The Smells of My Commute

Yes.  Weird, isn't it?  To be talking about smells?  Yet, every day we are assaulted by a myriad of scents, some pleasant, others... not so much.

As I set out for work this morning, I caught a whiff of a quintessential winter aroma in the Mountain West.  It is the smell of coal stoves burning.  You might think that one is a stink, but it is not!  Oh!  The memories this scent evokes!

When I was a child living in the Pacific Northwest, coal stoves were rare.  Or, if someone burned one, the moisture in the air dampened down the scent.  But, I have a childhood memory of Christmas in the Rockies, at Grandma and Grandpa's cabin.  There, in the mountains above Black Hawk, Colorado, the snow was DEEP, the air was bone dry, and the coal stove was a welcome gathering place to warm your hands and dry your socks after a long day of snowmobiling, sledding, and playing.  I remember the icicles were as thick as my leg and connected the roof to the ground in a glittering sheet of lacy ice.  I remember Dad and Uncle John working for hours to turn a regular old snow ramp on the sledding hill into a solid block of icy adrenaline pumping, death defying adventure!  Uncle John pulled out the blow torch to shape it just right, while Dad alternated layers of snow and water.  I remember Mom insisting the boys wear a helmet when attempting to go off it.

On another year, and at a different cabin in the Colorado Rockies, I have memories of Uncle John (and Uncle Les, I think) building snow maidens who were... ahem!... rather well endowed.  Sleeping in the attic all together with my siblings and cousins in a pile of cots and sleeping bags.  Trina getting her finger smashed when the trap door to the attic fell on it.  She had a brace on her finger Christmas morning that she used to rip her presents open faster!  On that same vacation, my little brother, Peder, crashed on a toboggan, causing a panicked trip to the emergency room, a bit of reconstructive surgery, and lots of stitches to his tongue!  Oh, and years of orthodontic work in the years to come.  Yeah, fun times.

And the smell I associate all of those memories with is that of a coal burning stove.  Just one whiff and all those memories and many more rush to the surface.  That is the power of smell.

Of course, along my normal route to school I have to pass right by a mink farm.  That one is definitely a stink and there are no pleasant memories to associate with it.  I am glad that the speed limit on that road is fast, so I can pass it by quickly!

Then, when I walk into the school, there is the ubiquitous smell of... I can't really describe it!  A combo of school lunch, paper, copiers, and ... and ... just SCHOOL!  Finally, my classroom.  It smells like art!  Crayons, oil pastels, paint and erasers!  That is a great smell!