It Smells Like Fall

Like seemingly every toddler boy, Fischer has quite the affinity for vehicles, trucks in particular.

Fire trucks, dump trucks, semi-trucks, dually trucks, you name it.

Now that we’ve got the truck identification down, we’ve advanced to make, model, and detecting diesel engines.

We tell him they’re “stinky” and he’s so far been catching on pretty well. It was during one of our many neighborhood walkabouts that Scott remarked how he loves the smell of diesel because it reminds him of a family friend’s truck they would take duck hunting.

While I have no such connection between the two, I can certainly relate to those distinct smells that bring you to such a specific time and place.

For me? Spent shotgun shells.

In my early days as a makeshift grouse hunter in the woods of central Minnesota, my brother and I would lie next to each other in the twin beds at Pine Terrace Resort and smell the shotgun shells from the day that we set on the bedside nightstand.

In those days, for me to even shoot at a ruffed grouse was a feat and my shell a prized possession no matter the outcome.