In another place there had been Fall plowing, and the scent which came from the upturned soil was particularly rare and pleasing. It suggested days of bare-footed boyhood and evenings of youth when the odor of fresh soil drifted through the air to make twilight sweeter, and the boys and girls happier. Doubtless none but one who has spent many happy days in the country would notice this rare odor of fresh plowed earth. There is nothing else with which the writer is familiar that is quite like it, and to his thinking there are few of the commoner odors of nature that are sweeter. It is not the rich fragrance of the flowers, it is like none of them, and yet it can not be called gross or coarse. It has rather a plain, rare freshness about it that reminds one at once that there is something in common between him and the soil and that something nothing to be ashamed of. No wonder that plowing gives a man, or boy either, a healthy appetite of large proportions when the fresh fragrance of the soil is in his nostrils all day long! It seems to tell of the sweet, clean earth turning a new face to the sun for new work and giving up to his bidding some suggestion of the riches which the soil down there ten or twelve inches below the surface has been gathering. After breathing in that fragrance one can not but feel some little satisfaction in the fact that that is mother earth, and a renewed sense of how kindly she is to us in many things, after all.
Walk on An Indian Summer Day