This morning on the way home from town I passed a man mowing his lawn and momentarily caught the sweet aroma of the grass as I drove by. Immediately, my mind went back nearly fifty years to when I counseled at Miracle Mountain Ranch. The dirt driveway wound its way through the woods and fields till it broke out into the open spaces on top of the mountain. We didn't have air conditioning in our cars back then, and the smell of the new mown hay was like music to my nose. That whiff this morning had the ability to transcend time.
It happens all the time. Often in the evenings when we drive home from town, as we pass the machine shop on Route 60, we'll catch the smell of gas from the wells down in the swamp. It's a tossup who will be the first to inhale deeply and say, "Alma." Our first home was in the heart of the old oil fields surrounding Wellsville, NY, and that aroma was constantly in the air.
It's amazing how our sense of smell, apparently hardwired into the brain, can transport us to different times and places. I've often told people grieving that the smell of a flower, perfume, or even motor oil or manure, can trigger another round of tears by conjuring up memories of their loved one. Of course, it can also warn us of danger, as when we smell a gas leak in the house, or catch the smell of an electrical fire. I am grateful tonight for our sense of smell and the good memories it brings, tying past and present together in double blessing.
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