There are certain smells and sounds that each of
us as individuals associate with certain things. The smell of vanilla: baking cookies. Sawdust: refinishing furniture. Roses: my sister's photography. Clean laundry: the farm of my childhood. Mint: enjoying fresh iced mint tea with family. Flour dust: wheat harvest on the farm. Rain: dancing in the puddles with my purple converse. Classical music: playing in Europe. Humming: my mother singing over dishes. Pine trees "singing:" visiting Grandma and Grandpa on the farm. Stories (any story): my mother reading to us sisters every evening. Bells: playing hand bells with my sisters. There is a memory or a thing that each of us associate to nearly every smell and sound that we encounter. I find it fascinating how one little thing can trigger emotions and thoughts and memories that we didn't even know were there. Take, for instance, my music box. Peaches and Mr O love me to wind it up for them to listen to, and each time I am flooded with memories. My grandfather Rossi (passed away some years ago now) gave me a music box for my birthday years ago (I think I was 15 or 16).
It was the music box that had for years graced the end table in their living room. It was an ugly end table, bronze with rather odd patterned leaves painted on it. The couches were ugly too. Pink. Huge flowers. Bright. But very comfortable. And I can still hear Grandpa telling me "knees don't belong on the couch, just your little bottom." And then there was the carpet. It was the really weird mustard yellow color that was so popular, but so...mustard looking. The colors are vivid in my mind, even after so many years.
Every year we visited Grandma and Grandpa Rossi in late July or early August. It was a huge family trip. Daddy would take a week (or more) off of work, and we would frantically scrub the trailer and van the week before (and the week after). Packing was an art form with seven girls and usually a cousin or two coming along for the ride, we could each bring one bag for clothes. The drive seemed like it took forever,
from Walla Walla down to Sacramento. Mother (ingenious woman) made "pockets" that fit over the seats in the van, with the "pocket" hanging on the back of the seat. There were nine "pockets" in all, insuring that each girl got one for the games, books, and other entertainment stuff that we each had to bring. Mother also read to us; Cheaper by the Dozen, Anne of Green Gables, Little House in the Big Woods, and many many more. She would read until she was to hoarse to continue, and then take it up again an hour later when her voice recovered. Daddy drove. I have no idea how he stayed sane in a van full of 7 or more girls for 2 days straight. We would all talk at once, there was never silence, unless mom was reading. He either had a lot of patience or tuned us out (I think it was a combination of the two). I'm still amazed that he was able (on two trips that I remember), drive almost the complete trip down, only stopping for gas and with one maybe two short spell-offs from mom, straight.
But then we would ARRIVE at Grandpa and Grandma's house! We struck the house with a vengeance, all of us piling out, running inside, hugging, hollering, making sure the crackers were stocked up, and making sure Grandpa's garden was still there. Our poor grandparents. They probably aged an entire year in the the first few hours of our visit. Grandpa would take walks in his garden, I would often tag along. Listening to him naming the plants, talking to them, watering them, and enjoying them was so good. I (someday) want to have a greenhouse so that I can grow plants like grandpa.
The path ways through the garden was the medium round river rocks, larger than gravel, but small enough for a pathway. The lizards and birds ran away at the sound of us running across the patio. Grandpa would sit with me and watch for the lizards to com
e back. And they would, slowly, creeping back over the rocks to sun themselves on the larger rocks bordering some of the flowerbeds. There was a fountain of two children under an umbrella, looking down into the pool below. The water would run over the umbrella, and fall off the sides in drops, making them look like they stood in the rain all by themselves. Grandpa loved to tell stories. The look on his face when he recounted things about his family and Italian heritage is unforgettable. His was the story of the American dream coming true. Holding my hand in his work hardened one and telling me that it was all worth it, still brings tears to my eyes. I can still feel the calluses.
