If Nostalgia Were a Scent…

Every December, I hang my parents’ black-and-white wedding photo on our Christmas tree.
Right beside it hangs a heart sewn ornament from my dad’s flannel shirt.

As the scent of fresh-cut pine fills our home, I’m reminded—
if nostalgia were a scent… what would mine smell like?

Mine would smell like one-hundred-year-old photographs, their corners softly worn.

Like my mom’s perfume, still lingering on the cardigan she left behind—the same one I wear when I sit in her chair, sipping tea and writing.

Like fresh-cut Christmas trees and new-fallen snow.
Or chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven—my dad and brother racing to grab them before they cooled… just like my own kids do now, with tall glasses of milk.
(Who said cookie habits aren’t hereditary?)

It would smell like the French perfume I wore to prom—a gift from our foreign exchange student who quickly became a friend.

Or the soft baby-powder scent of the perfume my dad bought me for my sixteenth birthday.
He never bought gifts—that was my mom’s job—so it made it even more special.

It would smell like freshly cut grass.
Or the heavy sweetness of hay stacked high in a barn on a hot summer day.

Like overripe blackberries crushed beneath my shoes—the last scent of summer before piles of fallen leaves signaled fall.

Like daffodils blanketing a field.
Or lilacs just beginning to bloom in spring.

Like my husband fresh from the shower, or coming in from working outside.
(Ladies- you know that smell).

Or my babies’ tiny bare feet, buried into my nose as they laughed and giggled. " Pew, Pew, Pew"...
Soft then, but definitely not now—especially after a sporting event (seriously... pew, pew, pew).

Like puppy breath after being smothered with kisses from our sweet Abby, so excited to see me she can hardly contain herself.

Or like going home again—Thanksgivings, Christmas cookies, birthday cakes, and cousins coming to visit us on the farm.

Memories rush back the way rain hits hot pavement after a summer storm.

Each scent is a portal.
A quiet time machine.

Without realizing it, we’re transported every day by smell alone.

Perhaps that’s why companies like Yankee Candle and Bath & Body Works have built entire worlds around scent—because smell remembers what we forget.

I invite you to pause for a moment.
Maybe while sipping your coffee or tea.
And ask yourself:

If nostalgia were a scent, what would yours smell like?

If you feel called to share, I’d love to hear your story.
And if not, perhaps write it down—just for yourself.

What candle do you always reach for?
What would your nostalgia perfume be called?

Your answer might surprise you.

Together, stories are our legacy.

Yours truly,
Princess George