The Bushes at My Grandmother's House

When I was a little girl, the safest place for me was my grandmother’s house. Every once in a while, I will smell something that reminds me of her, and it brings back a flood of memories of the time I spent with her. Grandma died when I was seventeen and I still miss her. Anytime I smell something that reminds me of her it brings a sense of peace and joy. Something in particular I remember are bushes she had in her yard. I do not know the name of them but periodically I have seen or smelled the type of bushes she had in her yard and it takes me back to childhood. She had several large, tall green bushes that lined the driveway. The leaves were tiny and oval shaped, and they had a particular sweet scent. That scent brings back the love I had for her and the joy I felt with her.

Grandma’s house was built in the 1950’s when my mother was a little girl. When my grandfather poured the concrete for the garage, he had my aunt and my mother press their hands into the concrete. I could see those handprints as a child, reminding me that this house contained the safety of family. Grandma’s house was a revolving door of activity. People were coming in and out – family, grandma’s friends, and neighbors visited often. The street itself had been full of family. My great-aunt and her husband had built a house right across the street from Grandma, my great-grandmother lived a few houses down, and at one time another great-aunt had lived in one of the houses on that street. The street led to a dead end and a large Christian church and parsonage were placed at the large back corner. When my cousin and I were six, we pulled out the flowers in the church’s yard. Our parents were less than thrilled.

Spending time at Grandma’s was the best part of my childhood. It was there I got to know and play with my cousins and some of her neighbors had lived there for years. I remember family parties in her back yard and my sister and I playing house in a large tool cabinet my grandfather had built years before. Grandma supplied plates, silverware, and other things for us to play back there. I remember visiting great grandma when I was little and remember the people who moved into her house after she died. I still think of that street as a home street although all of the family and friends who were on that street when I was growing up have died. Whoever bought grandma’s house torn down those bushes that are my reminder of her. I remember them, though, and I will always cherish them. The sight and scent of those bushes will forever connect me to one of the most important people of my life.