The Scent Of a Memory

The Scent of a Memory

As an adult, there are certain scents that instantly trigger memories from childhood—an innocent, simpler time in many of our lives. One of those memories snuck up on me today as I was prepping for the next Farmhouse sale.

I came across a vintage pencil sharpener, the exact kind that used to sit on my grandfather’s desk. Just seeing it sparked a wave of nostalgia—but the real trip down memory lane came when I grabbed a pencil to test it. The scent of the freshly shaved wood and graphite hit me like a freight train. And when I popped it open to empty the shavings? That’s when I really fell into the rabbit hole.

It’s wild how something so small can unlock a flood of memories.

That sharpener brought me right back to my grandfather’s world. I remembered the smell of two-cycle fuel burning from his old motorboat as we crossed the lake, the rainbow-colored slick dancing on the surface behind us. That boat ride alone holds a dozen scent-memories: the woodsy smoke of a campfire, the rich aroma of his pipe tobacco, and the unmatched smell of bacon frying in a cast iron skillet over an open flame.

Now, I know what you’re thinking—bacon is bacon. But no. If you’ve never had the privilege of waking up to the smell of bacon cooked over a campfire, in the cool morning air, you’re missing out. It just hits different.

My grandfather had his own distinct scent too—probably some mix of aftershave and Brylcreem—but it was his. And I miss it.

Of course, not every smell from childhood is a good one. Peonies... Not a fan. They’ve always smelled acidic to me. But lilacs, I could bury my face in them. Both lined the yard of my childhood home—huge bushes planted by my grandfather and father.

Then there are the earthy smells that ground me just as much: the scent of light rain hitting dry dirt roads, the way hot pavement smells after a sun shower, the fresh scent of a newly mowed lawn, and the chlorine wafting over from the public pool across the street from where I grew up.

And all of these memories—all of them—came rushing back because of a pencil sharpener.

This, right here, is why I love doing what I do. I’ve seen moments like this happen to others during our estate sales—someone picking up an old dish, a record, or a rusty toolbox and being instantly transported. I get to witness those flickers of joy, the recognition in their eyes as they’re taken back to a time and place that mattered.

That’s more than stuff. That’s memory. That’s connection. That’s the good stuff.

So now I’m wondering—what smells do you associate with your youth? What scents pull you back to a memory you wouldn’t trade for the world?