As I got near Arizona's border with New Mexico, I caught the scent of water in the air. I hadn't known you could smell water, but there was less dryness in the air and a hint of garden-hose water. When I looked across the road, I saw, beyond the freight train, a flash of sunlight on irrigation pipes and the patch of green farmland. And my side of the highway had farmland spreading away from the road. Then it was gone, and the low, pale scrub brush took control again, leaving the smell of moisture behind.
Deep into New Mexico, I caught the smell of water again, but this time there was something more with it. Dairy farms lined the highway on both sides for miles. They didn't smell the same as the cattle ranches in Montana, but I'm not sure why. Do dairy cows smell different from beef cattle? Does the dry desert air mingle differently with manure than Montana ranchland's air does?
The dairy farms didn't last long, and New Mexico regained it's neutral desert scent, which lasted into Texas. But West Texas introduced a new smell. As I drove, I'd smell tar, as though road work was being done up ahead. But there wasn't any road work. It was the oil wells out in the fields, the "grasshopper" pumps bobbing slowly up and down. They showed up now and then, and finally stopped appearing as I got into central Texas.
It smells like home now, because my mom and my sister live here.
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