When I wrote about Trachelospermum the other week, it made me think of other fragrances. What are the smells of summer in a garden if they are not roses - or Trachelospermum, for that matter? I can think of many, of course, and so will you. Freshly mown grass. Elderflowers. Honeysuckle. The smell of wet soil and refreshed plants after a good rain on a warm day. Lime blossom. Lavender. Pinks. All sorts of herbs: thyme, oregano, rosemary, basil. Tomato leaves. Strawberries, Raspberries, Blackberries, Blackcurrants. Sun-kissed apricots perhaps. Lilies, phloxes, evening primroses. The list seems endless and is very much subjective: determined not only by which part of the planet you live on and what you grow, but just as much by what you like and your memories.
Apparently, scent bypasses the rational part of your brain and goes straight to the subconscious. There it stirs up emotions and conjures up memories linked to this smell. If you spent your childhood summer holidays at grandparents, say, and they perhaps grew lots of scented phloxes, chances are a whiff of these flowers will send your mind back to those days spent at granny's. You can't help it, it just happens. For me, mock orange - Philadelphus, in German also called "peasant's jasmine for it's strong summery fragrance - always turns me into a little girl again: crouching under a big shrub in full flower next to a Seventies apartment block, drunk on the smell and happy no-one spotted me in my secret hide-out.
Apparently, scent bypasses the rational part of your brain and goes straight to the subconscious. There it stirs up emotions and conjures up memories linked to this smell. If you spent your childhood summer holidays at grandparents, say, and they perhaps grew lots of scented phloxes, chances are a whiff of these flowers will send your mind back to those days spent at granny's. You can't help it, it just happens. For me, mock orange - Philadelphus, in German also called "peasant's jasmine for it's strong summery fragrance - always turns me into a little girl again: crouching under a big shrub in full flower next to a Seventies apartment block, drunk on the smell and happy no-one spotted me in my secret hide-out.
Philadelphus, mock-orange, peasant's jasmine - by any other name would smell as sweet.
Surprisingly, there are also really strong fragrances that prove totally elusive. Take the yellow deciduous azaleas, for instance. You tend to smell them before you see them - and that's despite their glowing flowers which often will cover the entire plant. When the scent hits me, for a fraction of a second there is some memory that feels like long long ago. But what memory? Try as I may I can't grasp it! Before I can remember what it reminds me of, it's gone. I have tried so often but this smell is truly in my subconscious only. The closest I've come is to guess it has something to do with early childhood holidays.
There weren't many azaleas around where I grew up. But until I started school my family, in late May or June, used to stay in the holiday-home of an old, widely travelled natural scientist. My parents would tell me how he once had been invited to meet the Emperor of Japan and other stories that fired my imagination. And in his garden there were exotic plants we couldn't normally get hold of in East Germany. From slide images my dad took I know there were yellow azaleas, too. So I suppose my ungraspable flashbacks have something to do with these holidays. But what exactly?
There weren't many azaleas around where I grew up. But until I started school my family, in late May or June, used to stay in the holiday-home of an old, widely travelled natural scientist. My parents would tell me how he once had been invited to meet the Emperor of Japan and other stories that fired my imagination. And in his garden there were exotic plants we couldn't normally get hold of in East Germany. From slide images my dad took I know there were yellow azaleas, too. So I suppose my ungraspable flashbacks have something to do with these holidays. But what exactly?
Yellow deciduous azaleas have an overpowering perfume - it hits you and almost knocks you out.
I may never find out. The whole quest (I haven't given up yet!) very much reminds me of the novella "Iris" by Hermann Hesse. There, the hero as a little boy would gaze fascinatedly into the blooms of bearded irises and imagine himself to wander into the flower - a magic kingdom opening up. When he grows older, he forgets about it and wouldn't care about such childish things anyway: he is a learned and highly regarded scholar now. But then he falls in love with a colleague's sister, Iris. To his surprise, she refuses to marry him. In essence, she rejects his proposal because he is such a sober, dispassionate soul whilst she is very pensive, sensitive and imaginative.
Eventually though, she sets him a task: when they first met, he had told her that her name reminded him of something but he didn't remember what it was. If she was ever to accept his hand in marriage, she says, he must first find out what it was that her name reminded him of. And so he goes on a quest, his personality changing entirely in the process. A while later Iris dies of some illness but encourages him to continue searching because, as she points out, he will know by now that it is about far more than just gaining her love. Finally, as an old man, he finds his magic kingdom of childhood days again and - whilst his body is dying - wanders happily into it once more.
Eventually though, she sets him a task: when they first met, he had told her that her name reminded him of something but he didn't remember what it was. If she was ever to accept his hand in marriage, she says, he must first find out what it was that her name reminded him of. And so he goes on a quest, his personality changing entirely in the process. A while later Iris dies of some illness but encourages him to continue searching because, as she points out, he will know by now that it is about far more than just gaining her love. Finally, as an old man, he finds his magic kingdom of childhood days again and - whilst his body is dying - wanders happily into it once more.
Lilium longiflorum and Geranium 'Rozanne' ('Gerwat').
Back to the real world. In my garden, there is no lawn, no berries, no evening primrose and certainly no lime tree - but I do have pinks, a straggly old lavender, a white phlox and several assorted lilies. The regal lilies (Lilium regale) do best, multiplying and coming up stronger year after year in the beds. Their fragrance is most intoxicating in the evening and I absolutely love it. But if pressed, I still prefer that of the one Madonna lily (Lilium candidum) I have, growing in a pot. Or perhaps the more subtle scent of the Easter lily (Lilium longiflorum)? The shape of its flowers resembles that of the regal lily, but the whole plant has a more elegant appearance. In my garden it has proved hardy but I wouldn't bank on it. Lilium longiflorum by the way looks very pretty together with my summer staple, "RHS Plant of the Century" Geranium Rozanne ('Gerwat').
The Nicotinias fell prey to slugs and snails, but there is another noticeable fragrance in my garden right now - that of Gardenia 'Kleim's Hardy'. As heady as Gardenia jasminoides which you'd buy for indoors or conservatories, but has been happy in a pot outdoors all year round with me for several years now. It is evergreen, safe that period in late spring when I always think I've killed it because all of a sudden its leaves turn yellow and drop off. It's the one standing on our table outside since it looks great all year round and now I have its perfume straight in my nose.
The Nicotinias fell prey to slugs and snails, but there is another noticeable fragrance in my garden right now - that of Gardenia 'Kleim's Hardy'. As heady as Gardenia jasminoides which you'd buy for indoors or conservatories, but has been happy in a pot outdoors all year round with me for several years now. It is evergreen, safe that period in late spring when I always think I've killed it because all of a sudden its leaves turn yellow and drop off. It's the one standing on our table outside since it looks great all year round and now I have its perfume straight in my nose.
Gardenia 'Kleim's Hardy'
Not a summer addition in our climes but one I can't wait to smell again is Frangipani. And hopefully, after almost a decade, I will be able to do so soon - we're off on holiday! Naturally, I'm all excited by the prospect - not least because of the frangipani. So have a lovely few weeks and see you back here after the holidays!
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