Strawberries of my childhood

Strawberries of my childhood

Have you ever wondered how a certain memory just pops into your mind? You do your thing, and then suddenly, a moment from the past flashes up.

I have this every time I open a box of fresh strawberries. The smell of them brings back my summer days at grandma’s place in Russia, sitting in a sunny backseat of my grandparents’ old car, driving to the market to sell buckets of strawberries we just picked in their little garden on the outskirts of town. Sweet, juicy, red sides and golden specks shining in the sun, full of summer; my childhood happiness packed into one smell.

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Alain de Botton, a clever “philiosopher for the modern times”, recently said: “Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet.”

I couldn’t agree more; I think we tend to underestimate our less obvious senses. It’s fascinating, the connection our brain makes to one simple thing, and the power of details to anchor our memories.

Next time you have a spontaneous recollection, stop and think – where it came from, what little trigger brought that memory into your mind? What’s your “strawberry moment”?