Fragrant spring
May. 27th, 2005 06:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
altivoWe're in the middle of the most fragrant and perfumed time of year here in the midwest. Beginning around the first of May and running up to mid-June, a succession of strongly scented flowers bloom all over the rural countryside.
This is not quite the same as walking through a city garden. Out here amid the areas that were settled 150 or more years ago and have yet to be completely encased in concrete, flowering shrubs and trees that were imported by early settlers have run wild. Ecologically, I guess it's a bit of a disaster. But for simple estheticism, it's not bad at all. :)
The earliest spring flowers, snowdrops and daffodils, crocus and scylla, have little scent. Hyacinth, though strongly scented, doesn't seem to do well as a garden escape, so it doesn't enter into the equation. But once the lilacs start to bloom, you can't walk around outdoors without being continuously overwhelmed by their perfume. Huge hedges of lilac can be detected from as far away as a half mile. Before they are done, though, the Japanese honeysuckle begins.
Until I moved out here, I had no idea of the many colors and varieties of honeysuckle. My own land, though lacking lilacs, is overgrown with honeysuckle. The flowers, in shades ranging from white through pinks, salmon, fire orange, reds, and deep purples, are insignificant individually, but there are thousands on each otherwise nondescript shrub. They give the entire plant a cast from a distance, overwhelming the green leaves with their hue. During the blooming season (now just ending) you can't walk anywhere outdoors without smelling the heavy scent of honeysuckle.
As the honeysuckle finishes up, a number of profuse white flowers come onto the scene. Bridal wreath, another old-fashioned garden shrub, is blooming now with a pale, dusty fragrance that hangs in still air but seems to disappear in a breeze. I sometimes call these "stink-bushes" because of their musty, dry character. They are always overlapped by wild cherry, which grows like a weed here and can be anything from a low shrub to a 40 foot tree, festooned with thousands of clusters of tiny white flowers. The cherry, at least, is native. All the others I've mentioned are introduced species that have completely overwhelmed the natural prairie ecosystem here. Birds love the tiny fruit, which is slightly bitter and mostly seed. It used to be made into jellies and cough medicines at one time, but it must take a huge amount of them to get much yield.
Blackberry blossoms are just beginning to open this week, and in another seven days or so will completely take over the olfactory scene with their heavy, fruity smell. Between them, the cherry and the blackberry literally whiten the landscape, both during their bloom and afterwards as they strew the ground with millions of tiny white flower petals. They will be followed in mid-June by the elderberry, another musty, dusty scent, and the catalpa, a native tree that grows quickly in moist areas and bears popcorn-like clusters of large, almost orchid-like, white and yellow blossoms. Catalpa is exotic looking when you see it close up, and has a powerful, perfume-like scent that seems more appropriate to some tropical setting, but it is a true American native.
Basswood (linden trees to you Europe folk, I think) are scattered among the native trees, easy to spot by their large light green leaves. Their flower is pecular because it is green and hidden, but has a faint lime-like scent that attracts bees in great numbers. I used to find them notable for their scent when I lived in the city and they often had been planted in rows that lined entire avenues. But here, they are mostly lost in the perfumed chaos of June.
In the midst of all this, the horse-chestnut still raises its yellowish, sweet scented racemes to the sky. At one time, living in the city, I could detect a horse-chestnut from blocks away, and did not find the smell particularly pleasant. Amid the riot of blossoms here, though, I rarely notice their scent and only enjoy the color and shape of the flower clusters. The American chestnut, once abundant, has been wiped from the landscape by a long-standing blight introduced from China over a century ago, so I know it only by reputation, alas.
What I miss, and need to revisit, is the pine incense of northern Michigan and Wisconsin forests, which is strongest in late summer dry spells. That's a nostalgic smell that takes me back to my childhood. :)
This is not quite the same as walking through a city garden. Out here amid the areas that were settled 150 or more years ago and have yet to be completely encased in concrete, flowering shrubs and trees that were imported by early settlers have run wild. Ecologically, I guess it's a bit of a disaster. But for simple estheticism, it's not bad at all. :)
The earliest spring flowers, snowdrops and daffodils, crocus and scylla, have little scent. Hyacinth, though strongly scented, doesn't seem to do well as a garden escape, so it doesn't enter into the equation. But once the lilacs start to bloom, you can't walk around outdoors without being continuously overwhelmed by their perfume. Huge hedges of lilac can be detected from as far away as a half mile. Before they are done, though, the Japanese honeysuckle begins.
