There are certain smells that you have to get used to. I grew up London with the whiff of petrol and gas in the nose. When the underground trains entered the station their electricity turned the air into ozone, O3, and that had its own smell as well. The underground tunnels were full of it.
The move to Switzerland was enhanced with the smell of cheese fondue, but 20 years ago we bought our appartment in the Swiss countryside, a small village where the cows and goats and hedgehogs all say goodnight to each other, with their whiffs and moos. They were here first on the pastures with a population of almost as many humans.
There are certain days in the year, mostly Spring, when nature’s whiff takes over. The farmers are fertilising their fields. They have a secret mixture, a liquid that has fermented from the products of the cows, I think. I am not sure as I did not marry a Swiss farmer luckily. Otherwise I would have to wash his boots every day. It is then that the air is full of the whiff of this secret ingredient. The farmer fills the tank and anoints the fields with its scent. Of course the fields are in another place, but the smell penetrates and travels and the whole village knows that the fields are being prepared for the crops. It does not seem to bother the cows, they even like to take a muddy walk now and again in their pastures.
Eventually it is no longer just a whiff, but a fully sized stink. But let us be honest. It is one of the pleasures of living in the country. It belongs, just keep the windows closed on such days when the farmer is on his way and wind is blowing in your direction.
And the cows? They are loving it.