Opinion : The aroma and tastes of childhood I will remember at Celebration Park

A young tree is growing near what used to be the front porch of my great-aunt's house.

The former home of my great-aunt was flooded in 2008; the area is now part of Celebration Park.

Work continues on the bandshell/gazebo at Celebration Park.

Standing in front of the old white house at the corner of 2nd Street and A Avenue, I could almost smell the aroma of tobacco from Uncle Hugo’s pipe.

While I grew up in Independence and rural Brandon, I spent many days and nights in Vinton, where both of my parents had relatives. The most memorable house was that of my great-aunt Jesse and great-uncle Hugo Hilmer. Jesse was my grandfather’s sister; she had lots of great stories about our ancestors, some of which she would probably prefer I not share here. Hugo smoked a pipe and that white house greeted you with the aroma of tobacco; I remember seeing him loading his pipe with that familiar tin red Prince Albert container.

But most of all, I remember: Bugles: Not the instrument; the chips.

In her tiny kitchen to the left of the entrance, there was always a box (yes, a box; now I buy them in bags) of Bugles on the table. I remember eating Bugles while watching the grown-ups play cards and listening to them talk about family members and where they had gone. I never imagined then that I would be able to recall that place and its aroma nearly 40 years later.

The last time I stood near that house was five years ago, in June. It was surrounded by water; one of the dozens of houses destroyed by the Flood of 2008.

Now, the place where Jesse taught me to eat Bugles is gone; her yard is now the southwest corner of the new Celebration Park.

A young flowering crabapple tree is growing in the same spot where the aroma of tobacco greeted me as I entered Jesse’s front porch. A few yards to the east, flags mark the spot where the new pavilion/restroom structure will soon take shape.

I went there yesterday, and stood by that little tree. I could almost smell the aroma of Prince Albert and taste the Bugles and see the back of the Me Too grocery store where my cousins and I used to buy more Bugles. (The first Bugles, by the way, came along about the same time I did -- 1965.)

At the other end of the park, before it became an antique store, was the shop where my grandfather used to take his chain saw for repairs.

When our community celebrates the opening of Celebration Park, a lot of people will have a lot of varying memories of the flood, and life before the water changed forever the area where my ancestors taught me so much.

So, if you see me, some day in the near future, sitting under a young flowering crabapple tree near the new pavilion at Celebration Park, with a bag of Bugles, come sit with me. I will share some with you as I tell you about Aunt Jesse.