Scratch-and-Sniff

Day 218: I wish I could include a scratch-and-sniff patch with this post to carry to my readers the marvelous blend of fragrances rising from my yard on these over-warm afternoons. While the lilac dominates, an occasional current of air brings lily-of-the-valley into play, both scents riding atop a deeper, softer layer of mountain-ash. When these fade, the Philadelphus steps up, its sweet aroma filling the entire neighbourhood. It does my heart good to see the lilac strong again. When I moved here some thirty years ago, it was leggy and feeble, having grown in the shadow of an immense branch of Douglas-fir. When the branch was removed, I cut the lilac back radically per the instructions in a horticultural manual. They assured me it would benefit from the pruning and be back at full strength in just a few years. That was far from the case! It took close to twenty years before it bore a single flower. Since then, it has been putting on a few new spikes each year until now, at long last, it looks like a lilac again.

Philadelphus

Day 279: A few days ago, I came home from an outing near the dinner hour and as I mounted the steps to the front door, I caught a sweetness in the air which at first I failed to identify. It always takes me by surprise. "Ah, Philadelphus!" I said aloud as I put the key in the lock. "It's that time of year again!"

Soon, the fragrant white blossoms will have a crowd of Swallowtail butterflies investigating their hearts. I've already seen a few flitting about, and bees as well. Oh, for honey flavoured with this pollen! But alas, I have only one tree and plenty of other attractors.

It's been fifteen years or more since I brutally uprooted a single sucker from property a friend was renting. We had no shovel or trowel, so the two of us grabbed hold and pulled and pulled, reminiscent of the crew of animals and the giant turnip in the Russian folk tale. When it popped free, we went spilling backwards just like they did, one stick of Philadelphus, two or three short roots at the end, held in our hands. After wrapping the roots in wet paper towels, I drove my prize home and some three hours later, put it in a pot of soil which I then sank in the ground just off my front porch. I left it there through two winters, and then stuck it in its present location at the corner of the garage. Today, its tallest branches reach above the roof peak, laden with the sweet white flowers which perfume every corner of the yard in the later hours of the day.