Smell

Smell evokes memory in a way that no other sense can. Memory and smell are so closely linked, in order to identify a smell, we must first remember it, and then place the object that it comes from into our vision.

It’s a proven fact that if you only drink sangria between the hours of 3pm and 11pm you won’t get a hangover. So when your uncle calls you at 5am the next day, you’ll instantly remember agreeing to milk the cows. No sweat. We’ll leave Honi behind though. Because, you know, she doesn’t have any shoes. And Kate’s already wearing her jumper.

The weather Gods see the effort we’ve made and in turn reward us with a perfect dawn. As we skip down the road we congratulate ourselves on seizing the day and toast our eagerness with fresh chocolate milk.

I wasn’t convinced about the power of smell and its sneaky ability to provoke memories. Like a sneaky Mexican in charge of security standing in the bushes. Seriously Martin, you shouldn’t stalk the hostel guests.

And then it hit me. The smell of the morning’s milking. The dairy. The Friesians. The shit. Oh what fun we had at the farm! The boys on the motorbike! Collecting the chicken’s eggs! Eating fresh pomegranates straight from the tree! Making bread with Grandma! Listening to Grandpa’s stories! Apricot pudding! Apricot slice! A whole apple pie just for Ben!

Perhaps you don’t always need a massive photo wall to help you recollect. The smell of the dairy instantly developed a whole roll of film hidden somewhere in the memory bank.

And now Kate’s in her element, always one ready to get her hands dirty, rolls up the sleeves on Simon’s long lost jacket and gets to work.

Cows to be milked! Calves to be fed! Magpie explaining his life story!

And then the skies turn grey, which we take as our cue to head back and check on Honi. Bless’d are the farmers. The guys in the factory. The truck drivers. The whole Fleurieu Milk team. Our lungs full of fresh country air, we stumble back into bed. Barely stopping to take off our manure covered shoes.

A morning, a perfect moment in time. You can bet the next time I get a whiff of that dairy scent, it won’t just be memories of the farm that come flooding back.