The scent of a bonfire

It snowed yesterday; not just a dusting, but a few inches.  Snow covered the bright yellow daffodils and clung to the flowering fruit trees.

Today, the sun is out. The snow melted, except in the shadows.  The day seems perfect for enjoying an annual family tradition: Eastering.  My Grandfather Bachman started this tradition of going Eastering - getting out to enjoy the spring day the saturday before Easter with a hike, a picnic and baskets hidden by the Easter Bunny.

We, the children in the back of my grandfather's plumbing truck, the parents following in their vehicles - my mother in her station wagon, would head to the foothills.  Upon a arrival tables would be set up then filled with picnic food.  We would put together stone rings for fire pits, and roast hot dogs and marshmellows.

Today, the scent of the bonfire reminds me of my grandfather's Eastering traditions.  His family has grown so large with great grand children and great great grand children that we have split into smaller family groups.  Our family, with mother as the head no longer head to the foothills, but go instead to our cabin in Southfork.  The older members of our family appreciate being indoors.  We no longer have hot dogs and marshmellows, but settle for cold cuts and potato salad.

Just up the road my cousins are also Eastering at their cabin.  They continue the tradition of hot dogs and marshmellows cooked over a bonfire.  Thus the scent of memories.