Fragrance Quote for April 9thnd, 2012- Fragrance of Lavender-The Oakleyites By Edward Frederic Benson

Fragrance of Lavender-The Oakleyites
By Edward Frederic Benson

Outside, serene saffron-coloured lights hung in the West, amazingly luminous, so that though the sun had set, the illuminated sky still dimly outlined the shadows of chimneys and gables on to the westward-facing walls of houses opposite. In the narrowing street up which Miss Dorothy walked briskly to her home, a clear twilight as of translucent water flowed gradually deeper and deeper, but when, passing through the darkling house, she came out for a stroll in her garden, which stood on the very top of the hill-plateau, it was like emerging into some enchanted place. A yellow unreal light flooded it, making the grass look orange-toned, and the familiar and splendid hues of her October flower-beds seemed as if they had been painted anew from some strange palette of fairyland. On the gravel path just outside her dining-room windows were spread sheets of newspaper covered with the harvest of flowers from her lavender-hedge laid out to dry, and the scent of them hanging motionless like a fragrant pool around them brought to her a rush of suddenly awakened memories, that the sense of smell, most subtle of all the gateways which lie between soul and body, aroused in her. For that instant she was a girl again, not remembering but actually recapturing youth, experiencing it, not recollecting it. It was swift and surprising like a sudden stab of pain that passes completely, and at once she was back again in the body of her years, which she wore so happily and contentedly, back in the midst of her middle-age and pleasant and active, with youth already a cloud on the horizon from which she had travelled so far. Till that scent of the lavender got into her blood for that one moment, she had not ever consciously realised how long that travel had been.

Fragrant Quote for April 26th, 2012 from Scent of Sweet Peas-A reaping By Edward Frederic Benson

Fragrant Quote for April 26th, 2012 from Scent of Sweet Peas-A reaping By Edward Frederic Benson

How the silence grew! I could not even hear any bees buzz among the flower-beds, and wondered whether bees do no work on Sunday. There was not a sound or murmur of them. Probably this is quite a new fact in natural history, which has never struck anybody before. It would never have struck me if I had gone to church. Then Fifi pricked one ear, sat up, and snapped at something. It was a winged thing, with a brown body, rather like a bee. How indescribably futile!

Then there came a little puff of wind from the end of the garden, and next moment the whole air was redolent with the scent of sweet-peas. Sweetpeas! How strangely, vastly more intimate is the sense of smell than any other! How at one whiff of odour the whole romance of life, its beautiful joys and scarcely less beautiful sorrows, the dust and struggle and the glory of it, rises up, clad not in the grey robes, or standing in the dim light of the past, but living, moving, breathing—part of the past, perhaps, but more truly part of the present. Like a huge wave from the immortal sea of life, cool and green, and speaking of the eternal depths, yet exulting in sunshine and rainbow-hued in spray, all the memories entwined about this house held and enveloped me. Here lived once Dick and Margery, those perfect friends ; here, when they had passed to their triumphant peace, came she whom, when I first saw her, I thought to be Margery. From this house (where still in memory of Margery we plant the long avenue of sweet-peas, because she loved them) two years ago we were married, and here I sit now drowned in the beautiful past that is all so essential a part of this beautiful present.

Fragrant Quote for April 25th, 2012 fromSmell of spring- By Walter Prichard Eaton

