The Sweet Smell Of Childhood: The Sweet Smell Of Childhood

The Sweet Smell of Childhood I remember going on a drive that seemed like it lasted an hour long. Then we finally turned onto a dingy gravel road that wound throughout the hills of the countryside. With a light brown dust billowing from beneath our tires, our windows remained down to smell sweet, wild honeysuckles blowing in the breeze. Despite the scent of overbearing cows, the air had a spectacular aroma of natural air freshener. Although the drive was a long one, my sense of excitement continued to grow the closer we got to our destination. As I got older, this sense of excitement carried over without fading. As the car stopped in the driveway, I jumped out and began sprinting through the grass to a small trailer. My grandparent’s farm

At least once a week we would visit my grandparent’s for Sunday dinner and quality family time. They were an intricate part of my life to help me grow and understand how to be a good person. They babysat me when my parents needed them to for date nights or vacations. We had Sunday dinner at my grandparent’s house every week with my cousins, aunts, and uncles. Through these times I grew a stronger bond with my family as a whole. I also spent more time with my intermediate family without distractions or obligations.
I gained knowledgeable lessons about country living and becoming a moral and ethical human being through my Grandparent’s partial upbringing. Nothing can teach you about respecting your resources more than having to work for the resources you need. My grandparents had a wood-burning stove to keep the house warm and comfortable in the colder seasons. I used
Glodowski

The women of my family used to gather together a couple times a year at my grandparent’s around major holidays to bake cookies, pies, and candies. Doing this we shared daily occurrences and comedic tales about our own lives. The sweets were holiday treats to share with our loved ones to show that we cared. When my Grandma used to have one of those rolling pin washers, she always used to let me help her wash the clothes and hang them on the clothesline. It was a blast to push the sopping wet clothes through the roller to watch water cascade from the cloth. After unpinning the clothes from the line, I would stick my nose against them to smell the warm breeze that blew them