Scents usually remind me why I love this time of year, the first warming of the earth, the buds unfurling to the sun, the blossoms winning the race with the leaves…
Last night seemed to be “lawn mowing night” on our street. The kids and I biked up and down, and I tried to inhale constantly (doesn’t work), storing the cut grass, the heady magnolia, the damp earth, the grilling meat smells away so that next year I can remember and enjoy all over again.
Pictures of my kids flying kites, chasing a random turtle in our woods, swinging with vigor, they all bring to mind the scents. They say olfactory memories are the strongest, and I find that very true for me. I baked some less-than-tasty muffins a month or so ago, and when my husband came in the house, he said they smelled awful yet familiar. I left the house and returned later that evening and realized he was right. “The beet plant!” I shouted, bursting into the room. “That’s it,” he said. “Ew.” But even the smell of the beet plant conjures up nights chasing trains, early mornings with dew-wet golf shoes at Minakwa, roller blading on newly-paved streets.
This weekend is about memories, remembering those who have served and died for our freedom. Take a walk or visit a grave and let yourself breathe, remember, and thank God for them.