Of the countless flowers that grow here at the farmette, many can be and have been described as having a "delightful light fragrance." Lilies, phloxes, lavenders, sweet peas, roses -- each one can emit a singularly beautiful aroma. But because I tend not to plant in clumps, choosing instead to scatter plants for more of a cottage look, most of the fragrance is gentle enough to blend into the entirety (well, except for the lilium which can be quite powerful!). As you walk through the garden, what you get is the incredibly beautiful fragrance of ... a field in bloom. I have no better way to describe it.
After a rain, however, everything changes. The leaves of trees, the soil, the grasses -- they add their own fragrance to the stockpile. And oh did it rain last night! 2.25 inches of wetness came down on farmette lands and we all let out a sigh of relief. And stepping out into the yard this morning was, well, heavenly! A wet garden smells so good!
Though of course, a heavy rain is going to knock off some fading blooms and stalks. That's inevitable. I don't mind. We're moving toward a late summer look, where small and perky are replaced by something that's abundant, heavy, and just a little weary from all that summer work.
This is one of the really good things about living in the country: the smells around you are so noticeable that they really can trigger all those warm feelings of peace and contentment. But I wasn't necessarily thinking of farmette fragrances this morning as I scooted from one task (clearing the garden, feeding animals) to the next (going downtown to the market, fixing breakfast for us, etc)
(at the market: it's all about the zinnias, the dahlias, the glads.)
(breakfast: yesterday's corn bread with cherry jam)
I had read an article in the NYT about a guy who lives, breathes and manufactures the fragrances of northeastern Catalonia. This is the corner of Spain that abuts the sea and the hills of the Pyrenee mountain range. It's where Ed and I spent all those Junes as we made our way from Barcelona to Sorede. This is the oft forgotten aspect of travel: the pleasure of smelling another landscape. You can read about other cultures. You can watch films that give a fantastic image of a place far away. You can listen to its music, even taste some approximation of its food. You can do that from your own backyard. But you can't indulge your olfactory senses from home. You have to be there to smell it. And oh, did that one small article in the paper today have me pining for the fragrances of Catalonia!
[You can, of course, purchase aromas. The guy in Spain sells the herb and flower and woodsy essentials in little containers. But it's funny about fragrance: it works best in its own natural surrounding. Food -- you can eat a great seafood right in your landlocked dining room in the Midwest and enjoy the hell out of it. But bringing Catalan aromas to your Wisconsin farmhouse is perhaps quaintly nostalgic, but it is also a mismatch. Better to stick with your lilies and phloxes and fruit orchards at home.]
In the afternoon, the little girl comes here to play. And read. And eat peaches. We have a lot of peaches!
It rained hard all day long and yes, that's a good thing of course, but still, it does keep us tightly indoors. But with open windows!
(Going home before the big storms)
(Brothers at home...)
The storms come back for another round of rain and thunder. Our measuring cup overflows with water! Inside, there's plenty of cornbread to toast and leftover chili to dish out. Kitchen smells on a wet, wet day.
