by DoTs
From a utilitarian standpoint, the word ‘petrichor’ is used to describe the very specific smell elicited from fresh rain occurring in a dry environment. Chances are, reader, that you have encountered this sensory experience, and probably have memories associated with it: It is a spectacularly evocative smell, and one that is exceedingly specific in its origin, yet ubiquitous to people living in varied locales and climates. Which is not to say that the smell itself is universal throughout them all, but the unique qualities of the scent itself and its variability are somewhat outside the scope of this ponderance, so we will not digress in that direction.
Rather, let us return to the word itself. ‘Petrichor’ (ˈpe-trə-ˌkȯr) has a fairly simple and relatively recent etymological development. Its first recorded use, as according to Miriam-Webster, was in a journal article in 1964 (Nature volume 201, issue 4923, March 7th 1964) written by Isabel Joy Bear and Richard Grenfell Thomas. Two mineral chemists from Australia, their article was titled Nature of Argillaceous Odour, and it is in this article that the first formal usage of the word occurs. It is a fairly simple combination of the Greek-origin petro- combinative, meaning stone or rock of the earth, and ichor — another originally Greek word recognizable as blood or vital fluid. In a phrase, it means ‘stone-blood’, or ‘blood of the Earth’.
So, were I to define the word now, I would say: “Smell of the blood of the earth.”
Despite the youth of the word it has come to common public use, and a brief endeavor will be made to contemplate this phenomena. To do so, let me return to the opening paragraph of this article: The scent of rain on dry earth, and the shared human experience around it.
We live in an era where words for specific experiences and seemingly unique happenstances are more accessible than ever. There are plenty of images disseminated across the internet regarding 10 Words You Should Know and things along those lines, teaching people the specific words for significant experiences that they otherwise would struggle to describe. This phenomena should not be ignored when considering how such a narrowly-applicable term becomes commonly known and used, but it does not suffice entirely.
Just as important a component of human acknowledgement is significance. It is one thing for someone to tell you what the term for something is, but what makes it stand resolute in memory? In this case, I would posit that it is the emotional experience of petrichor that has contributed to people adopting the word. People generate memories around the phenomenon, the smell itself. To some, it is the smell of autumn rain after a dry summer. To others, the wondrous novelty of freak rain in a dry clime. The smell drifting through your window as you wake to find clouds having blown in while you were asleep. The arrival bell of summer storms, accompanied by the patter on concrete or asphalt. What you breathe in as the gentle susurration of droplets surrounds you.
Chances are, you have experiences like this, dear reader. Memories of this slightly ethereal scent attached to the onset of rain. I certainly do. Even if no solid memories arise, I can hope that you think of these ramblings the next time you encounter that smell.
But in that vein, the question is tempting to ask: Why does this uncommonly-occurring scent form significance in the human mind enough to beget its own word? What makes it so compelling, deserving of the coining of a brand new term in the 1960s? Allow me a modicum of sentimentality in this regard, as I attempt to satisfactorily answer.
Petrichor is a phenomena defined, ultimately, as the separation between a time of dryness, and now rain. It is the transitioning from one state into another, a byproduct of a palpable change in the environment. A pivot point in the human experience of our surroundings. Water starts falling from the sky after having not done so for some time, and this subtle, unique scent appears. It is not commonly replicated outside the naturally-occurring process that produces it, and it does not last. It only arises in the momentary state between dry and wet, the earth receiving rain for the first time in however long. Inherently rare and temporary, and all the more significant for it.
This, to the mind of the author, is what has allowed the word to become so prevalent and defined in the common lexicon. It is a ubiquitous and evocative phenomena that always calls up a specific shared experience, the moment when dry earth becomes wet, the vignette of experience when rain begins to fall. This beautiful smell, emblematic of a passing moment between two states of the world around us.
Human language is a very adaptable thing. As our primary means of defining our surroundings, internally and externally, it has to be so. It is a force driven by necessity. The rise and use of the word ‘petrichor’ is emblematic of exactly that process: a rare sensory happenstance, given label for communication to others. It has no direct synonyms in the languages this author is versed in, and any attempt to explain or define it relies on tapping into that shared human experience covered previously.
This, above all, is the key to how such a young word — younger than you, perhaps — has established a foothold in our lexicon. A specific word for a specific experience, a name for a common memory, a label for something otherwise nameless. Despite arising in a niche scientific journal, used for utilitarian purpose, it has become the word that encompasses a wide range of memories in vastly different people. There is beauty in that, to the mind of the author.
Petrichor, the scent of the blood of the Earth. It’s a good word. If it has found a place in your lexicon after this meandering exploration, I am glad. If it was already there, I truly hope that it has slightly more associated with it now. Thank you for your attention, and above all: Enjoy the rain, dear reader.
DoTs is a local gas masked figure with an unquiet mind and a full bookshelf. When not drinking coffee, he can be found ravenously devouring anything with an iota of story in it, from books to movies to videogames.
