Finally, on my way home from a late WalMart run the last week of school, I turned a corner and a gust of well-timed wind breezed the delicious odor right into my face. So I pulled over, walked back, and thought of Gandalf: "When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose." And there it was!
Of course I had no idea what it was called, but I've since learned that its common name is Russian Olive (an ornamental tree famous for hardy roots that can grow in dry soil). I also learned that it's now classified as an invasive weed.
Gee, thanks.
It's not just the shiny green-grey leaves and tiny aromatic flowers that make me love this tree, though. It's the history. Let me explain: You've seen The Mask of Zorro, right? Catherine Zeta-Jones' character Elena comes back to California after being raised in Spain (with no knowledge that she was born on this continent) and is given a flower by a native woman. When she smells it, she recognizes the scent. Later she finds out they used to hang it over her crib.
So I mentioned to my mom how much I loved the smell of this tree (not calling it a weed) and she explained, "Remember the field? There used to be a whole line of Russian Olives next door."
Of course! Growing up there used to be an large empty tract of land between my house and the church on the corner. We used to play for hours in the overgrown grasses and untamed shrubbery. It only makes sense that the aroma of the trees was implanted into my memory, indelibly connected with the ideas of freedom, summer, and play.
*Sigh* I'm so cool, I don't even know I'm cool.
Seriously, I'm not even looking forward to the already-fading blossoms to be replaced by some yellow, olive-looking fruit. One man's weed is another man's pleasant childhood memory.
