Smells

The Air Force life has provided us the wonderful opportunity to see places we wouldn't have thought to visit.  It truly is one of the "pluses" to being in the Air Force.  We have wonderful memories from each place we've lived; people we've met, places we've gone.  But it seems to me that I often search the index of my brain looking for those memories because someone has said something that reminds me of them.  However, this week I've chuckled at how certain smells of my home state instantly transport me back in time to relive memories; no index search needed.  What can I say?  I love Fall.

I have always said that I don't miss Michigan all that much, but I do miss the smell of seasons changing.  I know it sounds weird.  I can't explain it.  But I promise you no matter where you live it happens, though I have yet to find another state where it happens with every season.  Wouldn't you know my favorite smells come with the onset of Fall, and here we are in Michigan to experience them!

First, there's the crisp, cool air.  Yes, that's how the air feels, but I think the drop in temps and humidity allow my nose to pick up distinct scents.  It's like baking desserts.  If you eat them warm there's a fullness of combined flavors in your mouth.  If you let them cool completely, or wait until the next day to eat them at room temperature, you still have a combination of flavors but you can more easily pick out certain ingredients used.  That's what Fall smells are like to me.

There's almost a savory smell to the leaves as they turn colors; a saltiness that, when burned, releases pungent aromas worthy of a Texas smokehouse.  This smell transports me instantly to my childhood home.  We had an enormous cotton wood tree in the yard and my brother and I would jump into the piles of leaves raked by my parents.

We went apple picking in an orchard this week and I was bombarded with memories of Uncle John's Cider Mill.

My family and our neighbor family would always drive to this cider mill and pick pumpkins to carve for Halloween.  One whiff of apple cider donuts, or a sip of cider itself, and I'm eight years old again, competing with the boys to find the biggest pumpkin of the group.  It didn't work so well when we had a "you pick, you carry" policy!  Fortunately, my mom's persuasive powers led me to the "cute" pumpkins which were inevitably shorter and rounder than the boys'.  We always finished our trips with a gallon of cider to share and a variety of donuts to dunk; pumpkin, cider,  and cinnamon and sugar.

And who could leave a cider mill without picking apples?  I don't remember apple picking as a kid.  I was probably too short to reach them and therefore not into it.  But now that I love to bake, apple picking is one of my favorite things to do.  I love the tractor ride out to the orchard, the smell of it's engine working hard to deliver it's riders to their destination.

This smell transports me back to Belleville, Illinois, where a certain newlywed couple visited their local orchard and could be seen snuggling on the tractor ride to thwart the brisk bite in the air.  After picking, we hurried home to assemble everything needed to make caramel apples.  The melting morsels filled the house with a sweetness that lingered until we'd trade in for the salty smell of baked pumpkin seeds.

I'm amazed how my sense of smell seems more powerful in recalling (actually, reliving) my memories.  And of course, there's always the enjoyment of new memories like this.

Sneaky sister-in-law.  Did you pay for that apple?  Caught!  Red, er, green-handed!