Category Archives: smells

A season soft and warm.

smells, summer, weather, , , ,

I am so thankful that a week and more of warm days has been bestowed on us here at the end of Summer. You can tell I love this season best, if you just look at all the posts over the years that have summer in the title. I am always searching my mind and and heart to find a way to describe what happens to me, when in the final weeks we often get the best of the season — the earth has warmed up, and for some reason the marine breezes don’t move in every afternoon and force us to put on our sweaters.

I’ve been taking advantage of this unusual situation as much as possible, and sitting in the garden to read my book, or just to soak up the feeling of being comfortable. I’m noticing.

(Not soft but stickery.)

When I walked along the nearby creek this week, I remembered another benefit of living in this climate with no summer rain, often for four months or more. The plants that thrive or survive the yearly drought eventually come to the end of their productive season, and if there is heat at this time, it draws out the essences such that I am grabbed by the aromas as I walk past. There is a lot of jammy scent right now, from the Himalayan blackberries that grow wild all over northern California; the ones that never fully ripened back in high summer are now dehydrating on their stems.

And the ubiquitous fennel, also growing wild, though it’s also not native. These exude a licorice flavor into the air about now.

According to the forecast, we’ll have another ten days of highs in the 80’s and even 90’s. I think that is just the best way to transition into October.

Scents of a September morning.

quotes, smells, , , , ,

I was excited to walk to the library this morning. Only that one errand needed doing, so it wasn’t necessary to drive from place to place. I love staying home, but I also like taking walks. It’s having to get in the car and into traffic that is a bother.

So off I went, wearing my newish pack that one of my grandsons gave me last Christmas, with his wishes for fun adventures wearing it. It was just the right size for my wallet and the three books I was returning, all related to the Iliad. I’m still reading that classic, but I was done with those commentaries.

I had barely got around the corner when I ran into the first roses on my way. I was surprised — I must have been driving past them several times a week recently, but clearly with my mind elsewhere. As I was within a few inches, and not rolling past in a car, it was easy to stop and look into their faces. I sniffed all the colors along the fence, and they were delicious. These below were my favorites, because of their romantic nature:

I thought of what Elizabeth von Arnim said about this experience:

oleander

“[Walking] is the perfect way of moving if you want to see into the life of things. It is the one way of freedom. If you go to a place on anything but your own feet you are taken there too fast, and miss a thousand delicate joys that were waiting for you by the wayside.” 

Fifty steps further on, I caught a whiff of something sweet, and looked up to see that it was the oleander bush that towered above me. I don’t know if I’ve ever noticed the scent of oleanders — but how could that be? I have known them my whole life, and was pleased to encounter so many in Greece last year.

A few more steps, and I came upon a riot of blooming rosebushes at a busy intersection. This path was truly a highly decorated and aromatic one.

And then onward under the canopy of tall redwood trees, in the sunshiny and mildly warm air, and my heart was light. I soon reached the library — only to find it closed. A tall fence closed off the entrance, and a sign told about renovation, and that it would open again in the spring. In the meantime, we could use a temporary facility a few blocks farther away. What to do? Would my feet complain if I added this extra distance to their task? I decided that I didn’t want to extend my walk further, and turned back toward home, a little disappointed. I would have to drive to return my books after all. But worse things could happen.

Walking home the other direction I noticed different sights, as I looked down into the creek that is full of willows, waving in the breeze and showing their silvery undersides. I took the little shortcut along the creek, passing by this spot where the sunlight is often filtering through the trees in such a way that it makes me want to stop and sit a while, on the nice bench that has been installed there. But the bench faces into a big tree trunk, and doesn’t have a great view. So I never do.

This fennel plant was in bloom and smelling like licorice candy.

Next time I think I’ll plan to walk all the way to the temporary library. It’s likely that by then the roses will be gone, but I’m sure there will be some other good things on my path. And I won’t be going too fast to see them.

Excitement at dusk.

nature, smells, weather, , ,

The rain stopped this evening, just in time for me to walk on the bike path to the bridge. This wooden bridge spans two little creeks where they join and flow on westward through my patch of suburbia. I figured out that when I have a few more minutes available than it takes to walk around the block, I can go on this more woodsy walk to the middle of the bridge and still be back in less than 15 minutes.

What got me excited was just the utter freshness of the air after days of steady rain, and getting to see the creeks fuller than usual. It’s interesting how one is so much muddier than the other. Many wonderful plant scents were in the cool and damp air, underneath the bolder smell of wood smoke.

Between my house and that bike path, one of my neighbors has my favorite color of daffodils blooming right now. Their faces were heavy with rain, so I had to stoop down to get a good view of their happiness.

Weekday Vespers

church, smells,

Vespers was in our little old church this evening, and very beautiful in every way. Beforehand a few of us read an akathist prayer to Mother Olga of Alaska by candlelight. I think the wood paneled walls of this church are infused with 80 years’ worth of incense; something makes it smell good even when no services have been held recently. But tonight we had fresh incense, as well as warm singing and earnest supplications.