Southbound on 37, the sun rising on one side, the stars still piercing the windshield on the other and I pop the lid off. The steam rolls over my face and the smell fills me up like a warm soup. Coffee tastes better on Thursday. And for some reason the smell hit me square in the sniffer.
It didn’t stop there. The entire day was filled with it. Have you ever smelled a yearling foals breath – strangely fresh, and it almost speaks to you. Or, Durasect? Most of you won’t know that it’s a biting-fly and tick repellent for cattle and horses. The smell is, well, unique to say the least.
And horse hide. It’s like a babies skin. It smells the same every time. You can’t describe it, because it only smells like it smells. Nothing compares.
The afternoon found us in the bottom of the Medio Creek.
Rain is good. But they are always followed by a good dose of water gap fixing. As the business end of an ax meets the top of a steel post, plenty of heat is generated. Maybe it’s the heat. Or maybe it’s just the t-post letting the ground protest our unceasing drive to have everything our way. In any case, it smells. Not unlike the branding iron on flesh, it has a very unique aroma. Very, very faint and just as brief, but it was there. Just to let you know of it’s disapproval.
Once we got the gap back up, we headed back to the headquarters. Weaning colts and working mares filled our morning. Things are still pretty wet down there, so the water gap fixing closed up our afternoon and we shut down a little early.
I stopped by my grandparents house and found a wonderful surprise. More peppers – straight from the garden and zipped up into two Ziploc bags waiting for me to take them home. I couldn’t resist. I lifted the bag, unzipped it and lifted some more. Then I opened it and plunged my head into the bag like we did in the water at the creek when we got to hot. Wow. That smell is one of a kind. Regardless of the fact that I definitely breached the pepper’s personal space, as was made apparent by my watering eyes and choked up throat, there was no regret.
The bouquet, though not from a fine wine, or liqueur, was bold, earthy and unique in it’s own spactac-ulocity-ness. 😉
Everyone has a lineup of fragrances that could tell the story of their lives. The smells that, together, can describe why you are you. Find them. Why do I know exactly what a trimmed hoof smells like? And the inside of the Zachary Engineering Building’s server room?
Don’t wake up and smell the roses. Wake up and smell those things that you’ve been put here to smell. Inspiration will overtake you.