This year, in July and August, we had what was, by our standards, a hot summer in Belgium. I live on the border between Belgium and the Netherlands, and Germany is just 25 km away. As a child, we used to go on family vacations to Germany, and I’m always transported back there whenever, during one of my walks, I catch the warm scent of hay basking in the sun. I can also smell the farm where we stayed—the livestock, the chickens, the pigs… I was only 8 years old the last time we went. Those were wonderful, carefree times—at least for me. Thank you for this beautiful essay; it seems your words bring back many memories. I look forward to your next essay.
What an evocative piece of writing! I grew up in a small steel town in India which had similar houses with lawns and gardens. You brought alive the atmosphere - the quiet, the sun, the rain and the flowers along eith the people who surrounded the eight year old. Thank you writing about how one finds familiar spaces from childhood while living so far from it as an adult.
I, too, had a similarly unsettled childhood. You write about yours beautifully. I am not as talented, and my childhood was not as exotic. But we both are lucky we get to tell our stories.
For years now, I have been reading differently—more slowly, it is true, but with a better understanding. I love pages that introduce me to places, landscapes, trees, birds, and works of art that I didn't know before. Some words evoke images, sounds, or scents.
I always enjoy reading your work, but I especially enjoyed today’s post: I found myself looking up maps and images of Lahore, Peshawar, and even Gulberg (I already had a better idea of where Phoenix is). I had no idea about the Subtropical Ridge (I live near the 42º N parallel and was unaware of how it affects the Mediterranean—which, right now in Barcelona, is at a temperature of around 26°C, far too high). I am very familiar with bougainvillea and oleander, but I discovered the beauty of frangipani flowers and read about their fragrance. I also looked up birds like the myna and the mockingbird, which aren't found in Spain.
So, thank you very much.
Sincerely,
Fernando
P.S. I know Chanel No. 5 because of Marilyn Monroe—you know.
The sound of doves in the early morning, the scent of earth and green and pine. The soft clucks of hens in the distance. All of these bring back many memories. One of my most cherished ones laying on a picnic blanket in a small clearing of wild mustard, surrounded by tall pines, being lulled to sleep by the sounds of the pacific and my parents quiet murmuring. These memories always evoke a feeling that I can only describe as hiraeth.
Summers in the Sierra Nevada foothills. The red dust puffs from walking down the dirt road to Forbestown. A 5 mile round trip of cousins going to the general store-post office-gas station to get a popsicle and a soda from the big tank of icy water where bottles were hanging from their necks. The smell of hot pine resin when your nose gets dry. Ahhhhhhhh. I got out of my car in Rhode Island and stopped dead during our heat wave. I inhaled and suddenly had tears in my eyes. I was transported. I have no idea how long I stood there taking big sniffs of wonderful childhood memories.
For me, the Thing is a combination of the smell of suburban forest on a hot, humid summer day, with the sound of an airplane flying high above and cicadas singing. It's from my childhood in Connecticut, but I recently caught a glimpse of it in Fairport NY.
I enjoy your writing, it's very soothing, interesting, and comforting. I can visualize every part. I imagine your childhood must have been fascinating; and subconsciously secure to have been loved and accepted in such a way by such interesting grandparents. I love reading this.
I could write more about the things that take me back, but I somehow never know when to stop, and you have better things to occupy your time than reading the melancholy blatherings of an old(er) woman.
Suffice it to say, by the time we reach a certain age, these memories are the things that bring us everything that made us. The good, the bad. Spreading them all out on the mind's table enables one to relish it all as good; because in the long run, all of those experiences made us who we are now; and thus, even the bad ugly ones morph into an odd sort of good.
We can see the blessings and the benefits of the trials in our lives, gruesome as they were to endure, they give us perspective, and compassion, and a drive to seek the good in everything. For ourselves. For others. Thank you for the generous reminder.
