The Smell of Summer by Deb Tish

For me, nothing evokes magical childhood summers like the smell of an old house, especially that of a smoker. My sister and I spent summers at our grandparents’ place. Each year, she and I would board a propeller plane without parents and fly an hour to Hamilton, Ontario, where our grandfather waited in the tiny airport, smoking homemade unfiltered cigarettes and beaming. These summers were delicious with danger. Every day began at the…

Tuesday, June 19, 2007
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