The scent of remembrance

Why is it that the sense of smell seems to bring on the most vivid visions of the past? I am making oatmeal bread - probably for the first time since we came back from Scotland. The yeasty smell of the rising dough brings me back to the kitchen in Castlehill and I remember....and I miss it.

I can see the view from my kitchen window - the old stone shed with the wall full of bright birds coming to the seed I'd put out for them - the rowan tree with its red berries - the fence between us and our neighbors croft (visions of little Christopher climbing over that fence, coming to visit and savor ice cubes). Remembering kneading bread at the table and watching Jack sprinting out of that shed with his pail of coal, pursued by an amorous, very determined ewe (if you want the full tale - it's on our website).

My kitchen today has all the mod cons - but I miss the white wainscoating, the wellies by the door, the old wooden cupboard with it's array of flowered crockery, the far view of mountain and sea - a room warm and cozy and smelling of fresh-baked bread and self-sufficiency. I do miss it.