I Remember Summer

I don't know much about the anatomy of the brain, but I seem to recall reading that the olfactory sensing mechanisms are located right smack in the middle of the memory production site. (See how well I use all of that technical terminology!) This would explain why the sense of smell, more so than any other, can elicit those deep memories from way back in time. My grandpa's pipe tobacco or that musty summer cabin or moist fall leaves. We all have our favorites.

Today I was able to resurrect one of those.

We are well past the dog days now and summer is fading fast. But this weekend at the northern compound, we are being treated to some of the nicest weather we've seen all year. And it provoked me into a long soak in the lake. Actually a float on my dollar-store beach mattress. It did just fine.

But floating on the gentle ripples coming in from the lake, put me into a kind of a prolonged meditative state. Feeling the cool water beneath me, the warm sun above me, the warmish breeze, the sound of the birds, and kids, all just made for a perfect atmosphere to let the mind wander.

And then, a funny smell. Not one that would typically jump to the top of everyone's "favorites" list. This was the smell of a two-stroke marine motor. Like an outboard motor, except this was from a Jet-Ski, the scourge of the quiet northern lake. They burn the same oil evidently.

Now I have to tell you that I hate these things. The drivers are inconsiderate 95% of the time. They're noisy. They scare the fish. They are not boats. They don't rank with boats. Their riders don't rank with boat captains, motor or sail. Just a nuisance.

But the one that buzzed past me today, I appreciated. Because the smell of his little trail of blue smoke took me back to the memory of a favorite place: my aunt and uncle's cottage on Mullet Lake, in northern Michigan.

That scent, along with the water, sun and sounds of today took me back forty years to when I spent a good part of every summer at my uncle's cottage. My two cousins and I wringing every drop of fun we could get out of each long, crazy summer day in the north. It was the best.

That smell connected me back to all of the small boats, including a couple of my uncle's, that used to tool around the lake. Each day started and ended with fisherman heading out from shore to their secret holes, but the vast middle of each day was filled with water-skiers and joy riders, all powered by various size outboard motors that all smelled the same. My love of water and boats made that quite an intoxicating perfume after awhile. Our long days, would equate to short nights, and so very often we'd find some place on the wooden dock to take a little siesta. And so just like today, I would lay in the sun and feel the breeze with resting eyes closed, and quite often, there would be the buzz of a little outboard motor and it's smell running down the lake.

One day, I'm sure not too long from now, these little two-stoke motors will disappear. Polluters, all of them. No environmentalist worth his salt finds any redeeming quality in this century-old technology running across a lake. And their probably right in their opinions. But for me, the smell and sound reminds me of a time when there were no Jet-Skis, and any kid lucky enough to be next to a Michigan lake was very happy to make do with a stinky little 6-horse Johnson motor, and a top speed of 8 or 10 knots. That meant fishing, exploring, and fun. To me, that was summer. Today, that was summer too. A nice way to say goodbye for this year.