Breathing in the Mountains

Breathing in the mountains.
An experience for the whole being –
Engaging the mind, refreshing the soul.

People talk about the “fresh mountain air”.
Air that is crisp, clean, fragrant.
Air that tells a story of a pre-machine time.

I breathe in the mountains.
I take in smells that unlock more.
Memories seep in through my nostrils; stories are told.

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The Delicious Smells of Pine

Pine is one of the most prominent smells in the woods on a warm day. The smell of the dry pine needles blanketing the forest floor seems to come alive and intensify in correlation to the heat. I am hit with the dominating smell of those primitive evergreens that define the smell of “Forest”.

That’s the common, foresty smell of pine. But it’s not just the needles that carry a scent.

One of the sweetest smells that drives me to the verge of salivation is produced by the harden sap of pines. Resin, the crusty puss that the pine secretes to protect and heal a wound, gives off a rich, warm, spicy smell. Imagine that! I am tempted to taste the candied nugget like the crazed artist tempted to eat his paint. I collected chunks of this premature amber to experiment with back home. Perhaps I can meld them into incense globs and burn them to unleash memories of the mountains. The resin melts in beautiful, golden drips when tested by a flame.

Sweeter than resin, are the cones of the sugar pine. Reminiscent of maple syrup, they release a smell that yearns to be poured over a stack of fluffy pancakes. But not any pine cone will do; the yummy, golden smell is derived from the cones of this species alone.


Mystery Plants

Plant identification is not a skill I can brag about; my repertoire is limited, but I’m working on it. I recognize a plant using the typical signs: the color, the shape, and the grouping of flowers and leaves. Typically I can only catalogue those which have been identified to me in the past since plant identification books tend to be too complicated for my taste. Pretending for a moment that these books where organized in a way that made identification simple for a novice like me, I’d still be stumped when it comes to certain plants which are nondescript in every which way but smell.

Which brings me to artichoke hearts. Yes, artichoke hearts. Well, without the artichokes or any obvious sign of being in the thistle family. In the mountain forests, I am occasionally greeted by this smell. I greedily take in extra deep breaths, in the same fashion that I would gobble up berries from a chance bush along my path.

As I crossed through patches of the fluffy brush, my clothes collected this scent. And, so, that smell of artichoke hearts stuck around long after my memory of what that leafy, green plant looked like. After coming down from the mountains, I pulled pieces of artichoke-y clothes out of the car to share the scent with a friend. She confirmed that my nose had not lied.