I've been missing Virginia lately, but what I seem to remember most (besides, of course, the wonderful people) is the scent of my old home.
Scent is so different in the two states where I’ve lived.
Here, I am blessed to smell sea air as soon as I walk outdoors. I was brought up in its rhythms. I know the scent of a cold sea breeze versus a warmer one, and how it changes on the boardwalk and on the wide streets. I’ve felt the spaces in my mind expand upon inhaling. I recognize the peppery, sun-drenched scent of the sand and its creatures. I breathe in the gentle wind off the lake after it has wafted through trees. I anticipate the scents of cake baking downstairs, of onions frying, of garlic and cooked chicken, of tea with honey. I delight in the pleasure of well aired rooms, fresh bed linens, candles burning. I welcome the scent of incense at Mass and the perfumes of church ladies. All of these scents sum up home in my mind.
If my hometown’s scents are bright and invigorating, Virginia’s scents were heady and languid. Sure, there was the crisp fragrance of fresh-mowed lawns, coffee brewing in the shops, or spring breezes on the river. But overall the fragrance of Virginia seemed somehow older, permanent, full of wisdom. There was sunshine on brick paths as old as the Colonies, mossy trees, and dew-soaked grass. Indoor scents like waxed furniture, lemon polish, sachets, even gunpowder. The sweat of swing and contra dancers, and the hand lotion of good friends. Above all, the flowers- the fragile, yet timeless scent of magnolia. The sweet allure of wisteria. The pervasive benediction of Carolina jasmine.
Even the way scent travels is different in my two home states.
Here, fog always smells like the ocean. You can be miles past it, but if you close your eyes it seems like low tide is right next to you. The world is alive, beckoning, and full of possibility as you imagine places an ocean away.
In Virginia, mist smells lush and humid, as if it has carried every leaf, every bush, every ancient building and garden it has touched. Yet, for all its fullness it is not heavy, and the sweetness in the air is inescapable. The world seems older and settled in its ways, and there is comfort in the fact that all is both pleasant and unchanging.
I miss my Southern smells, especially the flowers- magnolia, wisteria, Carolina jasmine. I miss the presence of enormous trees and all of the secrets that they hold. I am grateful for scent memory, because even eight months later I can remember the joys of a world I’ve (for now) left behind.
