Wednesday Writings

The smell of a place you love

It's musty. Sort of like you'd expect. Like water and sand have lived there for 45 years. Probably because they have. It's also got a not-so-subtle hint of moth balls. That's Grandpa's fault. But it smells sweet too. Like all the best parts of spring and summer. The lilies that Grandma planted out by the garage. Fresh cut grass. Rotting leaves in the ditch and the seaweed that's washed up on shore. The countless fires in the fire pit. 45 years of these smells all mingling in a little house. Plus all the inside scents. Burgers and hot dogs from the grill. Grandpa's fried mush. Musty old library books my sister and I read for countless hours on the porch. Sunscreen slathered all over in haste. If you could bottle the smells inside this little shack, you'd have the ideal summer scent. It wouldn't be pretty or sexy but it would definitely be memories.