In Memory of Coffee…
Before the first rays of light filter through the curtains, when the house is still and quiet. I listen to the slow, deep sleep breathing of my husband and the soft fussing of our baby boy, he needs a bottle. I can hear Ben moving around upstairs, his room is directly above ours. My eyelids feel heavy, and my brain struggles to function. I roll over, and Oliver sits up and lays his head against my back while I prepare his bottle. Resituating myself, Oliver in my arms, I close my eyes while he takes his bottle and feel his little body relax into mine as we both drift back to sleep.
These early morning feeds are so peaceful and while I always find myself hoping he will sleep a little while longer, giving me just a couple more hours of rest, there are some mornings, my mind wanders to the kitchen, where I know fresh coffee awaits. If I could just pull myself from the warmth of my bed, and untangle my tired body from my baby boy’s arms, then I would be able to enjoy my coffee with the sunrise.
I am not sure about you, but drinking my coffee in the morning is more than just a caffeine filled necessity, it is an experience. It always has been, even before I started drinking coffee. As a child, I watched my aunts and uncles, my grandparents, and my father wake up and trudge directly to the coffee maker. Even on our annual camping trips with my grandparents, I would awake, snuggled warmly in my sleeping bag to the sound of my grandfather building a campfire and the soft clinking of the brassy, aged percolator being set up over the fire. Just like food, coffee always tastes better in camp, and now, looking back, I realize these childhood memories of coffee in camp are largely to blame for my obsession with coffee today.
Our annual early summer camping trip to Canyonlands National Park, Utah was a tradition even before I was born, and my grandparents were fortunate enough to have found one of the most scenic camping spots on Elk Ridge. Every summer right after school let out we would pack up our blue 1980’s Ford F250, and while my 3 siblings would pile into the back seat, I would make myself comfortable between my parents in the front seat, but only because I was the smallest and my sister was still in a car seat. We would then make the 8 hour drive up to Elk Ridge, and set up camp overlooking Hammond Canyon.
My favorite part of camping, other than eating food prepared over a campfire, has always been waking up in camp. I have so many vivid memories of waking before sunrise, snuggled in my sleeping bag and feeling the need to be as quiet, and still as a little girl could be. I would burrow deeper into my sleeping bag, so only my eyes were visible, and I would wait for the sound of that clinky old percolator. Upon hearing it, I would clumsily clamber out of bed, dress, and make my way to the campfire. Once there, I would climb up into my grandfather's lap for a scruffy cuddle, while we waited for the coffee to brew. The sweet, familiar aroma would mix with the scent of pine trees and slowly, but surely draw my grandmother and my father from their tents.
My mother and brother enjoying the view from Coffee Rock.
Now, in this camp, there was a cherished, and perfectly worn flat slab of rock. It faced into the canyon, and if you were up early enough, you could sit there and watch the sunrise wash over the rocky terrain of the canyon walls. It was magical. My family had aptly named this rock, Coffee Rock. While I was too young to drink coffee on these camping trips, I loved to sit with my father and grandmother on this rock, and listen to them talk about everything, and anything. Politics, philosophy, nature, books, and of course hiking trails they had yet to explore.
My dad in camp.
They say our olfactory senses, which are responsible for the way our brains process sense of smell, among other things, are directly connected to our limbic system which houses the parts of the brain that process emotions and memory. With this mind, it is no wonder I have grown to love coffee, and why the scent of fresh coffee can immediately bring me back to places I have been and the people I have shared these memories with.
For me, coffee has always been more than just a drink. It is the beginning of the best conversations. The perfect companion in the solitude of a quiet morning. It is as warm and familiar as the sunrise in Hammond Canyon. Comforting like my grandmother's voice. The smell of coffee brewing in the morning connects me to my most cherished memories, and makes me feel closer to the people I love the most.
As I finish up this blog post, much later than I anticipated, the house is quiet and still. Everyone is asleep, and I am already looking forward to tomorrow morning. Waking to sweet baby snuggles, and the promise of a fresh cup of coffee.