Love at First Smell… Now, I know many of you are reading this short intro title and expecting this eleven-year-old Adirondack boy to be finding his bright-eyed, first true love.
That is not entirely the case, as this is more a falling in love with the smell and feel of a season.
I was headed home from school on my bike—a two-and-a-half mile journey, mostly uphill to Limekiln Lake from Inlet—when the first real smell of fall filled my nostrils.
A wave of excitement pulsed through me.
Nearly all the leaves had turned to their familiar crimsons and golds.
The silent, pure-blue sky canopied these colors, trapping a fragrance that could have been bottled with the label “autumn warmth.”
The smell alone, that lingered the whole way home, seemed to boost my energy as I pedaled.
I gripped the handlebars, tracing with my front tire the tree-top outline that meandered on road’s surface in shadowy silhouette.
My bike wobbled to a crawl, half my body in darkness, the other in the brilliant fall-afternoon light.
I cared little about what it must have looked like to anyone watching. I was in love at first smell with fall, entranced and enjoying it all.
My old rucksack hung from one shoulder. My fifth grade homework and books shifted, making balance a real challenge at these slow speeds.
Reach-ing back, I tried to center the green canvas bag, though it still wanted to stray to one side.
As I hit the long uphill grades, I lifted from my seat, pressing the pedals with all my might. My lungs filled with even more of that perfect fall aroma.
A single leaf danced almost twenty yards ahead.
It curled and tumbled, enjoying the ride it caught on an unseen wind.
I reached up as I passed under, hoping to grab it from mid-air.
Missed it! I pursued another and another, as I continued on my ride.
At the top of Limekiln Hill I stopped and put my feet down.
Slumping forward with my arms draped over the handle bars, I peeked back.
I saw the Fulton Chain Valley covered in her new colors.
Each year my old love comes calling. Once again she is ushered into my soul by that first perfect scent.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller,
lives at Inlet. ltmitch3rdny@aol.com