E
very other Sunday from around ages eight to eighteen my sisters and I would awake at our dad’s house to breakfast of a dozen glazed donuts, usually polishing off the box in its entirety before the battle over who’d get the hot shower water even began. The three of us would try our best to tame our tangly heads of hair and dress in our respective church outfits, packed specifically for the occasion, in order to get out the door before noon. Our church of choice alternated depending on which side of the Causeway he called home at the time, but during the years on the Northshore, occasionally we’d make the trip out to Saint Joseph Abbey in Covington. Of all the churches we attended, the Abbey was the oldest, the biggest, and the most beautiful. Once we made it inside, dad would usher us all the way to the front of the rows of pews, right next to the altar. Younger me didn’t pay much attention during Mass, squirming to find a comfortable seat on the hard wooden bench, and more interested in observing the murals within the dome ceiling. Although I haven’t been back in years, I can still recall the pungent, musky aroma of incense as it permeated the air, tracing the smoke’s path from the altar server’s swinging thurible upward, all the way up to the group of meticulouslyrendered winged angels above. Historically, incense has been used in houses of worship as a symbol of prayer ascending to heaven. These days, I burn incense just about every morning. Since our Country Roads editorial team is working from our respective home screens, it helps my brain shift into writing mode, my own small offering to the legends of the literary past. There’s an aspect of ritual to it that I like as I sit down and attempt to put words to paper (or Google Doc, if we’re being literal), creating something from nothing--a divine process in its own right. Scents are powerful, visceral forces; they can conjure long-forgotten memories in the brain. This sort of time travel is what makes the ensuing nostalgia so immediate, intimate, and intense. The olfactory bulb— the structure that sends information from the nose to the brain—is directly
SCENTSCAPES
The Spell of Smell
A TRIBUTE TO THE EVOCATIVE AND EPHEMERAL BEAUTY OF SCENT Story by Lauren Heffker • Photos by Kathleen Fitzgerald
connected to the limbic system, where the brain processes memory and emotion. It’s why specific smells can trigger a detailed memory or feeling without warning. It’s why my mom can vividly recall the smell of her Nanny B’s // J A N 2 1
33
