Honeysuckle Summer

Georgia; the state of peaches, hot summers, Honey Boo Boo, and Friday night football. This is where the gravel roads never end. The trucks are Fords and the tractors John Deere Green. This is the south and can be summed up by the tiniest breeze filled with the aroma of a honey suckle surfing the heat waves of the Georgia summer air.   

The smell of honeysuckle lingers. Windows down. Gravel Flying. The air circulates the sensational sweetness of the honeysuckle blossoms through every memory I have of growing up around here, good and bad. It was there for my first kiss, love, first heartbreak always helping me to remember that life is about the twists and turns and as long as one takes control of their own destiny everything will turn out fine. 

But it is more than the smell, its the taste. The taste of freedom of being a teenager on those long Saturday nights. Watching the sun go down in the bed of a pick up truck and watching it come back up again. 

It may seem crazy but the smell of Honeysuckles brings forth voices. Its my dad saying "come on honey lets go fishing down at ole mill pond" and my mom saying "time for church" on Sunday mornings. It is my Pappy telling me a story of his childhood and Meme saying "I love You". And I can hear Nana telling me to say a prayer every time I lay down at night while Papas out plowing the land. All words of wisdom for when I've lost my way. Sometimes I try to ignore them but I'm thankful for them because they made me who I am.