On my morning run there’s a spot that smells of a cotton field, triggering an intense memory of harvesting cotton on the King Ranch my summer years in high school. Other major associations that have hit me lately: Moth balls and a visit to Wichita Falls in Kindergarten; Plowed weeds and a stint cleaning rotten grain from a massive silo (hell on earth); Pesticides and getting bitched out by a crop duster for running over his hose (which he ran across the road) used to mix his chemicals; brake fluid and the failure of a hydraulic fitting while attaching a disk plow. And, I can’t walk by a flower shop without remembering all the time I spent in my parent’s own flower shop, mostly playing in the fridge room. What a great smell.