MARTHA'S VINEYARD  

 

Trimming away the woody winter-dead twigs on the thyme plant, my hand gently brushed the new growth.  A savory aroma was emitted and soon my kitchen would share the scent; the tiny tender leaves mixed into the sauce and added to the herb jar.  It got me to wondering, "does time have a scent?"

Yes, for me, time does have a scent-remininiscent.  With the whiff of lilacs floating through the window on a gentle breeze, I'm no longer an older woman.  Time traveling in the fragrant cloud, I'm transported to my childhood, a little girl delighting in burying my face in the fragrant deep purple flowers on the bush just outside the mud room door.  Hay fields freshly mowed and the smell of the straw bedding for Tag, the new puppy, whisper summertime.  Wood smoke from Mabel's cook stove mingles with the mouthwatering smell of fresh-baked thick, chewy, sugar cookies.

The redolence of Old Spice after shave, is a familiar comfort.  Dad, fresh scented and dressed in shirt and tie, shares breakfast time with us while Clint Beuhlman addressed the day's affairs from the AM radio atop the refrigerator.  And 40 years later, the perfume of rose water and glycerin soap passes through tissue paper space and I sense Mom's presence still...

True for me, too, is the belief that life's aromas, which keen my awareness of sacred space of life and death, love and hate, laughing and weeping, are gifts from God.  Refreshment and reconnecting.  Reminders of human goodness, human failure and our fleeting nature.  And the belief that even the sweetest of these earthly scents, pales in comparison to the fragrance that awaits in the Garden.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven...

Deacon Martha