Prompt: Write about a memory anchored in a smell.
Memories are funny, especially when a simple smell like fresh cut grass or baking apples can evoke a time long forgotten in the back of your mind.
One smell that brings me back is damp earth. It seems so normal but it’s not just damp earth. It’s that mixed with the smell of camp fuel, brewing coffee and horses somewhere far off in the distance.
It’s mornings waking up at the New York Renaissance Faire. I spent summer weekends there from age 10-16. My sister and brother-in-law owned a popcorn company and I worked all different odd jobs at the faires. It ran from July to Labor Day weekend, but it was up in the New York mountains and nights got cold in August.
Waking up, bundled in sleeping bags and blankets, hoping you weren’t the first one awake so the fire would already be going.
Seeking out the smell of coffee, knowing that meant there would be water boiled for hot chocolate.
Hearing people singing off in the distance, children laughing as they ran up and down the field near our campsite.
Bacon would sizzle and pop outside the tents while my sister would knock on my tent pole.
“Time to wake up, sleepyhead.”
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