantly take me back to my childhood adventures at camp. So, no one need try to prove to me that there is a connection between smell and memory. I have empirical proof.
Posted on: Tue, 04 Mar 2014 10:15:46 +0000