Perry got me to thinking back in time this morning. About a well spent youth in a tiny fly speck called Oyster. the hot summer days of vacation from school spent either cutting grass to make a little pocket change, swimming in the harbor before it became too dirty for such activities, spending the days out on a mud flat clamming or fishing. I find that even now if I close my eyes and think back to those times I can still smell of the different parts of my childhood. The dry grassy smell of a burlap sack waiting to be filled with the days catch, the sharp pungent oily smell of the outboard exhaust as it pushes the old scow to Bucks Cove, the woody, smell of both Hinmans and McCready stores. Then as the long hot days of summer gave way to the multi colored explosion of fall, I can smell the salt grass as it gave of that sharp salty smell as it went to seed and died while over head the wild geese began their migration southward and took rest in the field across the road from where my grand father and mother lived. I remember the peach tree in their front yard that had the sweetest peaches on it. The long boring days sitting in classrooms that seemed to last forever. And Potatoes picked up fresh behind the digger. Yes Oyster and to a great degree the Shore was heaven to me. Friends, family, and little places to hide and get into trouble in. As I look back over my 49 years I find these memories my happiest. A time of innocence but good hard work and even harder fun. Love of a family that would either move away or pass on to the next life. I miss those times. As Perry A. Reynolds said to me this morning, write these memories down, they mean so much to you and one day they will mean as much to the next generation. they are you and what you become, they are your history.
Posted on: Wed, 13 Nov 2013 16:29:39 +0000
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