Simple Pleasures

I love the way that a smell has the power to transport you back in time, to remind you of a treasured childhood memory and fill you with a soft, warm and contented glow.  Of all of our five senses (we will leave the sixth sense for another blog!), smell is the most powerfully connected to memory. Smell - that wondrous chemical process that detects vapourized odour molecules in the air and ignites the brain's limbic system into action and triggers memories that were locked away in a dusty old trunk.

Of course, for most of us, we don't give smell that much consideration, and rightly so, since too much thinking interferes with the enjoyment of the moment, and I never like my enjoyment to be interfered with!  I do, however, delight in all the amazing smells that can instantly transport me back in time. (The not so amazing smells have the same ride back in time effect, but without the bells and whistles!)

For me, the smell of apples in the fall invariably takes me back to the orchards of my childhood, where many happy hours were spent amongst the trees. There was so much to enjoy...the cool, crisp air, sweetened by the aroma of those ripe apples...the endless supply of natural climbing gyms...the hayrides...and, of course, the inevitable stomach ache from eating far too many of those delicious orbs!

This weekend I had the distinct pleasure of such autumnal time travel when we went to Divino's Vineyard in Cobble Hill for our yearly pilgrimage for apples.  Besides making outstanding wine, Divino's also has at least a dozen varieties of apple trees, all intent on making apples to delight the senses.  The apples are lovingly picked and then stored in an old wooden garage which is perched on the edge of their property alongside the road.  The wooden doors of one of the stalls were propped open, with a hand written sign announcing the apples inside.  As I stepped inside, I was enveloped by the sweet, almost overpowering smell of those apples,  seemingly all looking for a new adoptive home, all on their best behaviour, entreating me to see that they were truly the best pick of the crop.

Once I recovered from the tantalizing aroma (and all those little apple voices in my head!), I set about searching out the apples needed for my particular needs - some lovely Ambrosias for my Mile High Apple Cranberry Pie, some Akiras for tasty treats, and some Royal Galas for all purpose, whatever you need apples.  

Buying apples at that old wooden garage was a magical experience.  There was one old steak knife perched on the side of one of the bins, eagerly beckoning to be useful in slicing off a tasty bit of apple as your taste buds took the tour of the room.  There was an old metal scale on which to weigh your delicious choices.  A hand written chart on the wall guided you on the cost of your purchase and the bags to carry away your treasure were hanging on a nail on the wall.  As an added bonus, we also took the day's last bunch of grapes, dressed in their royal deep purple, awaiting their courtly feast.

That ten minute stop at that magical apple garage was the highlight of my day and made me pine for the orchards of my youth.  I yearn to pass on such delightful experiences to my son so that he can wrap them in his heart and take them out whenever he likes. But, since he is on his own path, perhaps the magical apple garage will have to be his orchard, his beloved memory that taps him on the shoulder each fall.