The first time I went with Willy to Arizona, we had been dating for a few months and all I could concentrate on was the awful smell of cow shit. I wondered how I was going to fall asleep surrounded by what smelled like a giant porta potty.
When we arrived at my in-laws this time around, Willy took a big whiff in, looked to me and asked, “Don’t you just love that smell?”. I felt my nose curl up in disgust until I smelled something lingering beneath that porta potty stench. It’s nostalgia. Which is probably why Willy craves it under his nostrils. It’s not the smell of the cows excrement, it’s the smell of home. Of farm life, of blooming flowers, of hay, of trackers combing the fields, and the endless Arizona sun shining through the glass bringing the warmth that only a familiar home can bring.
Time spent with family is so much richer as a mother. The happiness it brings me to watch Hooper interact with those we love and who had a hand in raising us is simply not tangible.