Smells like home

I walked out of work tonight, and about halfway across the parking lot, a scent hit my nose that made me feel like I was home again. Someone across the street had a fire going. A wood fire, probably oak or maple by the smell of it, that was just roaring away. I couldn't find the chimney to see who was so lucky, but I know it had to be nearby because it was so strong.

It reminded me of growing up. Walking around my neighborhood seeing the smoke rise from chimneys sticking up from snow covered rooftops. Wisps of smoke carrying what at the time was a familiar, almost forgettable smell that as I've traveled down the roads of time has evolved into an aroma laced with memories and warm feelings. The rare occasions we had a fire in our house were few and far between, yet my father always kept the woodpile beside the house stocked as though we would burn it every week.

Now my parents have gas logs that they never use - like me, they can smell natural gas and propane a mile away - and the woodpile fed the neighbors' black kettle stove years ago. My dad will never cut another tree, and the smell of burning wood will pass us all by. But to encounter that scent here, in the middle of town, took me back to a simpler place, a warmer place, a kinder place, even if just for the brief drive to the house.

Maybe I'll call my parents tonight and see how cold it is at home.

Oops - forgot to click publish on this one last night!