If spring stirs up thoughts of love, autumn – with its falling leaves, long nights and approaching holidays – tends to stir up memories.
Here’s a poignant memoir by Tetyana Bondarchuk about how a
scent can evoke a yearning for the past and the need to embrace the here and now.
The Smell From Childhood
by Tetyana Bondarchuk
It’s the fragrance of wet, fresh conifer tree wood chips
that pulled me out of my meditative morning run through the park and made me
slow down on the track, then stop. I looked around. The low morning sun was
tangled in the crowns of centuries old giant trees, its weak October rays
struggled to get to the ground to dry up the morning dew.
The picnic area of the park was fenced off and contained a
few pieces of heavy equipment. One looked like a wood chipper. Suddenly, that
wet pile revealed itself as a small hill of freshly chopped wood camouflaged by
brown and yellow oak and maple tree leaves. The smell was strong enough to
trigger a flashback of a day in the woods with my father in the Ukrainian Polissia,
his birthplace.
I saw a 5-foot tall stump and had an urge to go and touch
it, run my fingers on its bark, count its rings, but the makeshift
stump-and-log fence said “No.” No, you can’t come here, no, you can’t touch us,
no, it’s too late for love and sentiments. Just stop and watch us for a minute.
And smell. Stop and smell the trees.
The aroma of ether oil, wet moss, grass and ferns, and
autumn leaves, floated through the air like an invisible bride’s veil in a
breeze and trailed with me as I ran along the path, circling the park, catching
my breath and holding it in like I hold on to the memories of my childhood.
About the author:
Tanya Bondarchuk is Ukrainian. She
holds a degree in English and German Languages and Literature. A former
translator/interpreter, she has been exploring creative writing since 2012.
