Although the weather outside was warm enough to leave a window open and the door ajar, the fertile scents permeated the interior with the invisible cobwebs of memories. They intertwined in my mind, overpowering the reason for my visit. I straddled a stool to drink in the dark, robust odors, closed my eyes, and tried to isolate and identify each scent and a memory attached to it.

I could have remained there for weeks. Recollections and images galloped through my mind … and a smile crept across my face. Saddles, worn smooth with use; scratched, weathered, even a bit ragged. Latigos, draped soft, supple and darkened with sweat, and neatsfoot oil. Saddle blankets and pads, conformed to the curve of a horse’s back, dark sweat stains, miles and hair matted underneath. Every scratch, tear and stain had a story all its own.

Dozens of headstalls with different rein set-ups and all kinds of bits hang neatly on the wall. Some have engraving, lettering, or dried saliva and grass flaked on the bits and reins from the last fall gathering. Lingering somewhere in the shadows I caught the tiniest hint of sulphur: gunpowder from my saddlebags—a remnant of enthusiastic and rambunctious outlaw re-enactments from long ago.

Memories swirled and danced through my mind, settling in little tidal pools of nostalgia. Some crashed against the confines of my brain like waves on the rocky cliffs of the ocean, and some foamed sweetly and receded gently on the white sand of a quiet beach.

Our memories. They crop up in many parts of the brain all at once, with some lingering on longer than others. We are bombarded by information about the world around us from the moment we are born, and the process of storing that information, as well as remembering it—defines memory.

Some bring tears, some bring smiles, laughter, longing, and some bring a delightful, warm satisfaction or peace.

Bringing up memories are the focus of 70% of conversations around kitchen tables, in restaurants, bars, church, school, and work. These waking hours spent communicating with others are what gives us the ability to not just survive, but to flourish. We crack jokes, reminisce about the past, dream about the future, make plans and share ideas and information.

These memories are important. They define, inspire, and encourage our life. It makes us feel good to talk about them and hear the memories of those around us. It validates us, and more importantly, it connects us with others.

Don’t we all have odd little trinkets or mementos that we keep and/or collect to remind us of certain events in our lives?

I have favorite seashells: something that helps me remember the beaches I was able to visit when I was very young, and to let me dream about going again someday. I have a shadowbox of very special items that my veterans have sent me: their medals, shell casings, bracelets, challenge coins, infantry badges, service ribbons, dog tags, and shards of shrapnel to mention a few. I have an old steak knife lying on a windowsill that reminds me of a very dark time in my teens when I had hidden it in the barn to protect myself from a certain very unwelcome presence. It also reminds me of my perseverance and strength, which I’m very grateful for. The trophy case is full of buckles, engraved silver and brass platters, statues, cups, spurs, bits, horn caps and more that remind me, and my husband, of the accomplishments, experiences, and victories that we have worked hard for and enjoyed.

But the most special memories are those that grow from deep within our hearts: the sound of my father’s voice, my first horse, the joy of dancing, confidently swinging up on a good horse and shaking out my rope, winning an all-around, and the ability to play the flute and piano with competence.

Memories are a way to hold on to the things we love, and the things we are and never want to lose. It’s our story. It’s a pleasure when they spring forth from a scent, sight, sound or even a taste.

Make your life a story worth telling, because the best thing about memories are making them.