The desert southwest. How I miss it. I lived in Tucson for 5 years. The smell of the desert in the rain was so wonderful. It has a name but I cannot remember what it is now. When I first moved there nothing was familiar to me but one thing. The scent of rosemary. It reminded me of Spain where I had lived for a few months back on the 1970's. That same smell.
I love the way you write. You write the way you draw.
Blooming sweet peas! They take me back to being 11 years old in Scottsdale where a trellis on the open side of the carport was completely covered in flowers. My mom tried valiantly to shade the car with sweet pea vines. I don't remember much shade, but the fragrance will always make me feel like a pre-teen in the Arizona spring.
I love this so much! (And also your writing!) I have more than one image/place like this that sets off the memories switch, but the first one that comes to mind is this: the smell of hot pine needles in the late summer sun. Throw in a rust-colored lake behind them and, well, I’m nine years old again, northern Minnesota, camping at the lake, with my family intact.
Mine is the scent of Mimosa blooms. Instantly, I’m in a memory of summers in Monroe, Louisiana, riding my bike through our neighborhood. That bike gave me a sense of freedom that I’ll never forget. Thanks for a great essay, Danny!
My husband spent his childhood in Lahore and Karachi (in the 1950s) and when he and I went to live in Mallorca in the 1990s I know that there were so many sights and smells and sounds there that catapulted him back to Lahore. Me, too, from visits there, but a visit during adulthood however full of excitement and impressions is not the same as childhood memories. Bougainvillea, yes. And our neighbour's Caqui tree (loquat). Sometimes the way the sunlight hits buildings, just as you describe. Markets full of mountainous piles of melons and figs (oh, figs) and just about every fruit or vegetable I'd ever heard of. People living lives that had far more in common with his childhood experience than anything that came after. Much has changed since. This wonderful essay brought a lot of things flooding back!
I enjoyed this so much 💓
A particularly lovely post. Thank you, Danny.
This year, in July and August, we had what was, by our standards, a hot summer in Belgium. I live on the border between Belgium and the Netherlands, and Germany is just 25 km away. As a child, we used to go on family vacations to Germany, and I’m always transported back there whenever, during one of my walks, I catch the warm scent of hay basking in the sun. I can also smell the farm where we stayed—the livestock, the chickens, the pigs… I was only 8 years old the last time we went. Those were wonderful, carefree times—at least for me. Thank you for this beautiful essay; it seems your words bring back many memories. I look forward to your next essay.
Translated with DeepL.com (free version)
What an evocative piece of writing! I grew up in a small steel town in India which had similar houses with lawns and gardens. You brought alive the atmosphere - the quiet, the sun, the rain and the flowers along eith the people who surrounded the eight year old. Thank you writing about how one finds familiar spaces from childhood while living so far from it as an adult.
I, too, had a similarly unsettled childhood. You write about yours beautifully. I am not as talented, and my childhood was not as exotic. But we both are lucky we get to tell our stories.
For years now, I have been reading differently—more slowly, it is true, but with a better understanding. I love pages that introduce me to places, landscapes, trees, birds, and works of art that I didn't know before. Some words evoke images, sounds, or scents.
I always enjoy reading your work, but I especially enjoyed today’s post: I found myself looking up maps and images of Lahore, Peshawar, and even Gulberg (I already had a better idea of where Phoenix is). I had no idea about the Subtropical Ridge (I live near the 42º N parallel and was unaware of how it affects the Mediterranean—which, right now in Barcelona, is at a temperature of around 26°C, far too high). I am very familiar with bougainvillea and oleander, but I discovered the beauty of frangipani flowers and read about their fragrance. I also looked up birds like the myna and the mockingbird, which aren't found in Spain.
So, thank you very much.
Sincerely,
Fernando
P.S. I know Chanel No. 5 because of Marilyn Monroe—you know.
The sound of doves in the early morning, the scent of earth and green and pine. The soft clucks of hens in the distance. All of these bring back many memories. One of my most cherished ones laying on a picnic blanket in a small clearing of wild mustard, surrounded by tall pines, being lulled to sleep by the sounds of the pacific and my parents quiet murmuring. These memories always evoke a feeling that I can only describe as hiraeth.
