One of the hardest parts of writing this column is to make it about local issues. (Another is to keep it under 700 words!) All of the important environmental issues are global: overpopulation, global warming, extinctions, deforestation and desertification.
But today my job is easy. The topic is very local. It's one of the things that make Asheville special to me, and that is unlike anywhere else on earth.
When I was a boy, I spent lots of time in my grandfather's hay barn out on Sugar Creek near Barnardsville. I used to build make-believe forts out of hay bales and tobacco staves. I still remember the musty, acrid aroma of that old barn.
I also loved to visit my uncles' dairy farm in Mars Hill. Arnold and Joe had about a hundred head of cattle, and a big automated milking barn. The fresh milk had a smell that was sweet, warm, and delicious—quite different from the pasteurized, homogenized products at Bi-Lo and Ingles.
Most of all, I remember the floral fragrance of the fresh mountain air. I would set out in the morning and climb the highest mountain I could find, just to say I had done it. And the air at the top! I've never experienced anything like it since.
When we think about pollution, several types come easily to mind. Air pollution blocks our view of the rugged terrain. Water pollution offends our taste buds, and increases bottled water sales. Noise pollution, formerly a rarity in this quiet community, assaults our ears more and more.
But unless you're near a smokestack or a hog farm, you don't think much about odor pollution. That's because the odors of industry are normally scattered far and wide by prevailing winds. (The other exception is an inversion: when winds are stagnant and air is trapped in the bowl created by the mountains.)
Even though the odors are dispersed, they are still there. And they continue to do damage in insidious ways. The manmade chemicals in the air react with the indigenous scents of nature, masking and altering them in unknowably countless ways. The magic aromas of my childhood are still there, but I notice them less often. I have to go to quiet places at special times, and seek them out.
One of these times is just after a good rain. Recently I went on a bike ride though the back roads of Buncombe County. It was a route I've taken dozens of times. But this time was different! The air seemed alive with fertility. The bouquets of a million flowers swirled every which way, wafting their messages throughout the world. It was a sensual delight.
Such experiences are rare these days. It may be that my nose is less acute than it used to be. Or perhaps I'm just over-romanticizing my youth. But I don't think so. It still happens often enough, and powerfully enough, that I know it's real. And people who are older and wiser than me have told me similar stories.
Scientists tell us that the limbic system—which includes the olfactory bulbs—was one of the first parts of the brain to evolve. It controls such things as emotional expression, seizure activity, and memory storage and recall. Aromas affect us at the gut level, triggering strong emotions and memories.
If you doubt this, go to a local flower garden or nursery. (The North Carolina Arboretum or the Farmer's Market are good choices for starters.) Then stop and smell the roses. Literally! This is one of those cliches that are too seldom taken at face value. If you do, I think you'll see what I mean.
One of the true treasures of Western North Carolina—just as much as the beautiful views and the lush forests—is the rich redolence of its mountain air. It is indeed sad when one of the prices we pay for living in this modern age is a diminishing of that richness.
What can we do about it? It's been said many times: write your Congressman! And while you're at it, call Governor Hunt at 1-800-662-7952. Tell him to drop his suit against the EPA, and ask him to require vehicle emissions tests statewide. Tell him air pollution stinks, and you want it stopped now! Your nose will thank you for it.