Scent Memories — Olfactory Nostalgia
Dancing Elephants Press Weekly Prompt 38 of 52
New England Rivers and Streams
Can you smell this photo? I can. Some time ago I began a doc called “Scent Memories,” inspired by the evocative smell of a small river that runs through our town. At some point, I knew that I would draft an essay, reflection, or poem about those specific, redolent odors that conjure memories replete with form and feeling. Last week, it just so happens that Vidya asked readers of Dancing Elephant Press to do just that.
And here I was, poised to respond.
Back to the river — I struggled to name exactly what elements composed its specific scent, so I turned to Google. In so doing, I came across a fishing website with a blog post titled “Scents of Water.” I copied the following text and pasted it into my doc:
“Physically, our olfactory bulb has a direct connection to the amygdala and hippocampus. These brain areas are stimulated when we recall memories or experience emotion. A perfume, a food, or a tree can quickly snap us back to a place or sentiment in ways that even sight can’t necessarily replicate.
For fly fishers, angling is full of smells: The resin of balsams in the north woods. Muddy flats on low tide. Algae covered rocks baking in the sun on the river bank. Waders that haven’t quite dried out from the last trip. The duffle bag that bears some food and flotant stains.”
I’m certain that that wet rocks, growth, and decay all play a part in creating the smells that so enthrall me. The area where I live, where I grew up, is riddled with small rivers and streams, and I have possibly hundreds of memories fishing, exploring, and playing in them. Have you ever wanted to lie down in a smell and let it fall on you like a soft blanket? I feel that way about the sharp, wet scent of a stony riverbank.
Coffee, Donuts, and Catalpa Trees
When I started my scent memory doc, a few other notably pungent recollections also made the list. The first of these was coffee and donuts. It must be hot coffee and there should, ideally, be enough donuts that you can imagine clouds of sugar perfuming the air. This is the smell of our church basement, of the three season porch at the Dickinsons’ house after Easter sunrise service on the hill. There I am with messy straw hair and a jelly donut, lips rimmed in powdered white sweetness.
Next, I thought about my grandmother’s catalpa trees. With huge leaves, fragrant ruffled blooms, and sturdy seed pods that make reasonable swords, these trees sheltered many childhood scenes. Whether searching for the biggest leaf, collecting fallen blossoms to perch on my small fingertips, or catching a whiff of the flourishing flowers as I whizzed by on my bike, catalpa trees recall numerous moments of youth. This is the smell of my grandparents’ front yard, tall trees flanking the off-limits porch, with lace curtains and colorful glass knickknacks in the windows, moss following the small secret path from the unused front steps around the side of the house, to the shady hideaway between forest and home.
Musing on these recollections last year, I drafted the following zappai:
Coffee and donuts in the church basement — the scent of sanctuary
Coffee and catalpa, hearts and petals opening and opening…
I am grateful to Vidya for sending me back to that doc, to relive these piquant, honeyed vignettes once again.
Here are two more stories from DEP authors that I recently enjoyed:
from Lola Rosario,
Would you rather visit the Andes mountains in Peru, or try a banana omelet? I am currently imagining the smell of both.