First crop: memory

Dad's first crop of runner beans, picked today, topped and tailed and strung, ribbon sliced and cooked 'al dente', seasoned with butter and pepper. They are the taste of memory, of 1960s childhood summers in South Wales, of caterpillars and the scent of cabbage leaves, sunburn and prickly heat, shell gardens assembled in sand-filled fruit boxes, rose petals soaking for days in water and hope, the three-legged race, a drindl skirt in turquoise seersucker never completed in the last year of Junior school, a new leather satchel, Tuff shoes. 

The years compress: a squeeze box of sounds, some as distant as echoes, others like the ringing of a school bell demanding attention. 

And this one now that arrives like a breeze: a purple swimsuit with a red stripe, the sun beating on my shoulders, the sand hotter than burnt toast, and the sea so far out I think I might never reach it. Or find my way back.

sunset over the sea
I remember when my mother
ran faster than me

Hungry Writing Prompt
Write about going home.


Judith Johnson said…
Lovely blog Lynne! A row of runner beans makes for a happy kitchen!
Caroline said…
What wonderful essences of childhood - more than memories - but sensations distilled, drip, drip, drip into a delicious cocktail to make me light-headed. I hope you'll let me off the writing prompt, having done 'Journey with these Feet'. xxx
Lynne Rees said…
Thanks, Judith! I am as happy as I can be this week too - 30 degrees on my lovely Welsh beach on top of the beans!
Lynne Rees said…
Thanks, Caroline. Hope to catch up when you're home (and you're not too sad about it.) x