Windows down, I accelerate as I merge my Camaro onto US82. Sunshine and springtime fill the car as I fly toward my destination. The familiar fragrance of honeysuckle fills my lungs as I inhale deeply. With a single breath, I’m whisked back to my childhood. Though my body remains in this lovely March afternoon in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, my memory takes me sixty-seven miles northwest and some seventeen years into the past.
While my parents look on from a distance, my sister and I rush to the fence at the end of the driveway. Springtime always announces its arrival with a mass of honeysuckle vines that act as a dressing for the plain chain link fence they rest upon. Birds and insects may crave the sweet nectar of these flowers, but they’ll have to fight to obtain it. At 525 Rollingwood Road, two small girls stand among the flowers, their grins large as they feast on one of nature’s delicacies. I breathe in and memorize the scent of spring chasing away the winter cold. Years may pass and circumstances may change, but when honeysuckle fills the air, I’ll always be taken back to this spot.