Growing up, I would be lying in bed in the summer and hear the foghorn early in the morning (it was summer, so I wanted to get up super early). I knew what the pond would look like, across the street from me. That's the pond there, picture taken from across the street from my house.
Then I'd go into the bathroom, and look out the window there. I could see the standpipe, sometimes, with the misty early morning sun. The green trees between us, and the marsh in the back yard. The window open, I could smell the fog and the summer.
I can hear a foghorn where we live now, but faintly. The one from "home" is the one seared into my brain, and whenever I hear one, I think of summer mornings, waiting for the fog to burn off to go to the beach, or hopping in a boat to row on the pond or go for sailing lessons.
Man, childhood is really something you want to wrap a blanket around and protect at all costs, isn't it? No one better mess with my memories :-)