Grandma fed the quail. Everyday we would help her rip up the day-old bread that she bought and then we would scatter it beneath the "bird tree." The quail would come, bobbing their little heads, the blue birds would swoop down taking one piece at a time, the robins argued over who got what, and the sparrows were happy with the crumbs. She also loved the raccoons. There was a "raccoon plate" that she would gather leftovers on through out the day and at night (about 8) would put it out on the patio. We would turn the lights off and wait in anticipation, staying back from the sliding glass door so we wouldn't frighten them. And then they were suddenly there! With their eyes peeking through the mask that they wore, bandits. Clean bandits though. Taking the food and washing it in the birdbath before eating. Grandpa refilled the birdbath every morning, grumbling good naturedly about the soggy crumbs. I can still hear grandma clucking at us that the bread was in too big of pieces for the birds. Taking it in her hands
and demonstrating how small the pieces needed to be. Holding her frail hand for a walk about the garden to smell the "four o'clocks" is still vivid.
At night, Mother would read us a chapter from whatever book we were reading together as a family and then Father would lead us in family prayer. Grandpa and Grandma would both join, each always saying how thankful they were that we could come. A lesson in gratitude for a young heart.
Grandpa would open the drapes in the front window, waking those of us that slept on the living room floor. Then after breakfast, we would disperse to do whatever it is that kids do. Grandpa would wind the music box and I would sit and listen to it, seemingly for hours. We would sit on that ugly pink flowered couch and listen to that beautiful music box. Grandpa would be transported back to Italy, I would be dancing in meadows of flowers. He would tell me stories of himself as a little boy, tales of Italy, then a far-off place. About the clothes lines strung between the houses, trees growing in the street, and his little shoes that he didn't like to keep on.
Amazing what a little song from a music box can do.
This morning we had an adventure. The kind of adventure that you want to repeat over and over and over again. Just around the block from us is a small farm. It is owned by a wonderful woman who has been very generous and allowed us to invade, ride, help, and get in the way. Her sweetness is something that cannot be measured, because there is always more. She has taken Mr O under her wing and has helped him to focus better. She has spread her love for animals, all animals, to Peaches. If Peaches sees an animal in need, or just an animal in any situation, she has to stop and say hi. Sometimes we get a little behind in our things to do, but that is an important something, and I will not stand in her way. Miss A (who runs this farm) may be blushing now 
from all this praise, but it is all true. She has really helped me and my children learn to appriciate the little things all over again. So, back to this morning. We were in charge of feeding everyone for the first time ever. We had helped feed once before, and Miss A left a very detailed list, yet it is quite a resposibility. There were 3 horses, 4 ponies, 4 pigs, 2 donkeys, 3 turkeys, 2 geese, and lots and lots of chickens. All in all it takes about 30 minutes, start to finish. 
Feeding starts with the horses. We spread the hay out in the field in several small piles, so everyone has a spot to eat, then we let them out of their stalls. One by one they go trotting by, eager to get their tummies filled with yummy hay. Next are the ponies. One goes in with the horses, two are in their own pen and get hay in there, and one gets let into the back yard. On to the pigs. They oink good naturedly as the horses trot by, snort as the ponies get fed, and begin to get beligerant as we get their food. Oinking and squealing they crowd each other. They all 
want some right now! After putting their food into several piles around their yard, we move on to the donkeys. The donkeys are newer, and LOVE the kids. Jesus (Hay-suse) and Daisy will nudge me out of the way so that they can love on the kids and so that the kids can scratch their ears. Softly snuffling and kissing. Such gentle animals! Putting their hay in two piles and after recieving their love, they begin to dine and we move on to the birds. Here is where something funny happens. We got through the gate into the turkey/goose pen, lift up the lid to their food, and Daisy comes running over to the fence, braying for all she was worth. She thinks that she really does need chicken feed, and brays for a little while until Jesus comes over and calms her down. The turkeys and geese surround us, each begging to get fed first. They are all quite friendly, and we can pet them, stroking their soft feathers. The chickens are last, and by now are running up and down the fence, clucking like crazy. They also gather around us, crowding, and clucking until we throw handfuls of food to them. There are all kinds o
f chickens. I don't know all the different kinds, but they all lay different colored eggs. There is white, blue, green, light brown, and brown. We call them Easter eggs, cause it is like hunting for Easter eggs everyday. Once everyone has food, we head back to the horses to talk and pet them as they finish their breakfast. What a wonderful beginning to the day!
