On our most recent trip to Charlottesville, Virginia to see my eldest son at UVA, we took him
(finally, I might add... husband and I have been there many times)
to our beloved Monticello.
As we were touring Jefferson's famous garden, we came to an area that immediately evoked a memory in my son...
"Mom", he said, "this area of the garden reminds me of that book FEATHERTOP (find it here) that we used to read this time of year."
The book, a story by Nathaniel Hawthorne, is one we would read each fall, along with other children's books about witches, pumpkins, and autumn.
A seasonal classic, it became, resurrected lovingly each fall as we would retrieve the umber season's treasured stories and pages.
Today, I pulled our prized copy of FEATHERTOP from its location in the living room book shelves. Shelves that now protectively house the most cherished books and words from their bedtime...from their childhood...from my early mothering.
Even before I opened the cover I was overwhelmed by its distinctive, nostalgic scent. A cross between moth balls and juniper berries...a scent I noticed on its pages the day I bought it many years ago...a scent that permeates it still.
Ouch. Those goblin memories here to haunt.
Of all the things I miss from their childhood...and there are many,
I think I miss reading time most of all.