Paper or plastic?

Paper, please . . . but not for environmental reasons. The smell of a paper grocery bag takes me back about thirty years. Suddenly, I am following my beloved grandfather out of his screened kitchen door. It squeaks and taps shut. We cross the pea gravel driveway into his vegetable garden. He picks okra, tomatoes, squash. I walk behind, dutifully carrying the paper grocery bag. He turns and drops the veggies in, one by one. He points to the ones that aren't ready to be picked yet, telling me that they are too small or too green. We will wait a day or two for them. We share a silly joke and weave up and down the rows. The sun beats down on my yellow head, and I shake the dirt from inside my sandals. Then we turn and head back into the house.

My grandfather just passed away in January, and I find myself stopping to inhale and ruminate every time I hold a paper bag.