January’s rare ice storm got me thinking about scents and aromas. Not because of the smell of ice, although storms do often have distinct smells. Snow, like rain, can have a distinct scent, but that’s not what triggered my wondering. Instead, it was the rare occurrence of a snow day itself, or, in our case, an ice day. Growing up in Pennsylvania, snow days were a winter reality. The school year always built “snow days” into the calendar for making up days missed due to bad winter weather. We never knew exactly when the last day of school would be until the spring and the threat of snow was over. Maybe we need hurricane days around here, given our experience these past two years.
So, snow days bring back memories. As a child it was exciting to listen to the radio to hear your school was closing; there were no robotic calls from schools back then. We had certain snow day traditions. My mother made hot chocolate for us to enjoy when we came in from shoveling snow; there were no snow blowers at home– not until my brother and I were both out of the house. Oddly, one appeared in my parents’ garage that first winter after I moved out. The other tradition was that my mother made a stew in the crock pot and baked fresh bread to go with it. We rarely had fresh baked bread apart from snow days. (My mother was a working mom – who had time to bake bread?) So snow days, for me, included the aroma of hot cocoa, stewing beef, and fresh bread. My January ice day didn’t have those smells, mainly because it came with a power outage. But I remembered, nonetheless, as though I could still smell it in my mind.
Science tells us that I probably could smell those things in my mind. Our sense of smell, while often overlooked, can create some of the strongest connections to memories of anything we experience. Almost all of us can point to scents that trigger strong emotional responses, most of them positive. One reason some people still prefer fresh-cut Christmas trees is because of the aroma, which brings back the positive emotional connection with Christmases past. I also have a thing for pot roast because of Sunday dinners at my grandparent’s house. Once a month my grandmother would put a roast on before she left for church and by the time we all got to her house the smell would overwhelm us when we walked in the door. For my wife, the scent of Clorox reminds her of her grandmother, whose hands smelled like it from frequent cleaning. The smell of motor oil reminds her of her father, who has a diesel garage in Maryland. I even add manure to the list of positive smells, because growing up in farm country, it was always paired with spring, and warming temperatures. I wonder why Yankee Candle doesn’t make a manure scented candle?
Most of us realize these connections with aromas when we encounter them. I think that smell is one of the reasons we like to cook foods that our mothers and grandmothers cooked. It’s not just the taste, but the way the smells permeate our homes and fill us in ways that nothing else can. And, of course, there are negative connotations that come with scents too. The smell of certain foods that assailed us during a stomach flu or a pregnancy can take a lifetime to dissipate. One woman I know had her wedding flowers in her home, ready for the next day’s ceremony, which never came. Her fiancé broke the engagement at the rehearsal. The scent of those flowers, which overwhelmed her home, still makes her sad decades later.
In my role as a priest I’ve also learned how powerful scent can be. Easter lilies transport people, for example. We use incense at our Wednesday night service. Incense is a way to engage our sense of smell in worship the way we engage our other senses. Once our brains imprint the scent of incense with transformative worship, we find that it helps us connect with God again and again. I fear that we take scent and smells for granted far too often. Perhaps we might identify smells that transport us and find ways to use them here and there to pick us up or remember a loved one. Maybe it’s a candle that we only burn a few times a year. Maybe it’s the old recipe to pick us up after a rough patch. Whatever they are, don’t take them for granted. When you find one, savor it, and give thanks.
