They say smell is the first sense we remember, and the last we lose.
Some smells seem to be (nearly) universally loved and evocative: baking bread (well, baking fullstop); freshly-mown grass... As a city-dweller, I have a fondness for the smell of rain on sun-heated concrete.
There's the smell of freshly-brewed coffee that, for me, can go both ways. Sometimes I love it, other times, not so much.
Vanilla. Lavender. Sandalwood. And just the right amount of rose.
Flowers... Early-cheer equals spring. Violets and pansies remind my of paternal grandmother. Yes, pansies do have a scent. It's very delicate and faint, best experienced by sniffing a sun-warmed flower.
But, for me, the smell of home is a bit odd. Well, maybe not home, but the smell that means comfort and safety. It's a stinky one, which most people hate, and so obscure almost nobody know what it is. It's the smell of the pink goo my dad painted on moulds to make concrete slabs. (Think of it like greasing a cake tin, it's the stuff used to make the slab come out of the mould.) It is very similar to the smell of the glue used for tiles - so you may have smelt it when visiting a mall being refurbished.
What smells mean home for you?