Behind the Scent
How a summer hike in 1987 became a scent I had to make.
There's a mountain in the Adirondacks with my name on it.
Mount Marcy.
The highest point in New York State.
I grew up in Lake Placid seeing it in the distance—always there, always steady—but for a long time, I hadn't climbed it. Something about it felt… big. Like it wasn't just another hike. Like it was something you had to be ready for.
In the summer of 1987, I was ten years old when we finally did it.
My sister Sarah had just come back from a NOLS wilderness program, which meant she had all the gear, all the confidence, and very strong opinions about how everything should be done. She was ready. So naturally, that meant we all were.
My mom, my dad, Sarah, me, our black and tan coonhound Santa… and what felt like an excessive amount of dried fruit.
And off we went.
The Hike Up
The hike was long. Longer than I expected. This was before the trails were as clearly marked as they are now—my dad had a map and a compass, and that was the plan.
At one point, my mom was soaking in the quiet and said something like, "Isn't it nice to be out here and not see anyone?"
And right on cue, Santa started barking.
Around the bend came a group of hikers… including one of my mom's students.
Without hesitation, she stepped off the trail and disappeared into the woods to hide.
We just stood there watching it happen. It was one of the funniest things I had ever seen.
Not long after, the sky opened up and it poured. We were completely soaked. There was no turning back—just keep going.
And then there was Sarah… and the dried fruit.
Let's just say she ate a little too much and ended up sitting in a stream for a while. It's still one of those family stories that comes up every time we're together.
That night, she cooked for us using everything she had learned. The food wasn't great. But the hot cocoa? Perfect. And somehow, that made everything feel okay.
We camped partway up the mountain, and I barely slept. I was too excited.
The Summit
The next morning, we reached the summit at dawn.
And that part… I'll never forget.
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"I had a clementine in my pack. I always did on hikes. I remember peeling it slowly in that cold morning air, the scent bursting open—bright, fresh, alive. That citrus mixed with the trees, the wind, the feeling of being up there… it was perfect." |
We stayed up there for hours. Just taking it all in. The view, the air, the quiet. It had been so hard to get there—and standing at the top felt like something I had truly earned.
I didn't know it at the time, but that moment stayed with me.
My mom was happy. Sarah had recovered. Santa was still running up and down the mountain like he had endless energy.
And me? I was standing on top of the highest point in New York, on the mountain that shared my name, feeling proud in a way that only comes from doing something hard.
On the way down, I got to lead.
I took that role very seriously.
And I loved every second of it.
The Scent
I'm not sure I can fully explain why that hike stayed with me the way it did.
Maybe it was being together. Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe it was the joy of realizing I could do something that felt so big.
But years later, when I began to understand the power of scent—how it can bring you back to a moment instantly—that was the first memory I wanted to capture.
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"Not because it was perfect. Because it was real." |
That became Mount Marcy.
Bright mandarin, inspired by that clementine at the summit. Fresh basil, capturing the green, alive feeling of the trail. Warm sandalwood, grounding it all—like the mountain itself.
It's more than a scent.
It's a feeling.
The feeling of doing something hard. The feeling of being with people you love. The feeling of standing at the top, tired and proud, thinking… I did it.
And every time I smell it, I'm right back there.
Warmly,
Marcy
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The Scent Mount Marcy Mandarin · Basil · Sandalwood · Lily of the Valley A feeling of joy, warmth, and quiet optimism. |
