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The other day I was listening to the radio as I drove into town to do my weekly shopping. I live in the country and try to be as conservative as I can, not only because of the cost of gas, but I was raised up to believe "a penny saved is a penny earned". Therefore I try to limit driving the ten or so miles into the city that prides itself on how fast it is growing. If the increase of traffic is proof of it growing then I will concur with that.
I can't recall the name or number of the station I was listening to but the discussion was about "aroma therapy".
I listened to three different references to aroma therapy. I guess I've never thought of it as a concept. It's a set of circumstances. Electricity is a concept. The end to the Iraqi war could be a concept. I might become good at writing one day is also another concept.
But when I think of aroma therapy, I do not always think in terms of a bathtub full of lavender scent. Which by the way, is supposed to be very soothing. Theoretically, if you bathe hyper-active children in a lavender bath,it will chill them out, I would think. But I have known some children who would have required a car wash filled with the stuff before chilling them out.
What I remember best about aroma therapy, before someone invented scented candles, and all the other nice aromatic stuff we spend lots of money for these days, is a totally different concept from what I recall as a child.
Growing up on a farm in rural south Georgia, aroma therapy was about the smell of green peanuts as we dug them out of the fresh plowed earth and took them up to the "well" which was located close to the house. We'd pick them off the vines and fill a tub, "draw" water from the "well", wash them to remove the dirt. Then we'd put them in a huge pot, add some salt, and sometimes a piece of cured fat back from the smoke house. Now talk about aroma, when those peanuts began to boil, that was some kind of aroma! Now I understand that there are some people that have never indulged in a "peanut boiling" on a Saturday night. They would never undertand the concept of "aroma therapy" as we experienced it. We'd invite all the kin and neighbors and listen to the Grand Old Opry on the battery powered radio. And eat a whole lot of boiled peanuts, and drank a lot of sweetened, cold ice tea. On those nights, there was no need to cook "supper". Boiled peanuts and ice tea was all there was on the menu for that night.
When we'd be hoeing the nutgrass out of the rows of cotton and peanuts, it always seemed to me that the rows were down wind of the kitchen where mama and no telling who else was frying up a pile of chicken. And the sweet potatoes they were baking rolled there aroma in the same direction and blended right in with that fried chicken. On the last row just before we'd quit for dinner, (City folk call it lunch) I didn't hate nutgrass, buffalo grass and cockle burrs quite as much as I did earlier that morning. Those aromas took the hate right out of me.
As poor as we were, there was peace and tranquility during those days. Every time I see young kids today walking around in the city, with nothing to do, I wish somehow that I could wave a majic wand that would allow them to experience what it's like to grow up on a farm in South Georgia. It was very close to being heavenly at times.
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