Scent is an amazing memory trigger. I got off the plane in Seattle/Tacoma and met with the unique odor of the northwest. A couple of deep breaths later and the pictures in my mind started rolling. My mom grew up around here where my grandfather was a bivocational pastor/oyster schucker and my great grandfather ran a large greenhouse in Tacoma, Pearsall Florists. They lived in a house at the bottom of McKinley Hill and the greenhouse stretched up the hill from there. A dirt road ran from cousin Ken's house at the top of the hill, past the Holiness campground, and down to the greenhouse. I would wake up early, fish around for some change, and head out the door barefoot through the field, stepping on slugs all the way (they have a corner market on the slug population here) to the railroad tracks. I would return a short time later with a pocket full of flattened pennies. I still can taste grandma's traditional breakfast of cornflakes and heavy cream with a side of thick bacon. Blackberry preserves and deserts were a constant since the house was surrounded and nearly overtaken with blackberry bushes. Dad would go out with a huge bowl and come back with scratched up arms, a massive smile, and a haul of the biggest blackberries you've ever seen. Evenings would be spent watching Flipper while grandpa sat in his easy chair. Today, the greenhouse is gone, grandpa's house leveled to make way for a subdivision, and the field of slugs has been replaced by a road. I stood there yesterday and realized that it would forever be impossible to go back there again. But I had to smile when I noticed that back in the corner of this new neighborhood, there were some thick wild blackberry bushes that would never die. It's amazing how things come and go and are remembered by some and forgotten by most. This post may be fascinating to me and two other people, but it's what's on my mind today, and at this point in my life, memories like this mean a lot.