Shucks
I shucked corn in the Loblaws tonight. I'm going to a potluck tomorrow and it occurred to me that corn on the cob pleases everyone so why not bring some? Pretty easy to throw together too.
Anyway, there I am, ripping off the green leaves and corn-hair, when I was hit with another memory from my childhood.
My dad's dad lived in a historical house in Saint-Andrew's, Qc. Poppa. His kitchen always smelled like coffee. Every once in a while I'll hear a pot brewing or smell something similar in the air and it will trigger memories of his kitchen. The wallpaper, the breadbox, the cookie jar...
He was a talker, Poppa was. I was 12 when he died, so not old enough to take part in many of the conversations the adults had over said coffee. But the smell of coffee and that kitchen are linked forever in my mind. I still picture myself walking through the house when I'm having trouble sleeping or am missing Poppa. The carpet that ran up the stairs, the perfume smell in the powder room, the way the floor creaked when I walked on it. Don't even get me started on the attic. What a great house. A lot of history there, I think it was once a house for nuns, then firemen or something like that. For sure it was haunted. A famous author also lived there, ... something Campbell I think. In any case, I miss being able to snoop through the countless boxes and trunks in the basement, or find old newspapers strewn about. The coolest part though, was probably the barn-garage. Once I found an old bike, and that's the memory that was triggered this evening as I shucked corn in the grocery store.
I've always had a big appreciation for anything vintage. I'm inexplicably attracted to antiques and dusty things. I love them. Poppa had an old, rusty bike that scenesters would pay lots for nowadays, but back then, it was just an old bike in the country. I was around 11 or 12, so I took it out for a spin. Amazingly, it was rideable. To this day, I don't know the story behind that bike, its origins or its ownership, but I wish I'd held onto it.
I biked down Poppa's street, a quiet street I'd walked along several times, but the liberating bike ride took me so much further. I biked until I left the houses and came upon an opening. A field. A field of corn. I stopped the bike, no one was around, and I had the urge to run through the rows of corn just like I'd seen in movies. Such a romantic and carefree thing to do, I thought. But I was alone, and 11. So I parked the bike, jumped across the ditch, observed the tall stalks, and started walking into the cornrows. I didn't get very far because unfortunately the corn scratched me and felt like papercuts to the skin. So I went back to the bike, disappointed.
There's something about growing up around farms and country that I am so grateful for. It makes me want to reconnect with the earth, on a regular basis. As of late, it seems as if the earth is calling to me, as though it needs fresh hands or something, I dunno. I'm looking forward to possible volunteer opportunities this summer, trying it out, working the land, seeing what happens... Reconnecting with the earth.
I'm a city-girl with a country heart. Fundamentally. Someday I want to live away from the city, in the country, with a farm, lots of vegetables, a couple of Bloodhounds and a big veranda. That's my dream. Gracie my lab won't be around forever, but here's hoping she's around to see the farm at the very least huh?
City and Colour,
Katie
My oh my music is so inspiring.
Anyway, there I am, ripping off the green leaves and corn-hair, when I was hit with another memory from my childhood.
My dad's dad lived in a historical house in Saint-Andrew's, Qc. Poppa. His kitchen always smelled like coffee. Every once in a while I'll hear a pot brewing or smell something similar in the air and it will trigger memories of his kitchen. The wallpaper, the breadbox, the cookie jar...
He was a talker, Poppa was. I was 12 when he died, so not old enough to take part in many of the conversations the adults had over said coffee. But the smell of coffee and that kitchen are linked forever in my mind. I still picture myself walking through the house when I'm having trouble sleeping or am missing Poppa. The carpet that ran up the stairs, the perfume smell in the powder room, the way the floor creaked when I walked on it. Don't even get me started on the attic. What a great house. A lot of history there, I think it was once a house for nuns, then firemen or something like that. For sure it was haunted. A famous author also lived there, ... something Campbell I think. In any case, I miss being able to snoop through the countless boxes and trunks in the basement, or find old newspapers strewn about. The coolest part though, was probably the barn-garage. Once I found an old bike, and that's the memory that was triggered this evening as I shucked corn in the grocery store.
I've always had a big appreciation for anything vintage. I'm inexplicably attracted to antiques and dusty things. I love them. Poppa had an old, rusty bike that scenesters would pay lots for nowadays, but back then, it was just an old bike in the country. I was around 11 or 12, so I took it out for a spin. Amazingly, it was rideable. To this day, I don't know the story behind that bike, its origins or its ownership, but I wish I'd held onto it.
I biked down Poppa's street, a quiet street I'd walked along several times, but the liberating bike ride took me so much further. I biked until I left the houses and came upon an opening. A field. A field of corn. I stopped the bike, no one was around, and I had the urge to run through the rows of corn just like I'd seen in movies. Such a romantic and carefree thing to do, I thought. But I was alone, and 11. So I parked the bike, jumped across the ditch, observed the tall stalks, and started walking into the cornrows. I didn't get very far because unfortunately the corn scratched me and felt like papercuts to the skin. So I went back to the bike, disappointed.
There's something about growing up around farms and country that I am so grateful for. It makes me want to reconnect with the earth, on a regular basis. As of late, it seems as if the earth is calling to me, as though it needs fresh hands or something, I dunno. I'm looking forward to possible volunteer opportunities this summer, trying it out, working the land, seeing what happens... Reconnecting with the earth.
I'm a city-girl with a country heart. Fundamentally. Someday I want to live away from the city, in the country, with a farm, lots of vegetables, a couple of Bloodhounds and a big veranda. That's my dream. Gracie my lab won't be around forever, but here's hoping she's around to see the farm at the very least huh?
City and Colour,
Katie
My oh my music is so inspiring.
Comments
Post a Comment