People Smells & Memories

What does home smell like? It isnt something I can ever put my finger on exactly, and simply saying that home smells like hot weather and faded cigarette smoke doesnt really convey the feelings attached to these smells. Its like that friend whose house just smells that certain way, its just their "people smell", and when you walk in you know youre in the right place.

There are quite a few places on earth that when I park on the steep driveway of one, or pass the white fence on the way to another, I get that flutter of home inside. That indescribable gut instinct of wholeness and safety, and somehow it brings back that feeling of a carefree childhood. Sometimes certain sounds and smells can appear quite suddenly, and startle me into profound longing for a place called home. Ill get a heady whiff of cigarette smoke walking behind someone on the street, and I know its bad for my health, but I breathe in as deeply as I possibly can, and hang on to the scent for just a moment. And in that moment Im transported back in time.

When I was little, my family lived in Orange County, and we had relatives Up North in a place called Oakhurst. A few times a year Mom & Dad would wake everyone up before dawn, pile all four of us kids into our family van, and we'd spend the next 5 to 6 hours watching movies and driving up to the place that would eventually become home to us all. We all knew we were on the way to see Grandma, and Aunt Celia, and cousins, and everyone. The one landmark we always looked for was The White Fence. Once we saw The White Fence fly by the windows, we all started to yell and get really excited, because it meant we were almost there!

You already know that Oakhurst is a typical small country town. In the summertime its as commonplace to see rusty old pickups loaded with hay as it is to see colorful tour buses in the Raley's parking lot loaded with tourists. Its the kind of place where youll see sun-wrinkled old men wearing cowboy hats, because they are actually cowboys. If I myself had made one or two different choices at key points in my life, I too would have become a cowgirl competitively barrel-racing my Arabian/Thoroughbred cross named Freedom.

Home smells like memories I guess. And horseflies buzzing in hot summer air. And cigarette smoke from my Aunts kitchen. And sunburns. And Christmas turkey. And penny-poker nights in the living room with brownies. When we walked into our hostel room in Estonia, I was shocked by all these memories in my nose all at once. The cool, dark hallway had that lingering scent of someone trying to hide a habit. The room itself was overly, deliciously still and warm. The only sounds coming in from the window was a couple happy birds, a faraway hammer, and balmy wind through the trees.

Usually taking trips outside of Ireland invigorates us, and we come back to our apartment happy to be living here in Europe. But something about Estonia made us feel the opposite, as if we were flying back into the wrong airport. Like the right one is really thousands of miles away. Like we werent flying home.