The Scent of Childhood

Today, spouse and I took a walk through a neighborhood in Binghamton, New York, admiring the late spring flowers.

At some point, I started to detect something familiar, a scent of my childhood.

Then, I saw it.  A privet hedge, starting to bloom.

I need to explain about my childhood, because it is so far removed from my life now.

I grew up in the Bronx, a borough of New York City, in a city housing project. The project was on two main business streets.  Above, an elevated train rumbled by every few minutes.

Our project's houses were oriented so that half faced the other half, with green spaces in front and back of the buildings, and in the middle, sidewalk and lawn interspersed with small play areas and benches. 

All the green spaces in the project were carefully fenced away behind chain link fences.  We children would get into trouble with the maintenance men who cared for the project if we climbed the fences and dared to play in the greenery.  So, of course, we did it as often as possible.

It was wonderful, being in the greenery.  Part of the greenery consisted of privet hedges.  When they bloomed, the bees would show up, too.  Back then, in the late 50's and early 60's, bees had not yet started to die out.  They buzzed in happiness in the hot, humid New York City June air.

The boys would catch the bees in glass jars.  That's not something we girls really got into.  Instead, we would look for ladybugs to catch.

I love it when the privet hedges bloom.

The heady scent always brings me back over 50 years in a matter of seconds.  I am a little girl once again, climbing chain link fences while we look out for the project maintenance men, so my playmates and I could have a few minutes of interaction with nature.

But now, the memory is mixed with sadness, because I know some of what happened during the COVID surge of last year.  The Bronx was hit badly.  Maintenance workers in city housing projects were hit, with a number dying.  I know none of the workers I interacted with would still be working by now, but I still wonder.   I also wonder how many of the 1400 plus residents of the project got COVID, and how many died.

I doubt I'll ever know. I can only hope things get better for those who live where I grew up.

Scent and memory. A living time machine, now mixed in with the shadow of the recent past.