One of the smells that I will roll down my car window to inhale, and then drive by its source again, is newly mown grass. I like to sit outside on a lawn chair while my husband Gene is mowing, just so I can drink it in. There’s really nothing quite like this odor, and it recalls long, lazy summer days swinging in the hammock on our porch, enjoying the smell of grass, listening to the mower and my father swearing at it. In those days, lawnmowers could only be pushed and given the size of our lawn, he had a right to swear. For some reason, Dad never asked me to mow, but after Gene and I were married and bought our first house, I became a consummate mower of the lawn. My husband, the new MD, was on call every other night, thus making him unfit for physical activity on the day in between, except once in a blue moon. So I mowed and enjoyed it. Now Gene runs around our large lawn on a mower with a seat. Same smell but not so much exercise.
Summer’s coming. Bring on the grass.