A Smell is Worth a Thousand Words

It’s funny how a smell can bring a memory swarming back.

Or, maybe, it's expected.

More on that later.

My grandfather Nelson was ninety-one years old when he passed away in September of 2009. An enduring memory that I have of him is of him sitting in his favorite brown leather recliner in his house in Imperial Beach, California, the most western city in the contiguous United States. After dinner, he would sit and read the newspaper, usually with a running commentary on the state of affairs, smoke from his pearl white pipe and crack open a walnut. Even though I was just a boy, I enjoyed the sweet aroma of pipe tobacco emanating from that pipe. I would sit next to him and he would smile and tell me stories of his exploits in the Pacific Theatre while pale plumes escaped from his lips.

It’s such an enduring memory and sweet reminder of him that, upon his passing, I decided to give up on cigarettes and focus all my tobacco efforts on pipes. I went out and bought a pipe — and have since developed quite a collection of tobacco flavors: Mocha, Whiskey, Vanilla Cavendish, Rum Cured, and Champagne.

A quick tangent: While no tobacco consumption is good for you, if you do desire to smoke, use a pipe. Not only do you look much cooler, but you get the same nicotine buzz as a cigarette — and better flavor — without all the gunk build-up in your lungs.

Midnight Express
But I had been unable to find the flavor that my grandfather smoked — truth be told, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. That is, until a year or so after his passing.

One day, I was standing on my back deck when I smelled a smell I had not smelled in years — and didn't even know I was missing. My roommate was smoking from his corn-cob pipe and I smelled my grandfather. The aroma being emitted from my roommate’s pipe was the very same aroma my grandfather used to have when he smoked his pipe.

I was immediately taken back to Imperial Beach, California, two decades ago, watching television as my grandpa puffed away on his guilty pleasure, watching him reach into the gigantic wooden bowl of walnuts and, using a silver nutcracker, crack them open and eat them between puffs from the pipe.

I asked my roommate what he was smoking. He told me it was a blend called Midnight Express.

I found out that the blend was from a tobacco shop in Portland called Rich’s Tobacco. I dropped everything, hopped into my car on my way to Rich’s, and then hit up the local grocery store and purchased a bag of walnuts. I went home, sat down in my favorite chair, lit the pipe and cracked open a walnut. For a moment, my grandfather was with me again, on that brown leather recliner, reading the paper and smiling.

The biology of scent and memory

There’s a reason that one puff of that pipe aroma could instantly transport me back decades. The human sense of smell is uniquely wired into our memory and emotional systems. Unlike the other senses (vision, hearing, etc.), the olfactory system has direct access to brain areas that handle emotion and memory. Odors are processed by the olfactory bulb, which then sends information directly (or nearly directly) to the limbic system—including the amygdala (which handles emotion) and the hippocampus (which handles memory) (see e.g., Herz, 2020). Harvard News+2Northwestern Now+2

In one review: “Odors are powerful stimuli that can evoke emotional states, and support learning and memory. … the neural basis of this strong ‘odor-emotional memory’ connection is due to the uniqueness of the anatomy of the olfactory pathways.” PMC+2ScienceDirect+2

Another review highlighted the “LOVER” features of autobiographical odor memories: Limbic, Old, Vivid, Emotional, and Rare. Frontiers+1 In that sense, when I smelled that exact pipe aroma, I wasn’t just remembering the scene—I was reliving it, with emotion and clarity, because the pathways for smell feed the memory-centres so directly.

A further study found that olfaction has the strongest connectivity of any sense to the hippocampus, the “memory seat” of the brain. Northwestern Now+1 This gives a physiological basis to the idea that a smell can sweep you away more powerfully than, say, a sight or sound.

One recent intervention even found that exposing older adults overnight to various scents (using a diffuser) improved memory performance measurably after six months. Frontiers+1 This suggests that our olfactory system is still capable of influencing memory well into older age.

The reasons are multifold:

• Odor-evoked memories tend to be more emotionally intense and positive than memories triggered by verbal or visual cues. PMC

• Since the olfactory signals bypass the thalamus (which is a major sensory relay hub for other senses) and reach limbic structures quickly, the reaction is immediate and often non-deliberative (“emotional primacy”). PMC

• The architecture of the olfactory bulb and its ongoing neurogenesis (generation of new neurons even in adults) suggests a dynamic system tuned for memory and adaptation. Frontiers

Thus, when I caught that pipe-smoke aroma on the deck, it wasn’t just “hey that smells familiar” — it flicked open decades-old memory stores with the clarity and feeling of that time.

Personalized memory, scent, and the past

The narrative of my grandfather in his recliner is not just nostalgia — it’s a sensory anchor. The leather of the chair, the walnut cracking, the white pipe, the Pacific breeze grazing Imperial Beach — all layered in that memory. Smell anchors memory more tightly than many other senses. Because the scent was unique, and tied to a specific person and place, it acquired immense mnemonic power.

