Oregano: derived from the Classical Greek oríganon, this compound term consists of óros, meaning “mountain,” and gános, meaning “brightness.” Thus, “brightness of the mountain.”
Of all the senses that connect us to the corridors of our brain, that affect our emotions, memories, and creativity, one of the most potent of them all is the sense of smell. A smell is potent enough to trigger a distinct place in time or an event hidden deep within the brain’s cortex even more accurately than a memory.
The first image that flashes through my mind when I think of Grandma Ramona is the pervasive smell of oregano floating in the air like a fragrant cloud. Since then, its sharp aroma of has become the most powerful trigger of my early memories of Grandma in her kitchen. It was a sign she was preparing dinner, as the subdued glow of the setting sun entered through her kitchen door, softening the evening.
Red beans spiced with oregano, her signature dish, was an odd choice. Although a delicious and earthy flavoring, its strong smell and bitterness are not traditionally fit for milder foods. Still, we all learned to love Abuela’s aromatic red beans.
The smell permeated her hair, her hands, her house. Even now, each time that scent reaches my nostrils, her presence flashes before my eyes and, as if a hologram, she comes to life once more. That shimmering thread keeps me attached to her and will never be broken. It was also the essence of oregano I smelled the moment I stepped inside her house; it is the earthy aroma I first noticed when she placed a steaming plate of white rice swaddled in oregano-spiced beans in front of me. And it is also the aroma I smelled as she bent her face towards mine when I kissed her hello, and sadly, when I said goodbye.
With the essence of oregano, the brightness of the mountain, I can keep her close to me. Brightness of the mountain is an exceptional yet unassuming description of the way she carried herself throughout her quiet life. I still call forth her memory like a recurring mantra to never forget, even if it means watching her through the colored glass of nostalgia.
Thankfully, in her quiet grace, Our Lady of Oregano lives on, captured forever in my painting. Taking my inspiration from the small black and white photo Uncle Pedro shared with me, I recreated her image standing under the glare of the tropical sun beside her garden, her arms resting at her sides in a candid reflection of her lack of vanity. She is wearing her Sunday best and directly, unassumingly gazes into the eye of the camera. This is how I always want to remember her. Whenever I stand before her portrait in my home, I am looking up at her as my brightness of the mountain.
—The Everlasting Essence of Oregano from One Last Song for My Father: A Son’s Memoir, by Edwin Fontánez. Copyright © 2022 Edwin Fontánez/Exit Studio. All Rights Reserved