My grandparents lived on a farm. I spent a lot of time there as a child. For many years, they worked their own farm, but by the time I can remember anything, they rented most of the farm out to younger people, and just kept a garden, and livestock. There were pigs directly across road from the house, and chickens behind the house. There were also cows across the road, in a large field. Grand-dad used to take me with him to “feed up”.
It’s said that the sense of smell is the strongest memory trigger we have, and I totally agree with that. When we lived in Colorado, we did a lot of driving. Well, DH did a lot of driving, and I did a lot of laying down and catnapping. I’d wake up out of a snooze and amaze him by saying “we just passed a pig lot”, or “we’re at the feed lot”. DH grew up in the city, and could not believe I could tell what kind of animals were around just by the smells. It all smelled like poop to him, see, and that’s all.
Where am I going with this? Yeah, it’s a ramble, but I have a destination. The smell of cows is an incredible reminder to me of my Grand-dad. Of all the animals he had when I was a child, he spent the most time with the cows. And so then did I.
Now, my oldest son, he loves to watch the rodeo on TV. He has no idea what he’s missing by only seeing it, and not smelling it. I’ve been to rodeos in person, and the smell, it is delicious. It’s enough to take my breath away, not because it’s unpleasant, but because it takes me back so very quickly to those precious memories I have of Grand-dad. Oh, how he’d enjoy tickets to the Professional Bull Riders. Oh, how I would enjoy being there with him.