Studies show that when odors are associated with personal experiences, they can elicit more intense nostalgia than even familiar music or visual cues. For example: Odors that evoked personal memories elicited about 6.5 times more feelings of nostalgia compared to odors that did not tie to a specific past event. PMC Also, odor-evoked memories are often judged more relevant to someone’s life story than memories elicited by words or visuals. PMC+1

My decision to buy a pipe and replicate a ritual echoes that: the memory became a cue, establishing a new ritual-flavored scent memory (even though I’m not trying to replicate him exactly). The pipe collection became a way to honor the memory, and aromas like Mocha, Whiskey, Vanilla Cavendish, Rum Cured and Champagne become more than flavor—they become links to that grandfather-memory domain.

Of course, I’m aware that tobacco smoking carries health risks, and I don’t want to romanticize it. The memory itself isn’t about smoking—it’s about connection, presence, ritual, and smell. In my narrative I note the caveats: “While no tobacco consumption is good for you, …” because I don’t want to ignore the health dimension. The memory, though, remains anchored in that scent.

Interestingly, the aroma of the walnut cracking adds a second sensory layer: smell of the walnut (fresh, woody), the sound of the nutcracker, the sight of the white pipe’s smoke. Those multi-sensory layers reinforced the memory. But the smell is the trigger that pulls me back.

Why that specific smell transported me so clearly

Let’s examine why that moment triggered so vividly:

1. Uniqueness of odor: Pipe tobacco has a distinct aroma — sweet, smoky, woody. My grandfather’s specific aroma (with the white pipe, the walnut, the chair) became a unique memory signature. Smells that are rare tend to stick better. People often recall unusual smells more easily than common ones. Verywell Mind

2. Emotional context: My grandfather passed away, I was a child then; the memory is layered with love, story-time, ritual, childhood. Smell-triggered memories elicit emotional intensity more than other modalities. PMC+1

3. Repeated exposure: The ritual of his sitting there, cracking walnuts, smoking, telling stories — repeated exposure builds a strong scent-memory link.

4. Sensory recall later: When I smelled something close to that blend, my brain didn’t just say “hey this smells familiar” — it transported me. That’s because the olfactory system links directly into memory and emotion centers (amygdala-hippocampus) and bypasses slower sensory pathways. Scientific American+1

5. Time gap: It had been years since I smelled that aroma. The gap creates a “jump in time” effect when the memory is triggered — making it feel even stronger. Odor memory is often “old” (the O in LOVER) and thus has high impact. Frontiers

6. Personal narrative: I wasn’t just passively remembering — I acted: I asked what blend, went to get it, combined it with walnuts, sat down in my favorite chair. That action reinforces the memory and the meaning. I was creating a present-ritual that honored the past one.

The wider implications: smell, memory, identity and culture

This personal anecdote is micro-cosmic of a larger truth: smell anchors memory, memory anchors identity, and culture is built on that. Whether it’s the smell of grandmother’s apple pie, the sea breeze of a childhood beach, or the tobacco-pipe aroma of a grandfather in his recliner, scents help us place ourselves in time and in familial/cultural context.

Research shows that odor-evoked memories often carry positive emotion more so than memories triggered by verbal or visual cues. For instance: Among young adults, memories linked to odors that evoked personal events triggered more positive affect and higher self-esteem, connectedness, optimism and life meaning. PMC

Even in therapeutic contexts researchers have found that odor cues can help depressed individuals access specific autobiographical memories more easily than word cues. Neuroscience News This suggests smell-memory links can be harnessed for mental health.

In terms of culture: consider how smell attaches to rituals—tobacco, coffee, kitchen cooking, religious incense, seaside salt-air. Those smells become part of the narrative of self and family. My grandfather’s pipe and walnuts and recliner become part of my personal cultural narrative: the way his life manifested in smell, sound and story.

Some cautionary notes and reflection

While the power of smell in memory is strong, it is not perfect. Odor-triggered memories are often more vivid and emotional, but not necessarily more accurate (in terms of detail). Research notes that smells trigger “memories that feel as if we were experiencing the event again” but that doesn’t guarantee every detail is correct. Verywell Mind

Also, relying on tobacco for the smell is a risky anchor. Health wise, the dangers of smoking (including pipe smoking) are well established. So, while the narrative pivot to pipe smoking after my grandfather’s death is meaningful, it also carries risk. If I were to revise or reflect further, I’d perhaps decouple the memory from the smoking ritual and seek other scent anchors (e.g., walnuts, leather, beach breeze) that are healthier.

Another consideration: Not everyone has the same olfactory-memory link. People with reduced olfactory function (anosmia, hyposmia) may not have the same recall power. Indeed, smell loss is associated with cognitive decline or neurodegenerative disease in some cases. Wikipedia+1

Finally, the ritual of replicating the smell may not fully capture the presence of the person. I sat in my favorite chair, lit the pipe, cracked the walnuts — yet the moment is still a memory, a homage. That’s fine — but the living presence of my grandfather remains irretrievable. The smell gives me a doorway, but I still know I’m sitting alone. That knowledge can bring warmth — and also melancholy.

