The sweet smell...

[reverie]

They say the sense of smell is the most powerful trigger for memories.

 

So, what's home or what you associate closest with it smell like to you.

 

To me, it's a kind of dry metallic mix of unfinished concrete rooms with newly-hung sheet-rock, putty, and exposed wires.

 

Heh, my dad and grandfather were both electricians. That and spackle was in heavy use in my house due to all the holes that mysteriously kept showing up in our walls.

 

 

k, have fun,

 

rev...

[Gwaihir]

Smell of books always makes me pretty happy. Lots of books in our house and libraries are a second home ...

[Regel]

As a child the smell of home was on the front porch before I ever entered the house. Some of my mother's Italian meals would put a smile on my face and my stomach on alert. In terms of what made me smile the widest, hands down it would have to be short pork ribs cooking in a tomato sauce. The simmering smells of a penne rigata, meatballs and short ribs would welcome me home.

[Ayshela]

two very different smells associate with different "homes" for me. Sage always reminds me of the home I lived in as a young child. Vanilla reminds me of the home I created for myself and my children.

[Mynx]

Hay and horses reminds me of my parents (and my recently former) home, especially in the summer. But then again in the summer the sea reminds me of our beach house which is where we spend most of the holidays.

[cryptomancer]

The smell of coffee, just because it is so utterly beautiful, with lots of memories due to the amount that I drink.

 

My favourite is the smell of rain, just before it starts, memories of africa come back very strong then.

 

[Gryphon]

The smell of freshly cut grass in the sunshine reminds me of what I somehow class as better, simpler happier times although I've no real evidence that those times were any of the three.

 

That and the smell (and sound) of the ocean and woodsmoke from an open fire take me back to camping trips of my childhood. Some happy memories there too.

[Quincunx]

Rotting reeds and the other sour smells of brackish tidal flats--the first scent of the outdoors that I ever knew--that's my homecoming scent, while the others catching the scent start to hold their noses.

[Rune]

haha cigarette smoke My mom smoked like a train for years. I knew when I was getting close to home because of that smell.

 

Interestingly enough she stopped smoking last year. Their house is starting to smell more like vanilla and lavender and anything else my Dad manages to set on fire in an attempt to "smell things up a bit" - ah.. home sweet home!

[Cerulean]

Oud based perfumes hanging in hot, wet air.

[Savage Dragon]

The sound of a roaring fire and the absolutely wonderful smell that comes with takes me home. My home is not home without a fire in the fireplace. wood, of course, gas fireplaces are for the weak.

[Appy]

The smell of carton boxes or cloth. My mom was always sowing something, or we were creative with carton or other paper at home. Always takes me back.

[Xaious, Master of Time]

The scents of smoke and cat most readily call to mind for me my current abode, my home of fourteen years.

Much more enjoyably, however, is the wonderful smell of coffee, reminiscent of my grandmother's house, with a fresh brewed pot at two o'clock daily, and in the morning too.

Oaks. Oaks remind me also of my grandmother's, as they have an enormous oak, about fifty years old, which I have spent much time climbing.

[troubled sleep]

I've moved so often and left so many places that the term "home" is kind of a vague one for me. Even most of my grandparents and other random family members whose houses I used to spend extended periods of time in have sold them to buy boats to sail around the world in or tiny condos on the beach to watch the sunset in. Home for me is really more of a feeling...generally when I'm with my friends, many of whom have become dearer to me than my actualy family in recent years.

 

However, my grandmother's kitchen smells of onions. Not in the "eww! yuck! onions!!" way, or the "ugh, my eyes are tearing up" way but in the "oh, how nice, grandma's making something with onions again." That something with onions usually turned out to be her famous vegetable soup. Though made with a dubious amount of onions, it was always delicious and my grandmother claimed that the its recipe was the result of generations of tweaking and testing as it had been handed down through the ages. It was later revealed that the recipe was really called "Bertha's famous vegetable soup" --or something to that effect-- and had been nicked from the January 1994 issue of Southern Living. Nevertheless, she made that soup so much when I was little that the essence of the onions seems to have somehow sunk into the woodwork, counter tops, and the peeling wallpaper with its faded rubbings of common herbs of her kitchen.