Where's the lamb?

Posting here from the unending winter of 2012-13 -- apparently we have even more snow coming this evening. March's lion nature seems to be hanging on as long as it can.

I was sitting outside yesterday, though, keeping an eye on the kids playing in the yard and enjoying some sunshine and the tiny little signs that the garden is coming back to life. In addition to some crocus clusters, a few intrepid daffodils, and some little buds on the hydrangeas, there was a smell in the still-chilly air hinting at good things to come. And thus I tried to imagine Fantasy Perfume #4 (I think 4, who knows).

Dried grass, dried leaves, warming dry earth, cool air, crocus, and crushed rosemary and bay leaf.

Yes More Pencils! Yes More Books!

We just got our school supply lists for our soon-to-be 4th grader and kindergartner. Instead of my annual rant about how stupidly our district handles school supplies, I will focus on the sense memories I have of this time of year.

There is a certain something in the air when it gets to be back to school time. It's a quality of the light, the way you can feel just the tiniest breath of fall air even though it's still officially summer. Back to school always meant very distinct smells to me -- new school supplies, that certain scent of clothes straight off the department store rack, new leather shoes, floor wax in the school building, apples. When I started college, instead of getting new shoes (one pair of oxfords and one pair of mary janes) I might have new boots or a leather jacket, and I added the smell of new-mown grass warmed in the late summer sun with a touch of turning leaves inhaled while crossing campus or sitting outside reading (or better yet, professors catching those last chances to let class meet outside).

So Fantasy Perfume #4 is my back to school blend: new books, a touch of pencil shaving cedar, beeswax, apples, autumn leaves, sun-warmed grass, and a touch of soft brown leather.

Holy Grail of Mothers

Fantasy Perfume No. 3 is that holy grail of parents -- the scent of your baby's neck. Since December 27 I've been deep in the throes of a love affair with this particular perfume which is, of course, impossible to bottle.



This, friends, is the real deal. It's all I can do to keep myself from having yet another once the baby smell goes away. If they could just bottle this, it would be very good for population control. May I present:

Jasper -- warm light skin musk, clean laundry, milk, a touch of sugar, a drop of vanilla, a dusting of baby powder. The elusive smell of a baby's head.

Eau de Backyard

I'm not a very good gardener, but I do like to take a stab at it each summer. Mostly I grow tomatoes, herbs, and the occasional cucumber, and recently I branched into strawberries and blueberries. Plus we have azaleas, hydrangeas, jasmine, forsythia, roses, and various flowers I haven't managed to kill yet. And weeds. If they flower, they're allowed to live, at which time I dub them "wildflowers." So I present Fantasy Perfume No. 2:

My Garden -- tomato leaf, lavender, tarragon, wild strawberries, warm soil, water, roses, peonies, hydrangea, with a waft of dry grass and oak leaf on the breeze.

Garden-Fresh Scent

Now that I'm seeing the world through perfume-note-colored glasses, I recently picked this garden bouquet with the scent blend in mind -- roses, lilies, lavender, and fennel fronds. It had rained the night before, so there was a wet note too. If only I could bottle it.