The tinny farty scent of gunpowder reminds me of childhood.
My parents loved to go to the yearly "Rendesvous" a few-week long camp in the woods. Accessible only by dirt road, adding to the pre Civil War flair of the event. You could stay there the whole time or be a daytime guest on the weekends. My parents chose to be visitors.
The camp had no modern conveniences and thus was like a trip back in time. I employed dressing all Little House on the Prairie and remember most the smell of campfire, sweat, gunpowder, and dust. I liked to nibble on jerky and browse the stalls looking at canteens and turquoise beads.
My dad was interested in gun smithing and got some gunpowder, which ended up siting around because pre civil war guns ended up being a cool idea and idea only. My mom of course didn't want gunpowder just sitting around so she told him to rid of it. He decided exploding some seemed like a great way to rid of it and after the windows shook, the pet peacocks squawked, and a cloud of smoke engulfed the house through the open windows, my mom decided he could keep the gunpowder safely stored away.
Except that my Tom boy self thought the gunpowder do soon was really cool.
Somehow my introverted self was anything but in first grade and I had lots of gal pals. When I would invite a new friend over, I wanted to be cool and show off, but generally kids are t I pressed by the nerdy skills I possessed. Hey Julie look I can read a fifth grade book! Hey Amanda do you know the scientific names of the trees in the yard? Yeah...
So I thought if I liked explosions so would they!
For some odd reason, many friends who came over to my house came over just once. Apparently they didn't share my love of. Gunpowder