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The smell of home smoked sausage brings tears to my eyes. It makes me think about how much I miss my Daddy. But it reminds me of good times. And it reminds me of the time he smoked sausage in my Mamma's beauty shop bathroom. She had closed it for some forgotten reason. The beauty shop was a small separate building with a lean to bathroom built on to satisfy the state board regulations. He built the fire in the bathtub (why was there a tub?) put some sticks in the top and smoked his winters deer and wild pig kill that winter. I won't ever forget that smell. Mamma reopened her beauty shop later so the bathroom had to be scrubbed and repainted, with several coats of paint. But it smelled like sausage til the day we moved years later. I'm gonna build me a smokehouse.