It was strange walking out of the yurt this morning to a heavy fog over the farm. It felt very much like an October morning. Don’t want to rush things now, I still have lots to do before October and it’s only a couple of weeks away. The fog always reminds me when I was a kid walking to school in the morning sneaking into the vineyard of some folks who lived on our road and stealing grapes. I remember them tasting so sweet. I don’t like grape skin now and I didn’t like grape skins then so I would leave a trail of them as I walked the rest of the way to school.
I don’t know much about the family whose vineyard I would raid on cool foggy fall mornings. They were very different from anything I had ever seen. Now as adult I would think they might be Quaker, that being only based on my extremely limited knowledge on these things. The women I remember to be all large and robust with long dresses and bonnets and the men looked like they just stepped out of the last century. We never blended much with our neighbors so I really never got a chance to know them.
Across the street from that family lived an old Swedish couple with thick accents. I delivered the newspaper to them and once a month they would open their door to pay me for the paper and the smell of something awful would waft out I would turn running, gasping for air. Now I know that smell to be fermenting cabbage and mackerel which has a pleasant smell that immediately makes my mouth water.
These are strong memories I have when I wake up to foggy mornings. I wish I could have gotten to know my neighbors better, so I could have worked off my grape bill.
Last night Linda and I watched a movie on her computer called The secret of Roan Inish, 1994. An American/Irish film. I loved it. and since last night I have missed the ocean greatly. I miss smelling that familiar salty air more that I realized. And with this foggy morning I am missing my home town a little and wonder if I'll ever live there again. I wonder if I'll ever wake up to the smell of the sea again.