There is something I like about the crunch of gravel underfoot, or the sound of car tires going over gravel. It conjures up thoughts of simpler, slower times in my life. I associate it with the dusty, hot smell of a summer day, the sound of birds and crickets, and wind blowing over tall grass.
The car tires always bring up memories of going places with my family, and by the time there was gravel road, we were almost there. Wherever 'there' was. I think maybe my cousins' cottage by the river in New Brunswick, or perhaps the drive to the lake where we would watch fireworks. It also goes with thoughts of vacations in PEI where the roads were of softer, reddish dirt.
It's funny, isn't it? A simple crunching together of small bits of stone and I am back in my childhood. No wonder I love our long unpaved laneway (potholes aside) and am excited about the now-completed gravel paths in my garden.