The springtime smell of holly blossoms reminds me of the one outside my bedroom window and the constant drone of honey bees harvesting the nectar from dawn to dusk.
The pink glow of the sky in the city at night after it snowed.
The clean white snow reflected the orangey-pink light of the street lights, and the clouds seemed to glow pink. I remember laying in my bed in middle school, listening to Casey Casem’s Top 40 and the latest sappy unrequited love song, dreaming of my crush, staring at the pink sky and thinking, it would be so romantic to be outside with him right now. Now, the first time I see the sky all pink like winter, my mind is transported to being 13, in love, and laying in my childhood bedroom.
My dad was a millwright. The smell of the grease he used in the factory takes me right home. It hits me every time I have to take the car to the mechanic.
On Sunday’s when I was a kid, my parents would take me to flea markets or museums or local festivals… you get the idea. I am the youngest of 5, by this point the older kids were on their own or at least not interested in hanging out with Mom and Dad, so this was my time with my parents. Driving the hills of southwestern Pennsylvania listening to polkas on the radio takes me right back to those days when all was right with the world. Whenever I go home to visit and happen to be there on a Sunday afternoon, I still tune in to the polka hour.
Sound of rain on a corrugated iron roof, petrichor … and the view of the front gateworks too!
Wow. That looks just like South Texas.
I never heard this word before, but it’s a great one:
The sound of cows mooing early in the morning; it was our neighbor’s cows, but anyway. Also the sound of a distant freight train, five miles away.
Retreat at the base.
It’s played at the end of the day. 5pm
I hadn’t heard it since dad retired and we moved off base.
Recently bought a retirement home for mom and it’s close to a base. 5pm retreat and National Anthem can be heard in that neighborhood.
Brought back a lot of strong memories. Cars pull over and stop on the base. People outside in uniform, come to attention.
I remember this. It was also the signal to head home for dinner.
The sound of laughter. We had some hard times and my mother had some serious issues but we always seemed to find a way, or something to laugh at or about. The smiles and sound stuck with me more than the odd fight or anger.
As far as things go ----- things displayed around the house. Pictures on the walls, things in shelves or mantels, that kind of thing. What most folks (including me) would call clutter gives me a warm and comforting feeling.
Hearing a car or a train in the distance in the middle of the night.
I grew up in a house that was literally on the edge of town, a five-minute walk would take you to the countryside, another five and you’d be in the woods.
Days were quiet with only a couple cars passing by per hour. Nights were even quieter but occasionally, you’d hear one in the distance. I remember being able to trace its position from the sound alone.
Now, I live in an apartment in a much bigger town with significantly more traffic yet, my neighbourhood is almost deserted after 8 pm, so I get that feeling again when I can’t sleep.
Also, the cock’s crow in the early morning and the smell of manure in the Summer.
I was just thinking of this. The smell of manure on lawns. It’s that time of year. Manure smells like Easter in Albuquerque. No shit.
We had sort of a family compound just outside of town. Several houses separated by large expanses of grassy lawns surrounded by farm fields. So the smell freshly mowed grass reminds me of home, and the sight of yellow and orange day lillies, monkey grass borders and these large bushes that we called Bridal Veil Bushes that sprouted these long tendrils of cascading little white flowers. I don’t know what their real name is, but I can also report that these same tendrils make wicked, whip-like switches that my Grandmother’s maid used on us kids without mercy (I’ll tell that story if there’s ever a thread about the worst physical punishment you ever got)…and let’s see, also the sound of freight trains at all hours of the day and night, that I eventually learned not hear at all, until I moved away and missed that I didn’t hear them.
Fog at night: For whatever reason it always reminds me of December nights in San Diego maybe around Christmas time or Christmas itself. Watching a fog being moved slowly past streetlights plucks the heartstrings in a bittersweet nostalgic way.
Unrelated are the sounds of reveille or taps heard at a distance. We lived just uphill from MCRD San Diego and when folding papers for my brother’s morning paper route we would hear reveille being sounded, or occasionally taps at sundown. I had a mostly good childhood and was lucky.
For me, it’s fleas. One time when I was seven, we took a trip to California and came home two weeks later to find they’d been very busy procreating inside our home. We got back late at night only to be attacked by hoards of fleas as soon as we walked in the door.
My parents were very tired so they rubbed calamine lotion on all of us to keep the itching down and we all went to bed. Now, if I see or think of calamine lotion, I remember that night. Pepto Bismol will remind me, as well, because of its pink color.
Daffodils are a strong trigger, too. Back at the same place, we lived at the end of a long driveway. Part of one side of it was lined with daffodils in the the spring. There were hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand.
Another part of that driveway was lined with horse chestnut trees. I was fascinated with how the seed husks were divided in three parts and how they looked like tiny medieval maces. And then we’d open them up to reveal the shiny, dark brown seed with the big white spot. I remember my mom telling us they were poisonous so we never tried to eat them but I bet we pelted each other with them from time to time.
Roses = Mom. Mr Lincoln, Peace, Sterling Silver, Chrysler Imperial, Perfume Delight, Tropicana. Fragrant and beautiful, grown with love. I wish I had Mom’s talent for growing roses.
When I think of road trips, I think of Dad and his amazing ease at taking any route other than the previously travelled. Trips were meant to be an adventure all the way.
Mom died in 2015 (97 years) and Dad died in 1975 (59 years). I miss them and cherish these memories.
In late Spring early Summer the gravel roads get dry. The scent of the limestone dust pulls me back to when I was 3 or 4. Back when my parents were still married and my father was still alive. I roamed the countryside with my elder siblings. We rode our ponies, fished, drank from pure springs that filled the creek and ate too many green apples.
Then a lot of bad stuff happened but still the smell of the dust makes me think back.
I remember reading once that’s why vanilla is so popular in women’s fragrances. It reminds them of mother.
Eww, some ignorance is best left un-fought.
I’ve so enjoyed this thread. It’sallowed me to experience moments of other people’s childhoods with an odd sense of nostalgia.
Street lights coming on. In my childhood neighborhood in Bellwood, it meant time for all of us kids to go home.
Exhaust fumes. I know it’s a weird one, but I instantly flash back to waiting in line at the idling Mister Softee truck. Yes, carbon monoxide equals soft-serve ice cream to me.
Maple seeds spinning through the air. We called them “whirlybirds” and tried to catch them before the hit the ground.
My piano. My grandparents bought it in about 1927, and though my Dad’s piano lessons never stuck, he “inherited” it when they moved out of their house and into an apartment in about 1965. It was the piano I practiced on when I took piano lessons as a child. Heck, my Mom and I would play duets on it.
Today, that fine old piano is in my living room. It is badly out of tune, but it still plays, and it’s fun to sit down at it and play a real piano. I have an electronic keyboard that will always be in tune, but it just doesn’t feel the same as my old upright piano. That old piano is home.
It reminds me of pound cake. I loves me some pound cake…