Memories are
interesting things; especially those we can recall, which seem to
become fewer and fewer for me as time goes by. Memories are those
visions that remind us of where we came from to get where we are now,
whenever and where ever now may be. They can be set in concrete or
as ephemeral as a will o' the wisp, or as ground mist dissipating
after a summer rain shower. I have trouble remembering what I did
day before yesterday, but I can remember seeing the rainbow over the
hen house almost 60 years ago.
As we made our plans
to move back to New Bethlehem, I started wondering what things I
would remember from my previous 10 years residence here. I wondered
if I would remember people, or buildings, or roads, or the shape of
the land. I have never moved back – so this was (and is) a new
experience for me. As it happened, I did remember some people, some
buildings, some roads and the shape of some of the land, but much of
what I have been seeing seems completely new, as if I were, once
again, a stranger in strange land.
I am not
complaining. It is refreshing, and maybe a bit exhilarating to be in
a new experience at my age. As we get older, we sometimes find
ourselves becoming a bit jaded – we think that we have seen and
done it all and we sometimes think that we don't have the heart or
the strength for new experiences, even if we could find them. I
think that is one of the ways that we impose “aging” on
ourselves: we lose the will to experience new things. While one
cannot escape physical aging, I am convinced that we can keep our
minds and hearts young and vibrant simply by choosing not to get
mentally and spiritually old. These are some of the “mind forged
manacles” (to quote my favorite radio guy) with which we shackle
ourselves.
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| Early March morning snow in New Bethlehem |
New Bethlehem,
Pennsylvania is home to one of J. M. Smuckers' peanut processing
facilities. When the folks over at Smuckers are roasting peanuts,
the mouth watering aroma fills the Red Bank valley. It is almost
impossible not to rush home and fix a PB&J sandwich when you
smell it. It is a rich, earthy smell that reminds me of my mother's
kitchen in that old farmhouse in the hills of Virginia.
The smell of coal
smoke is a different critter all together. This area was once, long
before the EPA and progressive idiocy, one of the great coal
producing regions of the country. There are massive beds of soft
coal here, no longer allowed to be mined. But, the smell of coal
smoke reminds me of that era of commerce; when the hills and hollows
reverberated with the roar of big machinery and train whistles echoed
down the valley. It is a strong smell; dark and oily, the smell of
machinery and shops and manufacturing and work. It is a smell of a
younger, more vibrant America, building a nation and building a
world.
It is the smell of
time now gone and the world is poorer for that loss.
I stood in the alley
that morning, drinking in this combination of smells that is
completely unique to New Bethlehem, My memory was swept with images
of our children, our dogs, our earlier life here. And they were good
memories, and I found myself excited about being here again, about
starting a new life here, even with the remnants of the roots of that
previous life.
We can, if we
choose, continue to be excited by life, even as we age. The choice
is ours. I realized that again as I smelled roasting peanuts and
coal smoke in the early morning snow.
