I have an interesting thought to briefly mediate on this evening. This being the sense of smell. There is something so strong and conjuring of the olfactory. It can elicit deep emotional responses upon reception, or it can so swiftly recall a memory in our mind. We connect certain times and places with smell, often when are greeted by that same smell again in life. It can soothe us, scare us, excite us, tempt our lips with a smile, or even deflate that smile again. It’s intoxicating, inebriating, and all-consuming at times. Our associations and connections with our nose may be amongst some of the strongest. Yet there is no documenting smell – it comes and it goes. Different shifts in the atmosphere; different elements or factors in your habitat; the mere changing of seasons. We can set out to recreate or recover the sense, but nothing ever seems as powerful as the very moment in which we experience it. We cannot photograph it (perhaps such would detract from its romance), but often we can view photographs and imagine. Certain scenes may transport our minds.

I was at the very edge of our driveway this evening and could smell our tomatoes being lovingly melted into the most gracious marinara sauce. Maybe it was stillness, or maybe it was a slight breeze that carried the scent. Perhaps the slights of red wine on the wing sedated me. Regardless, the power was undeniable, and instantly any last tangles of stress melted away with those tomatoes.

But I digress, I am not writing to you about tomatoes this evening. I offer quite a different smell altogether, but equally as delicious. It is not my exact intention to bombard you with an overflow of squash, but as it stands – we are standing in it. I have a lot of love for this plant and think its eager attitude should be well celebrated.

What seems both celebratory and necessary to me is soup. Soup for all occasions and soup for every ingredient – our conversations heavily consist of what steps we must take to create a cherished bowl of soup. Sometimes the steps are small, sometimes they are long – soup (and the smell of it simmering) is very much loved around these parts. As a nod to the coming transition from summer to autumn I have a soup that may be enjoyed either hot or cold. Summer squash soup with lemon pepper and sage, to be exact.

Everything comes together easy, leaving you with the simple tasks of relishing the moments created by smell and enjoying the meal at hand. August was wonderful. The weather rarely exceeded 90 degrees at its hottest, and we were able to indulge in as much sunshine and rain as we could ever wish for. We witnessed hail a couple of times, but we were readily prepared (and are every time it storms). The garden was a living, breathing entity. Many affirmations stood tall. Wiser for another season, eager for the next.