Of Roasting Peanuts and Coal Smoke

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.

Early March morning snow in New Bethlehem

And so it was that one of the first mornings here in New Bethlehem I encountered a couple of aromas that brought back memories of my previous sojourn in this land. I was walking the dogs just before dawn in a light falling snow. In the wind, I suddenly smelled two smells that are definitely unique to New Bethlehem – the smell of roasting peanuts and the smell of coal smoke. These two aromas in the cold, March air, reminded me of being here before.

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.