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Oh, for an onomatopoeia related to smells. These words are waters earlier that spring. It was the refreshing aroma of the river’s widespread for their intended use regarding sounds, but the trickle over aging oaks that had fallen prey to a gnawing concept as it pertains to smells is somecurrent on the off-side of that flow. It was what limited. the occasional breath of honeysuckle

You know that word, onomatopoeia. wafting on a morning breeze. It was the Perhaps you recall it from a long-ago smell of excitement and tranquility and English or literature or writing class. expectation. It was the smell of peace. Formed from two Greek words — onAnd there are many other sensory sigoma, which means name, and poiein, nals from my seven decades of growing which means to make — onomatopoeia and processing and filing away. Some of is basically a word that, when used in these courted a singular sense; others speaking or writing, mimics the sound Water and woods combine to provide a wide assortment of aromas. came through combinations of two or being described: bang, clang, splash, more. The green, stinging smell of sage swoosh. Clever devices for adding spice from downslope, this seeping through to communication, these words with the nostrils begging additional oxygen in the hard-to-pronounce designation are. High Country. The odiferous stimulation of

It is reasonable to conclude that any an autumn wood, fresh from a pre-dawn or all five senses can often be related splattering of cool rain. The drone of and play a role in recall. Something we a small-farm tractor, its turning-plow taste may trigger memory of something releasing from captivity those rejuvenatwe saw, and so on. It was such an occuring aromas of freshly disturbed dirt. rence that spurred the thought for this Slough water has a pungent but pleasant odor. It is one sure to The fluffed feel and clean fragrance of column. Just recently, a cardinal singing maintain a hold in memory. hand-picked cotton bathed in sunshine is what I heard, but the smell of a specific setting from childhood and piled high on a ragged wagon. came to mind. It is in the description of this smell that I badly And there was my mom’s rattling about the kitchen and her need a proper and handy onomatopoeia. soft humming that always permeated the secret period between

My dad and I were paddling a battered wooden boat up a sleep and waking and that scent of biscuits baking before a day section of the Pearl River, this section generally known as the Old of farm chores that hold a permanent place inside memory. These Straight. Actually, my dad was paddling; I was piddling. Impeding sounded and smelled like security. Like home. more than assisting I would guess, but my dad was gracious. I heard a bird. I had definitely heard this sound countless times before, but the urge to know what it was had never pricked me. “Red bird,” he said when I asked. Obviously, the cardinal, but it was red bird to him — all his life. And as influential as that identification was, it was the smell of the Old Straight that clung tenaciously to my remembering. It is still there, more than 60 years from that by Tony Kinton paddling, piddling sunrise river trip. How do I describe that smell? Pungent, but certainly not unTony Kinton has been an active outdoors writer for 30 years. He lives in Carthage and is a Central Electric member. Visit www.tonykinton.com pleasant. It was decaying leaves and slough mud drying from high for more information.