I’ve said many times that I grew up in rural (VERY rural) northern New Hampshire. But I haven’t said that for the last 15 years, I’ve lived in cities. I prefer the cities. I like the services and conveniences of urban life (at least, “urban” by New Hampshire standards), and I think I would rather move to Massachusetts than move back to East Bum, Cow Hampshire.
That being said, there are certain things about the country life that I do miss. And last week I was reminded of one of them.
I was out for a drive, and I went past a freshly-mown field. The scent of fresh-cut grass overwhelmed me, and I very nearly pulled over in euphoria.
Then, a couple minutes later, I came upon a road project — replete with the stench of freshly-laid asphalt. I wanted to gag.
My heart and soul belong to the city, but my nose is still up north. And I think I’d rather smell fresh cow crap than hot tar.