Smells

Smells are some of my best memories.

• The smell of a horse when rubbing its nose or hugging its neck,
• the smell of a dirt road when it's wet,
• the smell of sagebrush,
• the smell of a bog and a crick in a meadow,
• the smell of pine trees,
• the smoky smell of a snowy night,
• the smell of a calf or colt when it is newborn,
• the smell of leather tack,
• the smell of new-mown hay and fresh-harvested grain,
• the smell a gasoline spill evaporating on an old tractor,
• the smell of air from my Grandmother's old organ,
• the smell of fresh turned earth in the Spring,
• the smell of my Mom's petunias,
• the smell of my Grandmother's gladiolas,
• the smell of coffee on my Grandfather,
• the smell of naphtha soap covering a leak in the gas tank of my first Jeep,
• the smell of my Uncle Louie's Bull Durham chewing tobacco,
• the smell inside my Dad's army helmet from World War II,
• the smell of a campfire with Basque sheepherders,
• the smell of a leather baseball glove,
• the smell of an old schoolhouse the first day each year,
• the smell of a oil furnace early in the morning,
• the smell of my sisters getting permanents,
• the smell of talc and aftershave in a barber shop,
• the smell after firing a hunting rifle,
• the smell of hand-me-down football shoulder pads,
• the smell of chlorine at a swimming pool,
• the smell of fresh whole milk, warm from the cow,
• the smell of burning salve while branding,
• the smell the fresh morning air coming off the Tetons,
• the underwater smells at the lake,
• the smell of my Mom's White Shoulders perfume and my Dad's Old Spice cologne,
• the smell of fresh popped corn.

When I first came to Durham, there was still one tobacco factory operating, and there was a time in the processing where the air Downtown was filled with a smell like a new-mown hayfield. Sweet, pungent, musky. I have allergies now. They came on after the first 10 years living in the Southeast. I can't smell as much. But smells are some of my best memories.