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A song by American folk singer and songwriter Jim Croce, "Photographs and Memories," released in 1972, recounts the association between memory and our other senses.
Photographs and memories
Christmas cards you sent to me
All that I have are these to remember you
Memories that come at night
Take me to another time
Back to a happier day when I called you mine
The song's narrator is clearly bereaved by these photograph-induced memories, but such sad emotions aren't the only ones that our senses can resurrect. The flavors of certain foods can recall a favorite restaurant; the aroma of a specific cologne or perfume can either remind of a long-lost lover or a beloved friend; a pleasing color combination can conjure feelings associated with an especially enjoyable vacation.
Pipe tobacco can obviously act in the same way.
When I first started smoking a pipe, I was admittedly self-conscious about my clothes potentially smelling like smoke — to the point that I would often change outfits after finishing a bowl, thinking that others would be disgruntled by the lingering smoke that emanated from my attire.
I quickly grew out of that, however. One, the frustration of returning to my closet after every smoke became tiresome and downright impractical. Two, a growing confidence in my enjoyment of pipesmoking resulted in a healthier disassociation from caring what others thought. And three, people cared far less than I had originally feared. In fact, many appreciated the faint scent of pipe smoke that accompanied my presence.
Upon greeting me with a quick embrace, one friend even remarked how he always enjoys my clothes' subtle smoky smell. "My grandfather smoked a pipe, and he smelled like that. Whenever I'm around you and catch a hint of smoke, I'm always reminded of him."
When I used to live at home in Indiana, the garage was my smoking haven, replete with a table — well, a makeshift excuse for a table comprised of a plywood board laid across two sawhorses — a mini space heater, chairs, and cushions to sit on.
My grandfather smoked a pipe, and he smelled like that. Whenever I'm around you and catch a hint of smoke, I'm always reminded of him.
Many an evening was enjoyed in that garage with my best friend, discussing the unknown and the excitement of entering adulthood, contemplating religion and philosophy, laughing in reminiscence of past adventures, and planning future ones. Naturally, our pipes always accompanied us — inexpensive budget pipes, of course, and always a tin of Peterson's (then Dunhill's) Nightcap.
The ritual was always the same: Davis would sit on the chair to the left of the "table," and I would set up camp on the stepstool to the right, the tin of Nightcap spilled open between us as we passed lighter and tamper back and forth throughout the conversation.
"I'm smoking Nightcap right now," Davis still texts me. Though we live apart now, the times spent in that garage are indelibly tied to that tobacco mixture, the blend comprised now of not only Virginias, Orientals, and Latakia, but also those memories. It's become a blend component of sorts, an inherent characteristic of the tobacco. Alongside the smoky Latakia and subtly sweet Virginias, the fond memories of friendship are just as strong and prevalent, and it's a component shared between only the two of us.
In that same garage, I spent evenings alone too, grading college Spanish papers, relaxing with crosswords, and listening to audiobooks ... unless it was October, then radio coverage of the World Series dominated my attention. The tobaccos I smoked during those times are now forever associated with those memories.
Whenever I catch a whiff of someone smoking G.L. Pease's Sixpence, my imagination floods with the words of Patrick Rothfuss, and I'm transported back to when I passed hours listening to The Name of the Wind lounged on that stepstool, feet propped up, and pipe pinched between my fingers. Likewise, if I notice the aroma of Orlik or Escudo emanating from a pipe, it's immediately accompanied by the play-by-play calls of Game 7 when the Chicago Cubs finally broke the Curse of the Billy Goat to win their first Pennant in 71 years and their first World Series in over a century.
Our senses, whether they be sight, smell, or taste, are intricately tied to our memories, both good and bad. For me, the aroma and flavors of certain pipe tobaccos invoke memories of pleasant times.
Even mundane tasks relate to specific blends. When mowing the lawn, I most often reached for Peterson's My Mixture 965, and now the association is permanent. I can't help but smell fresh cut grass without pining for a bowl, and conversely, I can't not feel a Midwest summer's humidity and imagine the monotonous rumble of a riding lawnmower whenever 965 is burning in my pipe.
Our senses, whether they be sight, smell, or taste, are intricately tied to our memories, both good and bad. For me, the aroma and flavors of certain pipe tobaccos invoke memories of pleasant times. I have few, if any, bad memories affiliated with smoking a pipe, and I think that's how it should be. It's hard not to enjoy smoking a pipe — I dare someone to try — so the memories conjured are, likewise, enjoyable.
What blends recall certain memories for you? What scents and flavors take you back to good times?
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Comments
A nice piece of writing.
One of the earliest memories for me is the scent of Nightcap from a well-caked Comoy (Golden Grain) Bent Bulldog while out on a very cold snowy late afternoon. Nothing quite like it. The cake gleamed, and the aroma and flavour were richer than eating chocolate.
Then there was a bowl, many years ago on a similar cold day, of Mac Baren Norwood that brought to mind thick honey and pine forests. These memories have not faded, so obviously they meant a great deal.
Ah yes, those pipe memories. When I was still living at home, I recall smoking Amphora Red while sampling my mother's chocolate chip cookies on a cold, rainy autumn afternoon. I kid you not, that tobacco complimented those cookies or the reverse, unbelievably well! And then there were many times in the company of good friends, usually fellow pipesmokers, puffing away on Balkan Sobranie, or Lane's Four Monks or Crown Achievement. What memories, what joys. Precious times...
Great article, Truett!
I started smoking a pipe in 1966 in Tuy Hoa, Vietnam. My executive officer smoked a pipe and always had a yellow and red tin of cube cut Revelation with him. When I went to Kuala Lumpur on R&R, I bought a GBD billiard. Lt. Skarstead then shared his mixture with me until my mother sent me some in the mail. I smoked Revelation for the next three years until I eventually went off to other blends. But even now, decades later, I can still smell the tobacco as if I had just popped the lid. The memories and the aroma are firmly embedded.
Wonderful comments, all! A garage in Indiana, a hooch in Tuy Hoa, Balkan Sobranie, etc. I'll add a Dr. Plumb billiard at the Raffles in Singapore in 1968 and beautiful BBB bent bulldog back in the states from the late Jim Mate's Tobacco Store in San Francisco. The great aroma of Flying Dutchman... Amazing how pipes and tobaccos have been a part of our lives and personal histories. More stories please.
Truett, it's always a pleasure to read about how one started their journey into pipe smoking and enjoying their favorite tobacco blends. And yes, pipes and tobaccos DO definitely have an association with memories from times past. Thanks for sharing.
The same day I signed up for the draft I went out and bought my first pipe and a package of Borkum Riff - that was 1970. I continued to smoke BR through college, through OCS and until about 1978. Even after all those years the smell of BR puts me back in time to that "coming of age" period. Although I no longer smoke Borkum Riff I still have that pipe and it is the centerpiece of my pipe collection.
...haven't smoked a pipe in years, but I do miss Flying Dutchman...🙃...