Gertie is the Aunt I knew the least yet the smell of her is familiar and sweet. I take her with me; apples, shampoo, sunshine, and a freshly mowed lawn.

She was strong. She held her back straighter than the others, as if to prove she could live further out in the country and could and would survive. And she did. She survived deaths, hailstorms, coyotes, and early frosts.

Aunt Gertie's hair looked like she had just come from the beauty parlor when she hadn't. I remember her washing my hair in her kitchen's big white porcelain sink, wrapping a thick big towel around my head and shoulders and hugging me like she meant it. She'd shoo me out to the front stoop where my Grampa sat in a webbed chair smoking a pipe, watching the sky. He placed his pipe down and nestled me between his legs. I sat watching the sky, watching clouds whisper by. He rubbed the towel over and over until my hair was just about dry, then Gertie, with great strength and love brushed my hair until it shone like the sun, this what she said. I could smell a pie baking; apple  and cinnamon. This was one of the days I learned what love is.

Now, my sweet husband rubs my head as he knows it calms me and makes me happy, and eventually it will put me to sleep. He smells wonderful too; vanilla, coconut, and love.