This is my signature. I loved 28 La Pausa and I love La Pausa as well.
It actually reminds me slightly of the way the air smelled on the farm my great grandparents homesteaded at the turn of the 20th Century. In the morning.
We’d visit my grandmother who moved back to the farm to take care of her aging parents in the 1960’s and then stayed until she passed away in the 2000’s. And we’d see other family as well. Attend the family church nearby. Take long walks through green, tree-lined rolling pastures on a gravel road. The enormous sky above. Birds dancing on the horizons. My great uncle’s ever joyful dog following us. Shadows growing longer as the walk progressed onward.
But that was long ago. The Earth there was still mostly just the gentle but well tended farmland of the last century. And regardless of how you feel about it, it’s true. Everything was cleaner. Cooler. More romantic. More elegant. Heavenly.
But anyway, the air. In the morning I’d wake up to hear my grandmother below us cooking in the black and white tiled, yellow walled kitchen. My mother and I would share the room facing North above the kitchen. Also walls painted sunny yellow. I was too scared of the dark in that old house to sleep in one of the rooms alone as a little girl. It wasn’t a creepy house at all, but…it was overwhelming. When I visited the Bahamas, in the Bermuda Triangle of course, it felt very similar. Almost out of time. Like a plane that set off in the 1920’s or 30’s and never landed. You’d look up out of the windows in the upstairs room facing South and see endless sky. All the vintage items and antiques. My grandmother in her 70’s and 80’s. The smell of dew drenched wild flowers and wheat coming through the open windows in the morning. It’s hard to describe well.
It was magic.
Of course for those who care about such things I should say that the house was built in 1929 by my great grandfather. It was probably around 3,000 sq. ft.? (With an unfinished basement of course) I’ve tried to guess in the past and I suspect it was larger than I thought after living in our home. I haven’t been there in too long although my cousins are renovating it. After my grandmother left for a nursing home she wasn’t there to tend to it and eventually it’s needed work. Although an aunt had been keeping an eye on her for years my grandmother did love that beautiful old farm house and she took good care of it.
But where to go to smell that cool, floral and expansive air now? That fresh air? Where? Does it exist anymore? It wasn’t sea air. It wasn’t mountain air. It wasn’t the soft air of England or the gentle air of Switzerland. It was big, and grand. What inspired Aaron Copland. America of the past…
It’s heartbreaking. And if you have any sensitivity to things not material but more of the spirit I can’t help but think you’d agree. We all need air to breath, but that sort of air helps us live.