Making Scents Of The Garden

Gardens appeal to all the senses. The visual is obvious. There are many plants that beg to be touched and/or tasted – who hasn’t instinctively reached out to caress the soft, furry leaves of Lamb’s Ears or picked a tomato straight off the vine for the first true taste of summer? Nibbled on a mint leaf whilst surveying the garden lately?

And then there are the smells that elevate the garden to become more than just an experience. Smells, more than the other senses, bring forth remembrances. Our memories are most easily evoked by smell. And the month of June seems suffused in fragrance.

In my own garden, June starts off with the climbing hydrangea in bloom. The tendrils of its heady perfume climb up into the house and spread out reminding me of the week spent at a dear friend’s lake house many years ago. It was my first time in a log house and also where I was first introduced to the climbing hydrangea. The friend has since passed away but her spirit remains in my heart and whenever I inhale the gift from the climbing hydrangea, I think of Kate and how much she meant to me.

As I weed in the north perennial bed in the front garden, the subtle fragrance of purple Siberian irises remind me to be strong and fearless like the one who gave them to me. Hedda was decades ahead of her time and paid no mind to nay sayers. She lived boldly, truthfully and with deep consideration of the earth and all its residents. That gentle, olfactory nudge was so timely as I’d been feeling a bit discouraged about something at that moment. Hedda might not be around any more but she communicates to me through her irises. Mostly to tell me to trust my instincts.

Whilst deadheading the scented geraniums (pelargoniums really), I’m transported to the time when I introduced my then two year daughter to the different smells of the leaves of assorted geraniums – attar of rose, lemon-rose, citronella and mint-chocolate. She expressed delight at sniffing the first two, crinkled up her nose at the third and positively lit up with the last one. Many subsequent tea parties with her stuffed animals had mint-chocolate ‘cookies’ in abundance. Such fond memories.

The perfume of the night blooming jasmine embraces me as I settle into bed and takes me back to my own childhood in India. The night air thick with the same aroma lulling me to sleep. Likewise, during the day, the powerful bouquet of the gardenia’s creamy flowers evoke images of my mother helping me tuck a bloom in my braided hair. These days, I’m more inclined to place it on my desk or bedside. A single gardenia flower perfumes the entire house.

Lavender invariably takes me to Provence – a place very dear to my heart and one I return to as often as possible. I inhale the crushed leaves or flowers in my garden and right away, I can feel the hot Provencal sun on my skin and the steady thrum of the bees accompanied by the rise and fall of the call of the cicadas. And suddenly, a sense of peace comes over me.

Rosemary, basil, mint, sage, thyme, cilantro, bay all recall so many memorable meals and recipes shared with families and friends. I’m motivated to recreate a dish or two, invite a couple of friends and voila, a summer party happens. New memory created.

Santolina, that I often dry in bunches and hang to repel moths in closets where out of season garments and other linens are stored, has the same memory for my daughter as I have about naphthalene balls from my childhood. Familiar, comforting even but, not necessarily pleasurable.

So many memories raised by a mere whiff from the garden. So powerful and yet, so underrated.