I have distinct memories, as a child, of the smells of Spring, and Sqummer creeping its way in on the back of the wind. Car rides in my family were always too long and very uncomfortable. There were four of us kids, and never enough room or air to go around. We could never agree on any radio or music, and had to use our walkmen-- discmen later on-- and then you have the problems of running out of batteries, and trying to trade tapes or cds; this was a challenge depending on who you were fighting with that week. You could get something cool like Alanis Morisette to listen to, or maybe you got passed the Alice Cooper. The window seats were always the best because not only did you get a source of fresh air, but also a source of cool air since we never had working air conditioning in any of the used cars we had growing up. You also got a great view of something to look at out the window, and the buttons, switches, and sometimes ash trays to fiddle with on the road. Like a game boy for us back seat citizens. I always remember these trips in the car with specific smells, depending on where the destination was.
If we were to go to the beach, either to visit our cousins, or friends of my parents, you could always smell the salt in the air once you got closer to the Jersey Shore, usually on the Atlantic City expressway. There is a certain moment when the sensation of heat and the smell of salt waft together into a sauna like sensation and enter into your nose and mouth and excite you with the notion of jumping waves and sand castles, and riding bikes and eating ice cream from the ice cream man when he drove by. This also always evoked the smell of sunscreen and hot tar, the kind you can't walk on because you'll burn your feet. If we were taking a trip to our lake house, the most magical place of my childhood, that smelled like a house that was boarded up all winter that opened its windows and doors just for my arrival. It smelled like earth, fishing, and lilly pads, with a mix of moth balls and laundry detergent. It smelled like skinned knees and bikes races and catching frogs. It smelled like catching fireflies. It smelled like sweet adolescence.
My childhood had so many smells. I was walking the other day and got a breeze of wild flowers that stopped me in my tracks and reminded me of home. When the last crispness of Spring would vanish and the mornings waiting for the school bus at the end of the driveway were no longer miserable. There are other smells that will always remind me of my youth. Baby vomit is one of the many. That smell of curdled milk that you can never wash out of bibs and blankets but is such a sweet, tender smell that reminds you of something, someone, that was once so small. I also remember my mother's Jergens hand cream. That lotion had a smell that was a signature smell that they continue using to this day, and it's always a nice throwback.
I think that smells go with certain seasons, obviously, but I also long to replicate them again now, as an adult, when those seasons arrive. It is Spring in Spain and I wish I could smell the wet dog running through my dad's house, or the newborn kittens we had every year in our basement from feral farm cats.
I also will never cease to associate the smell of fresh cut grass with my house growing up. The 20 acre farm. That grass that my father constantly had to mow and constantly annoyed the shit out of him. I was grateful for the constant mowing because it meant this smell was all the more common, especially during summer. I feel like summer is nothing but a mix of that salty air if you go on vacation, fresh cut grass, catching fireflies and barbecue. The juicy, drippy, sweet, smoky smell of chicken on the grill. Nothing comprares. Not even close. No matter where I am in the world, fresh cut grass will always bring me home. But hey, I'd settle for any of the aforementioned odors. They all bring me back to something, somewhere, and someone from a different time I'd give anything to relive again.
