Tastes and scents tend to carry a load of memories for me. When I remember the taste of the yummy almond concoction, I’m overcome with vivid memories of the German countryside. Spring was so thick in the air…flowers, trees, grass, and farm animals: The scent of renewal was constant. I suppose being out in the country, away from the city’s pollution, allowed the fresh natural perfume to be amplified. It had a healing sense, which made that spring like no other before it.
I stayed in the guest room. Upstairs and to the right. The room was white, all white. I slept on a daybed that pushed up against the wall. There was a small loveseat in underneath the three large windows that looked out onto the street and directly into the neighbor’s farm. At night I would close the shades…for privacy. I saw the old man of the house working in the yard or out in the field. He’d come and go from the barn to the house and then out into the pasture and back. I don’t know if he ever noticed me or not. I didn’t go out of my way to be noticed – but I did watch him.
At night, when it was very quiet in the house, I would wonder about the farmer. Was he happy? Was this his first wife? How many children did he have? I was curious about him. We were pretty isolated, and my only adult interaction was with Rozhan – because I didn’t speak the language. I was very isolated, which I loved in the beginning of my stay. I suppose after a couple of months of solitude I became lonely. So lonely, that I would fantasize about the old man while I sipped my tea. I’d keep one shade up, watching for him.
He was a wiry old fart. Not a man that I would consider my type. Not at all. I’m not sure what it was about the farmer…I must have been really lonely.
I have no judgment for the memory of the old German farmer. It’s not a good thing or a bad thing…it just is. The memory didn’t float in on a wave of countryside freshness. Not even close. My fond taste of Marzipan tea brought that clip into focus.
I think I’ll order some Marzipan Tea online and head to bed.