The Farmhouse.

The smell is the strongest memory I have. Not of the house itself, but of the lane leading up to the farm. It was thick with the flavor of shade. That dark, dank odor of overgrown bushes and shrubs and ferns that only grow in swampy fields and long laneways. Ours was a half a mile long. It was the path to the one place I wanted to stay forever and ever...Grandma's house. Oh, I know every child likes going to their Grandmother's, but I lived for summer to return to that remote farm in Eastern Ontario to be with her. It was the late 60's, and she did not have the luxury of indoor plumbing, or any form of transportation into the town 15 miles away. Nonetheless, to me, it was paradise! She had the softest bossom to hold you to, the largest arms to wrap around you and make you feel loved, and the most incredible smell of cookies that permeated her whole being. She was the epitomy of love. When memories of my childhood invade my thoughts from time to time,the memory of my Grandmother is the one I can count on to make me aware of the good fortunes in my life.No matter what hardships have befallen me, how blessed I have been to be loved by Grandmother who was put on this earth as a gift from God.