Summers in the Sierra Nevada foothills. The red dust puffs from walking down the dirt road to Forbestown. A 5 mile round trip of cousins going to the general store-post office-gas station to get a popsicle and a soda from the big tank of icy water where bottles were hanging from their necks. The smell of hot pine resin when your nose gets dry. Ahhhhhhhh. I got out of my car in Rhode Island and stopped dead during our heat wave. I inhaled and suddenly had tears in my eyes. I was transported. I have no idea how long I stood there taking big sniffs of wonderful childhood memories.
I enjoy your writing so much, Danny. Thank you.
For me, the Thing is a combination of the smell of suburban forest on a hot, humid summer day, with the sound of an airplane flying high above and cicadas singing. It's from my childhood in Connecticut, but I recently caught a glimpse of it in Fairport NY.
I enjoy your writing, it's very soothing, interesting, and comforting. I can visualize every part. I imagine your childhood must have been fascinating; and subconsciously secure to have been loved and accepted in such a way by such interesting grandparents. I love reading this.
I could write more about the things that take me back, but I somehow never know when to stop, and you have better things to occupy your time than reading the melancholy blatherings of an old(er) woman.
Suffice it to say, by the time we reach a certain age, these memories are the things that bring us everything that made us. The good, the bad. Spreading them all out on the mind's table enables one to relish it all as good; because in the long run, all of those experiences made us who we are now; and thus, even the bad ugly ones morph into an odd sort of good.
We can see the blessings and the benefits of the trials in our lives, gruesome as they were to endure, they give us perspective, and compassion, and a drive to seek the good in everything. For ourselves. For others. Thank you for the generous reminder.
The desert southwest. How I miss it. I lived in Tucson for 5 years. The smell of the desert in the rain was so wonderful. It has a name but I cannot remember what it is now. When I first moved there nothing was familiar to me but one thing. The scent of rosemary. It reminded me of Spain where I had lived for a few months back on the 1970's. That same smell.
I love the way you write. You write the way you draw.
Petrichor is the earthy, fresh smell that fills the air when rain falls on dry soil or rock!
Magnificent writing - poignant and insightful. Your reflections touch something deep in the human spirit. Thanks for sharing them with us. Blessings!
Blooming sweet peas! They take me back to being 11 years old in Scottsdale where a trellis on the open side of the carport was completely covered in flowers. My mom tried valiantly to shade the car with sweet pea vines. I don't remember much shade, but the fragrance will always make me feel like a pre-teen in the Arizona spring.
I love this so much! (And also your writing!) I have more than one image/place like this that sets off the memories switch, but the first one that comes to mind is this: the smell of hot pine needles in the late summer sun. Throw in a rust-colored lake behind them and, well, I’m nine years old again, northern Minnesota, camping at the lake, with my family intact.
Mine is the scent of Mimosa blooms. Instantly, I’m in a memory of summers in Monroe, Louisiana, riding my bike through our neighborhood. That bike gave me a sense of freedom that I’ll never forget. Thanks for a great essay, Danny!
My husband spent his childhood in Lahore and Karachi (in the 1950s) and when he and I went to live in Mallorca in the 1990s I know that there were so many sights and smells and sounds there that catapulted him back to Lahore. Me, too, from visits there, but a visit during adulthood however full of excitement and impressions is not the same as childhood memories. Bougainvillea, yes. And our neighbour's Caqui tree (loquat). Sometimes the way the sunlight hits buildings, just as you describe. Markets full of mountainous piles of melons and figs (oh, figs) and just about every fruit or vegetable I'd ever heard of. People living lives that had far more in common with his childhood experience than anything that came after. Much has changed since. This wonderful essay brought a lot of things flooding back!
Maybe your husband knew my grandparents, Drs. Selzer!
I'd love to think that he did. His family very probably would have. My husband died in March this year - he would have loved to read your essay!
I'm so sorry.