“Nothing is more memorable than a smell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up a childhood summer beside a lake in the mountains…”
~ Diane Ackerman
This week’s Lets Blog Off topic asks about scent memory. It’s a coincidence because a couple of us in the office were just talking about scent memory last week.
I mentioned the smell of cherry pipe tobacco. That smell always reminds me of my Uncle Jon and brings back memories of tailgate breakfasts at Lovers Point Beach in my hometown of Pacific Grove, CA.
Then I saw the tweet this morning mentioning the smell of campfires:
Nothing beats that campfire smell! A @letsblogoff post. ow.ly/93iin #letsblogoff #campfire #camping—
Raun Lauterbach (@Backyard_Life) February 14, 2012
Although I am very allergic to the smoke, the smell of campfires does bring back several fond memories of childhood camping in Big Sur, California. When I smell a campfire it’s as if I can also smell (and hear) the coffee brewing and the bacon frying. What a great memory. That perfume of scent is mixed in with a hint of pine and the lingering fragrance of the sea air, not so far away.
If I didn’t think of the tents, random insects on the ground, and how hard it is to sleep on an air mattress, I’d pack up my things and head out this weekend.
Scent memory isn’t quite that strong.
This week’s topic — What Smell Takes You Back?
Wow! I’m honored that you included my tweet in your post! I love crawling out of my tent and getting the fire started early in the morning. The coffee and bacon cooked while camping smells and tastes better than any I’ve had anywhere else. You can’t do much about the creepy-crawlies, but the rest of the “issues” with camping can be resolved.
Sure thing. It was an inspiration.
That combination of campfire smell, the aroma of pine and sea air must be quite something.
Oh for sure.
I actually enjoy camping out, but my wife is one who won’t do it under any circumstances, so I’ve had to learn to live without it. I still remember the time we camped out when I was no more than three or four years old. My parents drove my brother and I to a place outside of town and we spent the night. The next day we had a campfire, and I still remember the smell of it.
Camping is like a rite of passage.