Until I moved out here, I had no idea of the many colors and varieties of honeysuckle. My own land, though lacking lilacs, is overgrown with honeysuckle. The flowers, in shades ranging from white through pinks, salmon, fire orange, reds, and deep purples, are insignificant individually, but there are thousands on each otherwise nondescript shrub. They give the entire plant a cast from a distance, overwhelming the green leaves with their hue. During the blooming season (now just ending) you can't walk anywhere outdoors without smelling the heavy scent of honeysuckle.
As the honeysuckle finishes up, a number of profuse white flowers come onto the scene. Bridal wreath, another old-fashioned garden shrub, is blooming now with a pale, dusty fragrance that hangs in still air but seems to disappear in a breeze. I sometimes call these "stink-bushes" because of their musty, dry character. They are always overlapped by wild cherry, which grows like a weed here and can be anything from a low shrub to a 40 foot tree, festooned with thousands of clusters of tiny white flowers. The cherry, at least, is native. All the others I've mentioned are introduced species that have completely overwhelmed the natural prairie ecosystem here. Birds love the tiny fruit, which is slightly bitter and mostly seed. It used to be made into jellies and cough medicines at one time, but it must take a huge amount of them to get much yield.
Blackberry blossoms are just beginning to open this week, and in another seven days or so will completely take over the olfactory scene with their heavy, fruity smell. Between them, the cherry and the blackberry literally whiten the landscape, both during their bloom and afterwards as they strew the ground with millions of tiny white flower petals. They will be followed in mid-June by the elderberry, another musty, dusty scent, and the catalpa, a native tree that grows quickly in moist areas and bears popcorn-like clusters of large, almost orchid-like, white and yellow blossoms. Catalpa is exotic looking when you see it close up, and has a powerful, perfume-like scent that seems more appropriate to some tropical setting, but it is a true American native.
Basswood (linden trees to you Europe folk, I think) are scattered among the native trees, easy to spot by their large light green leaves. Their flower is pecular because it is green and hidden, but has a faint lime-like scent that attracts bees in great numbers. I used to find them notable for their scent when I lived in the city and they often had been planted in rows that lined entire avenues. But here, they are mostly lost in the perfumed chaos of June.
In the midst of all this, the horse-chestnut still raises its yellowish, sweet scented racemes to the sky. At one time, living in the city, I could detect a horse-chestnut from blocks away, and did not find the smell particularly pleasant. Amid the riot of blossoms here, though, I rarely notice their scent and only enjoy the color and shape of the flower clusters. The American chestnut, once abundant, has been wiped from the landscape by a long-standing blight introduced from China over a century ago, so I know it only by reputation, alas.
What I miss, and need to revisit, is the pine incense of northern Michigan and Wisconsin forests, which is strongest in late summer dry spells. That's a nostalgic smell that takes me back to my childhood. :)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 05:16 am (UTC)Things taken for granted
Date: 2005-05-27 06:46 am (UTC)*ATCHOO*
Re: Things taken for granted
Date: 2005-05-27 07:19 am (UTC)I usually get a reprieve in May, which is probably why I notice this so much. The grasses aren't in bloom yet, the oaks, maples, and elms are finished. This is fortunate, because apple blossoms are the most heavenly smell found on earth.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 07:37 am (UTC)There are wildflowers on the sides of the mountains from all the rain we had during the winter and things are green which is odd for Phoenix.
It is finally getting over 100 pretty steady now,so the wildfires are starting tho,so pretty soon all those pretty flowers will be toast :P
Other than that we have some marajauna plants growing wild,but they dont flower,only bud.......they smell nice tho ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 07:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 07:47 am (UTC)Its really an aquired smell......I also like the smell of racing fuel ....thats real nice :)
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 07:51 am (UTC)Eeew! Nope, it's not just Michigan stuff, it's all of it. Nasty. I can't imagine what people see in it. But then I don't get tobacco either. Yuck.