A Scent Really Can Take You Back

I had an unexpected emotional setback today.  It wasn't anything horrific or horrible, or anything else that starts with h-o-r-r.  It was just... well, unexpected.  And from a fragrance, of all things.  

It's no secret to those who know me well that winter in the garden is my favorite time.  This was especially true when I was in charge of Elizabeth ("Libba") Lawrence's garden, as she literally wrote the book on Gardens in Winter (Claitor's, 1977), and her living legacy showcased some magical hibernal botanical treasures.  

Actually, I never really thought about gardens in winter prior to curating Libba's garden.  Before I read her book, I never knew there were bulbs or perennials or shrubs (other than Forsythia) that reliably bloom in December, January, or February.  

One of the most frequently asked questions I received from visitors was, "When is the BEST time to come see the garden?"  To which I always enthusiastically replied, "The absolute dead of winter."  Yeah, that got some weird looks.  But I always explained why.  During the "normal" growing months, plants are vying for your attention.  Look at me!  Hey, look at me!  No, look at ME!  Libba once wrote that spring is the "Easter hat time of year."  

Like she did, I prefer the quiet months, when blooms--and fragrances--can be enjoyed singly or in careful and brilliant pairing.  One of my all-time favorite winter flowers, all thanks to Libba, is Chimonanthus fragrans (winter sweet).  (It's one of my all-time favorites regardless of  time of year, truth be told.)   

Chimonanthus praecox blooms glistening in the winter sun in Elizabeth Lawrence's garden.  Oddly enough, I took this photo January 2, 2024... one year and a day ago.

There were far fewer visitors to Libba's garden during winter, but no less work to be done, so most days would find me out pulling weeds, cutting back frost-bitten perennials, or studying her masterful design and structural plantings.  My favorite spot to sit and study the garden was a stone bench above the small circular pool.  I would sit there in late afternoon, when the sun was far enough in its rounds for the day to warm that very spot.  In a bed nearby, a large gangly winter sweet's flowers would also feel the warmth of the winter sun, and they would fill the air with their intoxicating perfume.  I cherished those times.  I knew in the moment that those were special times that I would treasure, and try my darnedest to never forget.  

Those emotions... those moments... came flooding back to me this afternoon, as I worked in a very dear friend's garden--as I do nearly every Friday--and the afternoon sun warmed the blooms of her large winter sweet... and filled the air with that same intoxicating perfume. 

I longed, with every fiber of my being, to be back on that stone bench at Libba's, smelling the winter sweet, with the low winter sun warming my face.  All at once, I missed Libba and her garden so much that it hurt.  It hit me like a punch.  It was unexpected.  I got emotional.  But what I think as I write this is... how truly wonderful it was to have been able to have those memories and experiences for so many winter days.  I wouldn't trade them for anything.  Even if it does hurt like hell once in a while.

And now I have to find just the right spots for the three winter sweet plants I have in pots in my home garden.  Maybe I'll build my own stone bench nearby.

 

As ever, I remain,

Yours in dirt,

Andrea