Return to the story: why I cracked open the walnuts

That moment of smelling the blend “Midnight Express” and realizing “this is him” was charged. I recognized the aroma as his, I recognized the ritual. I then wanted to do something: go buy the blend, buy a bag of walnuts, sit in my chair. I wanted to recreate the context.

When I cracked open the walnut, I felt: “For a moment, my grandfather was with me again, on that brown leather recliner, reading the paper and smiling.”

Why the walnuts? Because they were his ritual. The smell of the pipe included something of the walnut-cracking scene: perhaps the wood-shell smell, the nutcracker metal, the pipe smoke, the leather and the Pacific breeze. When I combined the aroma of the tobacco with the walnuts, I layered sensory cues: smell, taste, touch, sound. That layering strengthened the memory anchor further.

When people talk about scent-triggers, they often don’t think about multi-sensory layering. But this layering is what built a strong, multi-dimensional memory. It’s not just “pipe smoke equals grandpa” — it’s “pipe smoke + walnut cracking + recliner + evening + stories.” That layering gives it emotional weight, personal definition, and specificity.

Moreover, by intentionally seeking the blend, buying walnuts, lighting the pipe and sitting in the chair, I wasn’t passively remembering — I was actively ritualizing memory. That ritualizing gave me agency over the memory, made it something I engaged with rather than something that happened to me. In a way, that’s part of why the memory persists and stays meaningful.

Over time, the pipe collection, the flavors, the ritual of sitting and thinking of him becomes a way to keep the memory alive in present time. The memory becomes not just a memory of him but part of my present identity, part of my practice. Each flavor of tobacco may evoke slightly different associations, but the primordial smell-memory anchor remains.

Practical take-aways: using scent and memory in your own life

If you read this and think: “I want to anchor memories of my loved one,” here are some practical ideas drawn from the science and from my own story:

• Identify a distinctive smell tied to the memory you want to preserve. It should be unique (not something you smell every day).

• Create rituals around that smell. The more you combine smell with meaningful moments, the stronger the link.

• Multi-sensory layering helps: smell + sound + touch + place = stronger memory anchor.

• Use the smell intentionally as a trigger for memory and reflection, rather than purely happen-chance.

• Be aware of health and safety. If your anchor involves something harmful (smoke, chemicals, etc.), consider alternatives (incense, nutcrackers, particular nuts, leather chair, beach breeze, baking smell).

• Understand that smells can bring up emotions (positive or even negative). Odor-evoked memories tend to be emotionally intense. If you have traumatic associations, this could bring up unexpected feelings. PMC

• If you want to study or strengthen memory, there is emerging research that olfactory enrichment (exposing oneself to pleasant smells) can support cognitive function in older adults. Frontiers+1

• If smell links suddenly vanish (for example if you lose smell due to illness), you may lose access to those scent-memory triggers. So consider multiple cues (sound, visual, touch) alongside smell.

Final reflection

Memory is not just what we recall—it’s what we live with. The smell of my grandfather’s pipe, the walnut cracking, the recliner in Imperial Beach—they form a small constellation in my mind. When I inhale a similar aroma now, I am transported: I see him, I smell him, I feel him.

It’s odd and beautiful that the brain does this so effortlessly. A little whiff of settled smoke or tobacco or nut shell can open the doors of time.

When I sit there with my pipe and my bag of walnuts, and I think of him, I feel a connection. He is gone, yes. But in that moment, he is with me. The leather creaks, the nut cracks, the pipe glows, the aroma drifts. I sip a thought of him.

And I don’t care—well, not really—about the health risks in that moment. I’m not smoking to prove anything. I’m smoking to remember. And in that remembering, I honour him, I include him in my present, and I keep the story alive.

Because memories aren’t just stored—they’re lived. And smells give them their wings.

But I had been unable to find the flavor that my grandfather smoked- truth be told, I wasn't sure what I was looking for. That is, until a year or so after his passing.

One day, I was standing on my back deck when I smelled a smell I had not smelled in years- and didn't even know I was missing. My roommate was smoking from his corn cob pipe and I smelled my grandfather. The aroma being emitted from my roommates' pipe was the very same aroma my grandfather used to have when he smoked his pipe.

I was immediately taken back to Imperial Beach, California, two decades ago, watching television as my grandpa puffed away on his guilty pleasure, watching him reach into the gigantic wooden bowl of walnuts and, using a silver nutcracker, to crack them open and eat them between puffs from the pipe.

I asked my roommate what he was smoking. He told me it was a blend called Midnight Express.

I found out that the blend was from a tobacco shop in Portland called Rich's Tobacco. I dropped everything, hopped into my car and my way to Rich's, and then hit up the local grocery store and purchased a bag of walnuts. I went home, sat down in my favorite chair, lit the pipe and cracked open a walnut. For a moment, my grandfather was with me again, on that brown leather recliner, reading the paper and smiling.

Thanks for Reading.

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