week five: scent, (plus a few detours)

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July 24, 2020

Seeking language to describe the smells of a walk along Hodgeman’s beach and through the forest in the north woods of Maine.  Capturing these in bottles gathered from a hidden trash heap behind Burnt Cabin beach.  

fragrant stewing tea of pollen dusted, too-warm lake water

chalky dry bones from moose skeleton, laced with new moss

crisp metallic air from shady cove on the lake

piercing deep purple spice of decaying leaves and pine cone litter on the forest floor

muscular, fleshy smell of mushrooms swarming on a rotting log

stinging toxic bite of creosote on the railroad tracks

high-pitched, powdery, sweet scent of old-growth fir tree bark

zesty tart essence of crushed blueberry leaves

sweet licorice, stainless steel grey lacy tapestry of falling rain

soapy scent of ancient bark lichen blooming brittle blue white

smell of white pine sap, like the peppery yellow sting of a rubber band snapping against skin

intoxicating perfume of raspberries in the sun, a drunken, floral fog

queasy acidic tartness of bug spray on sweaty skin

peeling apart layers of fallen birch bark, its light blue ache, paper thin sweetness

soft amber, musty, sneezy odor of fallen white pine needles underfoot

dusty, salty, iron rust of hot sand, like fingernails on a chalkboard

loamy, emerald glowing pelt of moss, reticent and barely fragrant

ribbons of drunken, syrupy flannel campfire breath

viscous, rancid heaviness of river muck, cloying like a too-rich dessert

juicy, pungent green tang of balsam fir needles, redolent of Christmas nostalgia

sickly coconut-scented greasy smell of sun lotion

rancid vinegary stink of dead perch on the shoreline

velvety buttery honeysuckle warm odor of chanterelle mushrooms in the dry river bed

plus a few detours...

Walking 633 steps along Hodgeman's beach from Amy's skinnydipping cove to point beyond Fat Lip beach, gathering white quartz stones in my pockets.

Building a miniature labyrinth (6 foot diameter), an homage to Richard Smithson and Richard Long.  974 stones.  3 hours.

Collecting unremarkable sticks (preferably smooth driftwood or beaver chewed wood from the lake shore) and binding them together with cotton string.  Installing and performing these in different ways.   Each stick becomes a physical container of memory, a fragment of thought, specific to the moment when and location where it was 'found,'  like trail markers or 'walking sticks' that guide, assist, and keep a record of the physical journey.

Integrating other weathered treasures discovered (rusted metal, bones, stones).

Another experiment.  100 sticks.