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the smell of impending rain.

petrichor. I grew up in rural Washington county PA. Pinkerton Run bordered our property. We’d go out early to catch tadpoles or walk with mom as she collected jack in the pulpit and ferns for her rick garden.

tripichick

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Rosemary and thyme

Every morning, before sunrise, my wife and I take our four dogs for a walk in the Garraf National Park where we live in Catalunya Spain. We walk through forest and vineyards and the dogs have a good run around. Inevitably when we are back home, one of my dogs Bruce comes over for a cuddle. As a lean into his neck to give him a hug I smell the traces of rosemary and thyme that he brushed up against during the walk. That herby smell mixed into his fur is one of my favorite smells.

mel

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Gasoline car fumes from cheap 70’s cars. Eastern Europe

I travelled to Eastern Europe just after the Berlin wall fell. I was thrown back to my childhood in 70’s Paris. The Trabants, Yugos, Ladas, Polonez, Dacias smelled of 2CV Citroëns, Renault 16, 4 and 5s, Fiat Panda and 500s, Mini Coopers. It was very nostalgic – and pretty ironic since I have been in the bicycle industry trying to get rid of combustion cars in city centers my entire adulthood.

JM Skibsted

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Fresh cut grass just before football (European) match

Here’s a more vivid and dramatic version of your scene: Ten minutes to kickoff. You’re making your way through the tunnel, the sound of 50,000 voices chanting in perfect sync reverberating off the concrete walls, a primal roar that shakes the air. The field is still out of sight—just a sliver of daylight at the top of the staircase. With every step, the anticipation builds, the energy rising like a tidal wave behind you. As you reach the final step, the stadium explodes into view—an ocean of color, movement, and sound, utterly apocalyptic. But in that moment, as your eyes sweep across the field, it’s not the thunderous crowd that grips you. Your senses sharpen, your mind stills. All you can focus on is the smell. That unmistakable scent. Fresh-cut grass. Pure, green, alive. It pulls you in, grounding you amid the chaos, like an anchor to the earth itself.

Tommy

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Not so miserable as I may have believed

Patchouli. It belongs to a place far ago. I was a poor student (in both meanings of the word) at a university not of my choosing. I was determined to be miserable and therefore, was. However, at that university, I developed some of the first real friends I had ever had. One, a young lady, wore patchouli frequently. She was one of those friends, and every time I smell that fragrance, I am transported back to 1978 and the good parts of that experience.

Bill

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City Smell

The heady mix of ozone, oil, heavy air and fug that is the breeze of trains arriving and departing in the Montreal metro system. It’s not unpleasant, but by no means is it a beautiful smell but to me it was magical, it confirmed my place in the world, and that I was part of a greater whole. A lot of work for industrial funk, but each subway smells different, and that one means I am home.

Conrad R

11/2/24