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FeedHeaven-Scent Gardens
Fragrant plants entice the nose both indoors and out
By Bonnie Blodgett
Photo by Judy White / www.gardenphotos.com
It wasn’t until I lost my sense of smell a year ago that I realized how much my appreciation for plants is tied to fragrance. To fight a head cold, I used a homeopathic nasal spray that destroyed my olfactory epithelium—the postage stamp-sized patch of neurons and cells at the top of the nose that houses the receptors that receive odor molecules, much like a center fielder’s baseball glove collects high flies. Mine dropped the ball altogether a few weeks before Thanksgiving. Miraculously, my olfactory stem cells escaped utter ruin and began functioning again a few months later, just as the lilacs were beginning to fade.
Each day I would stroll past lavender lilac blooms, impatiently waiting to get a full whiff, until finally my nostrils could truly absorb the intense perfume. As my sense of smell returned, I was overwhelmed with memories of growing up in a house enclosed by a huge lilac hedge—so many games and pranks and love affairs surrounding that sweet scent of lilacs.
Smell triggers memory more acutely than any of the senses. I call this the Proust phenomenon, after Marcel Proust, the novelist whose semi-autobiographical work, Remembrance of Things Past, was inspired by the taste and smell of a cookie dipped in tea. It brought Proust back to every detail of his boyhood in a tiny French village.
My stint sans smell taught me that though I never thought of myself as a fragrance–driven gardener, I actually am. It was certainly no accident that my favorite plants were herbs and the most perfumed of peonies. I had stopped growing scentless hybrids in favor of fragrant heirlooms, and I was gradually replacing my scentless roses for the ones listed in my plant guides as “highly fragrant” or “gives off a pleasant aroma.”
My experience and ruminations led me to start writing a book about smell. When Martin Stern of Squire House Gardens in Afton heard about it, he sent me his faded copy of Gardening for Fragrance, published by the Brooklyn Botanic Garden in 1989. It is a slim paperback delight; a compilation of articles written by leading authorities on smell in horticulture. They present the history of scented plants, as well as their botany, and recommend plants of all kinds on the basis of a singular trait: fragrance. (Find the book at Terrace Horticultural Books in St. Paul.)
If you’re thinking of moving smell up a notch on your garden priority list, you’ll be amazed at how many plants—and not just the usual suspects (such as roses)—have fabulous fragrance: scented geraniums, hyacinths, tuberoses, lilies-of-the-valley, freesia, irises, and houseplants (see box.)
You’ll encounter woody shrubs that smell better than the average shrub, such as mock orange, Daphne odora, deutzia, and clethra. Flowering trees—crabapple, fringe tree, black locust, plum, cherry, and horse chestnut—are also fragrant.
In gardening lore, even vines are interwoven with fragrance. Jasmine, whose delicate scent has always been favored by perfumers, deserves big kudos. My jasmine vine spends winters in my dining room and thrives outdoors during the summer months. It sits in a pot near a window I keep open so its smell can float into my kitchen on breezy days. Clematis and wisteria are not vines known for fragrance, yet they too can have a delightful scent.
Among annuals, I’ve always prized heliotrope. But before I lost my sense of smell, I focused on the deep bluish-purple hue of the flowers. Now I know that its smell is every bit as lush and velvety as its color.
My herb garden is filled with thyme that I make a point of running the palm of my hand over every time I pass it. I grow basil and rosemary indoors during the winter because of the way they make my house smell of summer.
Above all, don’t just think about garden scents during the summer. Plan ahead with smell in mind throughout the year. Bring fragrant plants indoors. Buy orchids. Keep flowering plants and herbs going by deadheading them religiously. And stop now and then to take a strong sniff. (I recently learned that sniffing hard multiplies the intensity of an odor several times.)
And please take this advice from me: Be careful what you put up your nose.
Better than Potpourri:
Plants for Indoor Fragrance
All of these plants will happily move outside for the summer. When you bring them back inside, remember that humidity is crucial for indoor plants, especially in Minnesota. Keep water nearby—how about an indoor birdbath? A tray of wet pebbles on the radiator works, too.» Jasminium sambac. Jasmine must have a sunny window to bloom.
» Passion flower vine. Works well indoors in a hanging basket in a sunny window. Prune as needed.
» Gardenia jasminoides. Gardenias need cool nights—60 degrees F.—sunny days, and high humidity to set buds. Give them tea to lower pH levels.
» Daphne odora. This one is hard to find, but it’s worth it. It likes a cool spot indoors.
» Dwarf citrus. Dwarf limes, oranges, lemons, and grapefruits need a cool and sunny window. They will revive during summer in light shade outside.
» Rosemary. Wonderfully fragrant herb loves a sunny, 50- to 60-degree F. bay window or indoor/outdoor porch.
» Star anise. It grows as well as ficus and has a spicy fragrance.
Bonnie Blodgett publishes The Garden Letter. Her book about smell will be published by houghton mifflin in 2008.
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