The Taste of Childhood Summers

Image from photoree.com

I grew up in an old farmhouse which sat on a piece of land that would have been any child's dream world. Great expanses of grass gave way to woods filled with the possibility of grand adventures (although I wouldn't have gone in them after dark for love or money). Disbursed among the grass and trees were spots and spaces, hills and hidey-holes (like the inside of the huge Magnolia tree, where you could completely vanish from sight) that held a host of other play opportunities. Down near the woods, fat pine tree limbs overflowed with purple wisteria, and if you sprawled out on top of the soft needled bed, the view above you looked and felt like a vibrant, alien world. There were trees to climb, and wild flowers to pick (perfect for making faerie jewelry). But perhaps my favorite discovery, well, second only to evenings full of lightning bugs, was the delicate honeysuckle that grew by the fence near the entrance to the woods.

I remember the day Aunt Mattie showed me the magic of honeysuckle blossoms. I was six, scampering along by her side as she carried bits and scraps of food down to our compost pile. We could see the wild blossoms covering a spot of fence behind the pile. "Ever seen honeysuckle before?" she asked. I shook my head, no. She walked to a thick bit of foliage and plucked a blossom, lifting my hand to place it on my palm. I had no idea what she wanted me to do with it until she gently picked one for herself, plucked off the end of the flower and slowly pulled out the long, silky thin stamen. At the end was a perfect little drop of nectar, which she placed on her lips. I watched in fascination! "You try," she encouraged. I mimicked her actions, trying to be gentle with the flower, but it pulled completely apart. "That's okay," she assured me. "Happens all the time," she said as she plucked several more little flowers off the thicket and gave them to me. On my third attempt, I, too, got a taste of the sweet flavor on my tongue. It was divine!  I felt like a baby bee with a secret about something amazing that nobody else my age knew and I wanted to keep that for myself forever (which in six-year-old is not that long).

I spent many summers after that one always on the lookout for a patch of honeysuckle. I only shared its secrets with a very select few. As I got older, I moved on to more "sophisticated" summertime endeavors (...like mooning over boys, making out, and following the generally accepted "cool activities" of my peer group), the allure of pretty yellow flowers all but forgotten. Once the whole "adulting thing" took over, honeysuckle magic was completely abandoned to some part of my mind where we put away our childhood, shoving it inside a dusty synaptic box . What. A. Tragedy! I traded in drops of nectar and the majestic quest of finding them for what? Stress and grown-up responsibilities? I definitely traded down!

With summertime fast approaching, I listen to my eager students talking about the things they're going to do with their free time and my mind is back on honeysuckle. Just being around the short humans has helped me find that box I abandoned, fling off the lid and spill out every last bit of its contents! When was the last time I even saw a patch of honeysuckle? I can't recall. I do know for certain, however, that before my grandson is old enough to have me tell him the "honeysuckle secret", I will be living down some old dirt road where every summer, that beautiful flower grows in abundance! Then, when the time is right, I'll teach him what billions of little bees already know...flowers are delicious!