A Good Word

Wednesday, September 7, 2022

I was headed home from the cabin the other evening when I almost missed it. The smell of fresh mown grass! I rolled all four windows down just in time to be able to inhale deeply. So much joy, for me, is derived from the sense of smell. Memories are triggered and moments are savored. A dear friend of mine, well into her nineties, lost both her sense of taste and smell. She bore her burden much like she lived the rest of her life, with poise and grace. Mine diminished briefly recently for whatever reason. I grieved. I don’t count a flower a flower unless it has an aroma. The new roses don’t have the sweet smell of the old-time climbers. Old fashioned lilacs’ scent brings back my Mom to me. Mind you, we have honeysuckle, wisteria and sweet Williams who are wild and sweet scented. One of the sweetest smells since I’ve moved here is the southern hillside past West Doniphan, as you approach the junction. In the late spring and early summer, it’s COVERED with honeysuckle and wisteria. I used to open my bus doors after all the kids had exited just to get the full effect of that heady aroma as I passed by. Then there are the grass smells. At dusk, on warm summer nights, the smell of fresh cut alfalfa hay is heavenly. I haven’t smelled that particular kind of hay for a long while. I remember it just hung in the evening air. I can smell it just now, in my memory. A summer day and a fresh mown lawn brings Grandma Weeks back to me and the day she let me, a child, use her Lawn Boy push mower for the first time. That must have made quite an impression on me as I still remember the colors, the day, and oh, the smell of that grass!

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