A friend of mine recently said something to me that I can't get out of my head. She lives in Alaska, near Homer, and she made the comment that she's sick of winter because she can't smell anything. She went on to elaborate that you need heat to smell. She said it's so cold that she can't even smell the ocean. I was so perplexed. This was news to me, and of course I had to verify with Simon, who I run all my questions through. He thought it was funny that I've never noticed that outside has no smell in the winter. But what's also funny, is that I hate the smell of people and animals in the winter when they come in from outside. I don't know what it is, but there's just a smell and I don't like it. So here we go down the rabbit hole of one of my sensory explorations.
I walked Kiki out in the woods the other day, the forest floor blanketed in the most recent snowfall. I was in my boots because I was too lazy to go to the shed to look for my snow shoes. That and it had been a few days since it had snowed, and I was banking on the idea that enough people had been out there snow shoeing and cross country skiing to have cleared me a path. Not only was the path cleared, but so much snow had already melted that it was muddy. It was here that I did my experiment.
While Kiki was off traipsing through the snow looking for squirrels, I inhaled a large breath in through my nose. Nothing. I couldn't smell anything. I grabbed a handful of snow from the ground and smelled it. Still nothing. I just stood there in amazement, looking around me, in awe of the fact that I have never ever noticed this. Me, who is so sensitive to smell, is completely unaware of the absence of it. It was almost as though I had Covid again, although the only symptom was loss of smell.
I stood there a little longer, remembering very clearly how these woods smell when there is no snow on the ground and the sun is shining and temperatures are consistently above freezing. Damp earth, trees, decomposing stumps and pine needles, muddy puddles, grass, dirt; even the rocks seem to have a dusty smell about them. In the summer the woods smell warm, with dry dirt, blooming wild flowers, and dry grasses all wrapped in the scent of vanilla and caramel coming off the sides of the ponderosa pines that are exposed to the sun.
I went for a walk again today, and this time I stayed to the streets that were plowed (the snow shoes and skis were still comfortably nestled in the shed, and once again I was too lazy to retrieve them), including a forest service road that travels deep into the forest to a neighborhood that I have only seen once while out on a long ride on my bike. The road was wet and muddy, and I felt like I was walking through a tunnel of snow. The sun was coming and going, the wind throwing up sheets of grey sparkles. I could smell nothing. I stomped in the mud, I kicked up the snow and nothing stirred my olfactory senses in the slightest. What an odd sensation. What an amazing thing to notice.
As of this writing, the area closest to us (the airport) has gotten 23 inches of snow with a predicted 12 inches more on the way. I've shoveled three times already today, and the minivan is still completely buried. Good thing I had the intuition (aka, midlife crisis) to purchase the 4x4 Xterra last winter so we can safely and comfortably get around. The snow falling off the trees last night was so loud and lasted so long that I wasn't able to fall asleep until after 1am. There's nothing quite like the sound of huge clods of snow falling on the roof of the house. I noticed today that the giant ponderosa across the street is leaning perilously over the road as it struggles to loose itself of the snow clinging to it. I verified (by sight and no official measurements) that if it were to fall on its current trajectory, that it probably would miss our house, but it's still ominous to look out and see it there, swaying in the wind. Once it gets dark I won't have to look at it anymore. Or I could just close the blinds.
Anyway, I'm tucked in for the night with a warm fire cooking away in the woodstove, and plans to have popcorn for supper, as is tradition. Maybe I'll have some apple slices too, just to change things up. Kiki is snuggled up in one of her many pet beds, having given up on the hope of a second dinner. Simon is off to work early so he can pick up two of his coworkers on the way, since both of them were unable to get their cars out of the parking lot this morning after work. What a great guy. :)
This is winter.
