#83- The Smell of Freshly Cut Grass

Today is the start of May 2-4 here in the land above the 49th parallel and that means one thing: the start of summer.

This is the weekend when patios fill up, cottages open up and fireworks light up and for many this marks the beginning of a few months of glorious sun, or, if you live way up there, a few months of bad skiing season.

But for me there is something else that appears around this time that puts my head in a summer place and that's the smell of freshly cut grass.

When I walk down the street and get a blast of that newly chopped green in my nostrils I can't help but think of days spent playing soccer, swimming in pools or just reading a book on a lawn chair as dusk sets in.

For me the smell of freshly cut grass marks a beginning. It is like nature's version of a ribbon cutting for a new building. It is a rebirth of sorts where the old is taken out and the new brought in. It means the grass is growing and the winter has been left far behind.

Last summer I had my fair share of days where all I did was cut grass, but that smell still makes me think of care-free times and has me looking forward to more in the near future.

So I am grateful for the smell of freshly cut grass. I am grateful for the thoughts of good times it can provoke. I am grateful that the sound of a lawn mower can be the starting gun for summer, but hopeful that we won't race through it, but enjoy whatever comes and all the fun times, sunny days and summer nights that follow.

#67- Chai

Forget the DeLorean; my nose is the only time machine I need.

My shnozz can take me back to any time or any place. All I need is the smell of something that opens the gate on a memory and the sights, sounds and feel of the some of the best, worst and ordinary times of my life play on the screen in my head.

The smell can be anything, from a whiff of cardboard that makes me think of my summer at the box factory or the harmonious odors of gasoline, tobacco and popcorn that fling me back to my childhood at the Canadian National Exhibition.

Today it was the smell of Kenyan chai.

Chai is the Kiswahili word for tea and when I smelled it wafting through the event I was photographing, my trip to the wonderful East African country of Kenya played itself out like I was there again.

Chai was the morning wakeup call when I was in Kenya. It was there every morning, freshly made from scratch by the Kenyan staff at the camp. The warmth it gave, the energy it instilled, the simple joy it brought was amazing.

Even before those things, came the smell. It was mesmerizing, comforting, even inspiring in a way. Chai was my alarm clock in Kenya (along with the bird that loudly chirped outside my tent every morning) and it signaled a new day in the country I had fallen in love with at first sight. I came to associate the amazing memories I had with chai. The friendships made and strengthened, the lessons learned, the showers missed, the awesome people met. These all came during or after a nice cup of chai.

So I am grateful for chai. I am grateful for taste that leaves my taste buds in awe. I am grateful for its warmth and its comfort and its enchanting smell. I am grateful for the people who grow the ingredients and the people who make the tea. And most of all I am grateful for the way chai can take me back and help me relive some of the best times of my life with some of the greatest people I've ever met and look forward to the day when I can do it all over again.