Smells

By Linda Jo Hunter

Written en plein air at Pebble Beach, Stevenson, Washington

Thunder awakens me at dawn. The wind brings wet air against the screen window. The smell is almost metallic.

By the time I arrive at the plein air site, the sun is out broiling the moisture out of the ground and creating odors. The reek of dead salmon sneaks up the beach from the rocks below. The stink of the overflowing garbage makes you try to shut off your nose. A squashed cigar’s aroma makes you look down. The bushes smell like little boys have been using them for sprinkle practice. A train boils through the still air and leaves the scent of dust, metal and grease. I walk the woods path where the brief rain didn’t reach the ground. The signs of heavy summer use are all around. Scuff marks, overturned rocks, a green bottle shining out of the oregon grape plants and bits of colored paper blown among the leaves. I think about the wonderful natural smells I find where people are scare and I think to myself that even a skunk smell is pure compared to this. Animals relate to the world with smell and even leave emails for each other with their personal scent on bushes and trees. Here there is a strong palate of human smells. They are familiar, of course, reminding me of the all summer days where we take our messy lives outdoors, which I suppose is a message in itself.

As I reach the end of the trail, one of the painters is concentrating on the quickly changing light. Her dog rests near her. He looks up at me with cinnamon eyes and I silently ask him what he thinks of all these horrid smells. “Boring” he answers with his eyes, then puts his head back down on his paws.