Back in Time (Pt. 2) – 1968

Memory is the golden bridge

That keeps our hearts in touch

With all the long-past yesterdays

And things we loved so much.

 

Georgia B. Adams

 

 

The quotation above, simple and direct,  comes from the back cover jacket of a small book I treasure called "Memories of Times Past."  It’s full of old songs, photos, reminiscences, and stories from the past on such topics as streetlights from the olden days, something we don’t think much about.  Before that, people savored memories of the lamplighters who made their rounds in the pre-electric era, lighting oil lamps as darkness shrouded streets in cities and towns on evenings long ago.

I recollect events and people from my past often.  I think to do so is as essential as the sunlight that lights and warms our days.   In many respects, memories are like sunlight — they illumine and shine light on the corners of our lives darkened by time and the sheer accumulation of so many experiences over a lifetime.   And when you reach a certain age, such as a milestone like 60, you are aware not only of how quickly time is passing and how much you HAVE experienced, but you are also aware that you want to do more and more and there are fewer and fewer years in which to do all that.

From the riper and more mature perspective of age, I know that I am at last becoming more charitable and accepting of myself.  I realize that I will never have the quantity of friends and social experiences that so many of my friends had, in high school college and beyond, but that is okay.  I don’t care as much now that I stayed home most Saturday nights, that I found company with myself most of the time.  That is nothing to re-coil from or regret.  Maybe I didn’t have a typical adolescence or young adulthood, but now I embrace the fact that I was, and am, different.  We all are, and that is one of the greatest lessons in life.  We aren’t as cut-off and uniquely different or alone as we may have once thought.

I travel back to this exact time of year in 1968 in this memory piece.  I was 17 and a junior in high school.    It’s been 43 years and what’s fascinating as I think I make  clear in what follows, is that my love of Nature and beauty goes back a long, long time and has only deepened over the years.

What triggers this memory has been the annual arrival of the azaleas in bloom, which will peak in about a week or so.  In combination with the white dogwood blossoms and the pale, watercolor-pastel greens of  new growth on our many oaks and other trees, the total effect is one of wonder and amazement for me.   It’s the same every year, but my ardor never wanes and the world is even more beautiful in Spring this year than it was the previous year.

We had several huge azaleas shrubs in our back yard in suburban New Orleans.   In early to late March, they would begin to bloom and before I knew it there was a veritable wall of pink, purple and white blooms in our yard.  I remember going up to the azaleas and closely examining first one, then another flower, marveling at the almost transparent color and the purple and red veins extending the length of the flowers.   I did the same thing yesterday and the day before at my favorite gardens here in Charleston, studying the complexity and beauty of the flowers and photographing many of them so I could go back and look at them again after they had faded and dropped to the ground, another season of rebirth and renewal accomplished and the miracle of life affirmed once again.

The cool winds in March and April, the delightful skies and weather — all these sensations create what I can best describe as simple joy at being alive.  

Here is some of what I experienced yesterday at Magnolia Gardens:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/camas/sets/72157626235697547/

These are the exact type of azalea blooms I remember so well from my childhood and youth:

 http://www.flickr.com/photos/camas/5562542679/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/camas/5563113634/