No, don’t cue the guitar people. Where none are wearing a GI Joe buzz cut among the motley crue bunch.
Or drop the needle on the Skynyrd song about smells of new cars, whiskey bottles and other not so pleasant things. Maine is a natural drug. More like a vitamin or missing trace element your body needs. The good kind of moxie tonic that gets in your system. Keeps you alive and kicking.
But the Maine smells that help the tug.
The ones that don’t stop or let up. On your heartstrings once you take a hit of Maine. It’s all good. With moderation, done in a healthy way.
The only rehab is return visits to Maine for a fix with the entire family in tow.
To add snaps to the life album all four seasons. As new family members enter the picture. Growing straight and tall while Maine happens all around them.
Smell. They say it is the oldest of the five senses. Tied to the earliest parts of the brain development. The take a whiff of Jiff and then the other senses stroll in where only the nose knows. Dares to go and shows up first on the scene.
Because no food, no live long partner. And when your next meal is an unknown and not tied to a timed three gongs a day dinner bell. Then the sniffer is always on duty. Watch an animal on a walk. The beak breathing holes are in full gear. More on the sense of smell mystery solved.
A future daughter in law calls it “reading the paper”. Her little black cocker spaniel walks the same zig zag course.
Stopping here to sample the only he can “see” it smell. Or to leave a little calling card of his own for other K-9’s on the beat. That you and I would be nose blind to in the final analysis.
Or for GPS trail of bread crumb odor to follow his own nose.
Like intricate Google thumb pin markers. Or water skiers who pat their head with one arm. Hanging onto to to the triangular bar with the other. Signalling, had enough. Time to head home.
The sense of smell being the one to ride shot gun. Sit right up front while the other senses take a back seat as you ten and two the life course ahead. Is it a couple millimeters closer to the brain than any of the other senses?
Is that the reason it’s take a deep breathe and settle down or get excited. Especially when the home cook smells of something tasty beam you back in time. Without the Delorean of silver Marty for the transport.
The sense of smell is not talked about as much as the press all the other senses get. A picture says a thousand words happens when the peepers get to speak up. You don’t just call something green unless it is the color sponsor along with a number and a letter on the Bert and Ernie serial.
Visual relay of what was seen. It’s more fine tuned than that box of eight waxed sticks. Announcing pre stork arrival. That the color of the baby’s nursery walls because it was hard telling without knowing the gender pre-delivery, was a play it safe easter basket grass green.
Or frosted, muted lemon poppy see shade of sunshine amber. But definitely not cobalt sky blue or anything think pink shaded.
So the smells of Maine, the fall damp weather richness.
As the wet hunting dog after tramping the dead fallen leaf crackling forest bed of pine needle ground cover. Bounds up on the open porch and inside the latch lifted rough sawn board door.
Warming up, shivering by a crackling log cabin wood stove like it’s master. While (sniff sniff) In behind the front door of the antique cook stove. In the air around you. Is that baked beans with bacon strips floating on top of the jacob’s cattle variety I smell simmering?
Sure hope so and that brown bread, home made something to soak up the juices is part of the supper show.
Performing in perfect pitch harmony. With the fresh chopped colesaw or cabbage, banana and mayonaise salad. To chase with the fork or spoon around the tin camp plate.
Fresh coffee a constant up in the woods of Maine this time of year as we wait for winter.
Waffling in the air. To radiate out as it goes down the gullet. To warm the bones from within while the wood heater takes care of the other side.
The smell of snow in Maine. Do you have it. recognize that one? True Mainers do and know there are slew of snow types. Excitement builds if you enjoy the outdoor sports in Maine. Dread if you
thumb the pages of places to snow bird. Chuck the snow shovel.
If you don’t relish the layers of white blanket that help the hibernation as one by one the holidays at the end of the year unfold again.
Maine. Hashtag #Maine.
Give your senses, all of them a work out. Not just the out of this world food smells along the seacost of Maine. The rich outdoor odors that awake something long dead or just plain dormant inside.
It is way way more too than just Maine eye candy . That you feast on when lucky enough to find yourself crossing the big green bridge at the southern tip of Maine.
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