Years ago while walking on a goat path on the island of Amorgos, my nose abruptly told me to stop–it was the smell of honeysuckle. A smell that had been absent from my life for so long suddenly resurfaced and wrapped me in a blanket of nostalgia.
My childhood was full of honeysuckle as, in our neighbourhood, it was growing everywhere. I liked the smell so much that I even wore honeysuckle scented perfume for many years. Then I grew up and moved to a place where honeysuckle was not grown and the scents from the past were replaced with new ones.
It’s funny how smell is so tied to memory—that smell of honeysuckle had reawakened a part of my memory that had been dormant for so long. Nostalgia, a yearning for something that no longer exists. Somewhat sad, no?
My Parian neighbor, Connie, has an incredibly wild & healthy honeysuckle vine. So I took a clipping. It easily rooted and, once grown, I took a clipping of my new plant to Rome and grew it there as well.
Because of a smell familiar during childhood, a honeysuckle clipping was taken from Paros and rooted in Rome. It’s just one more example of how your childhood follows you wherever you go.