As Boomers look back over the years, smells and odors often trigger keen memories. They remind us of the events of our youth.
Several distinct odors stand out in this Boomer’s mind. The smell of new denim jeans, for one.
Today, it’s next to impossible to find a pair of jeans that hasn’t been stonewashed, ripped into shreds and put through the wringer before they even hit the shelves. They have no odor to speak of. But Boomers well remember the annual ritual of a visit to JC Penny’s and buying new jeans for back-to-school. Those jeans smelled like a concentrated denim factory and what a fragrance. After a few washings that enticing aroma went away, but anytime I smell denim today, it reminds me of back-to-school.
Another scent that triggers memories is that of my bird dog. Rebel, a German Shorthair, Pointer, smelled like saltine crackers when you buried your face in his fur. His short hair was as smooth as silk and he was an incredible bird dog. Well do I remember a December afternoon when Rebel and I went for a hunt behind what was then the Greenbrier College for Women. My trusty friend pointed a covey and he and I managed to bring home three birds that day – all shot with my single barrel .410. When I smell crackers, I think about old Rebel.
How about fried chicken? Anytime I go to a restaurant and smell hot oil working on a batch of chicken, it takes me back to Sunday afternoons, after church, when my Mom often fried chicken. With mashed potatoes, homemade rolls and gravy, what an enticing memory – and smell – that was?
Just this week, I was treated to another throwback in time when I walked beside a honeysuckle vine.
When I played Little League Baseball in Lewisburg, WV, there was a huge patch of honeysuckle behind the home team dugout and it was in full bloom around mid-May. The heavenly fragrance permeated the air. It was sweeter than the sweetest perfume and I remember the opening day of the season when a fastball thrown by Kent Wattring connected with the meat of my Louisville Slugger and the ensuing line drive banged off the center field wall. Two more feet and I would have knocked it out of the park. Each time I smell honeysuckle, it brings me back to a baseball diamond in the 1950s, when it was fun to be a kid growing up in a small town.