It’s usually this season of the year that I think of home. When the coldness of winter sets in and the days become dark I reflect on my favorite memories of home. Like the fond memories of enjoying my grandmother’s baking, or when time had no meaning and volleyball on the beach was all I lived for or the Sunday afternoons. Like when I escaped to my favorite beach to collect beautiful shells with my nieces. These are a few of my treasured memories of home.
As a child I would pester my mother to teach me how to bake. After all, my grandmother was such an exceptional baker and also my aunt too. Their ability to prepare homemade cakes that simply melt your mouth and leave you wanting to more was a skill I desired for myself. I remember skimming through my mother’s favorite Caribbean cookbook, on a mission to try out exciting recipes that my 10 year old mind can execute. At that age, there is something delightful about making a batter from the ingredients, tasting the final mixture and then licking the baking utensils. You definitely feel like a million dollars! My favourite baked good was cake. My aunt had a wicked skill of making an exceptional almond cake. Whenever she brought some by at our home, it never lasted very long and needless to say, this caused many hilarious arguments about who was the greediest one who ate the most cake!
As a teenager, I remember the days when my high school friends and I would head out to the beach at 3pm and didn’t return home until 8pm. Time had no meaning for us. In the scorching heat on pearl white sand which stretched along the turquoise ocean, we pitched our court and played until our limbs were sore. What made the game even more tons of fun was the ridiculous banters of trash talk we would exchange. I don’t know if it was the volleyball or the trash talking that I enjoyed the most but often I found myself at times, having to stop play just to laugh until I fell on the sand holding my stomach in pain.
As a young adult, when my dad trusted me with his beloved car. I would escape to Foul Bay beach after church on Sunday mornings. Many days I had my nieces with me and we would comb the beach looking for shells. Foul Bay was very unique beach because of the type of shells there are rarely found on any other beach on the island! Armed with a plastic bag we would collect the prettiest and most rare looking shells to take with us. But before we head home our ritual was to dip our feet in the water and my nieces would squeal with delight at the sheer force the waves crashed along the shores and the foamed across the sand as the water touched our toes.
In all, these are a snap shot of my fondest memories of home. As the air gets damp and cold and the days become shorter, I reflect on these memories to carry me through the winter season. I keep them close to my heart until next time…until I get to go home and visit Barbados again to see my family and friends.