Smell of spring- By Walter Prichard Eaton

There comes a day in the first advent of Spring when a perverse thermometer, which has been plunging nightly below frost line and creeping too briefly up at noon, suddenly takes a jump. The air is balmy, the sun is bright, there has been no frost the night before to make a glistening mud-skin on the walks; the dead leaves, which have apparently rotted down during the winter, are dry, at least on the surface, and rustle about in a caressing wind. Though snowdrifts yet linger under the evergreens and in northward shelters, the footing is firm over the lawn, and the woods call. You cross fields that are bare of snow, the brown and palest straw colour of dead weeds and grasses, and enter the woods on the first slope of the mountain. What an exquisite world it is! The birches shine white, as if new-washed by Winter. The chestnuts are gray, the poplars have a yellow tinge. The forest floor, lying plain to view now with no shadowing foliage, is a brown and gray carpet, almost silvery in texture here and there, for dead leaves under a recently melted snowdrift often seem to bear a film of gray mould. The interlacing branches overhead make an exquisite tracery against the sky and dapple the ground with delicate shadows. Many plants, too, especially the perennial ferns, have come through the Winter green and fresh, so that it almost appears as if some gardener had been here already, getting his first spring planting done. But the greatest charm of the woods on this bright morning is the water. Just on this day, perhaps, can you see it. Yesterday the melting process was too slow. To-morrow the run will be over. But, for this once, those lingering white drifts you see up the slope, under a protecting bowlder or in the shadow of the evergreens, are pouring down little brooks of dancing quicksilver over the forest floor. They follow no worn channels; they flow not to rule or boundary. Over the brown leaves they come, by any little hollow, irresponsible, twinkling, with the softest of plashing sounds as one of them jumps over a fern-covered rock or the root of an aged chestnut, and sinks into the moss or the mould.

And the smell of the forest that day! It is the smell of sweet, black humus, just exposed. It is the smell of dead Winter. It is the indescribable smell of pure ice water running over leaves. If you know it, you know it. If not, no description can bring the odour to your nostrils. It is the first and sweetest smell of Spring.

Fragrant Quote for April 24th, 2012 from Smell of the Forest by Robert Louis Stevenson

Smell of the Forest by Robert Louis Stevenson

The whole day was showery, with occasional drenching plumps. We were soaked to the skin, then partially dried in the sun, then soaked once more. But there were some calm intervals, and one notably, when we were skirting the forest of Mormal, a sinister name to the ear, but a place most gratifying to sight and smell. It looked solemn along the river-side, drooping its boughs into the water, and piling them up aloft into a wall of leaves. What is a forest but a city of nature's own, full of hardy and innocuous living things, where there is nothing dead and nothing made with the hands, but the citizens themselves are the houses and public monuments? There is nothing so much alive and yet so quiet as a woodland; and a pair of people, swinging past in canoes, feel very small and bustling by comparison.

And surely, of all smells in the world, the smell of many trees is the sweetest and most fortifying. The sea has a rude pistolling sort of odour, that takes you in the nostrils like snuff, and carries with it a fine sentiment of open water and tall ships; but the smell of a forest, which comes nearest to this in tonic quality, surpasses it by many degrees in the quality of softness. Again, the smell of the sea has little variety, but the smell of a forest is infinitely changeful; it varies with .the hour of the day, not in strength merely, but in character; and the different sorts of trees, as you go from one zone of the wood to another, seem to live among different kinds of atmosphere. Usually the rosin of the fir predominates. But some woods are more coquettish in their habits; and the breath of the forest Mormal, as it came aboard upon us that showery afternoon, was perfumed with nothing less delicate than sweetbrier.

Smell of the Desert By George Wharton James

Credit for Colorado Desert Image



Smell of the Desert By George Wharton James

Rain on the desert is always a surprise. Strangers gaze in wonder at the simple event and ask in amazement, "Rain? Why, I thought it never rained on the desert." The desert dweller, who during a hot and rainless spring, summer, and fall almost forgets how it looks and feels to have the beneficent showers fall upon him and the dry and thirsty country around, and who feels thirsty at every pore, never gets over his surprise and delight when the first rains of winter come. But to see and feel it rain in the middle of a hot summer, who can describe that? Yet it sometimes occurs. To see the thirsty ground, the shrubs and trees drink it in, and to feel the delicious moisture penetrating every pore of the skin and soothing every nerve and muscle and gently stealing even into the brain and easing up the dry, taut feeling there, while at the same time it fills the veins and makes the blood flow more fluidly,— that is surprise and delight that few have ever realized.

Rain generally falls from December to February, but there are showers sometimes in the heart of the summer.

And in this connection one cannot ignore the surprise he feels at the power of the Indians to foretell these unusual showers, or the abundance or scarcity of the regular rains. This past summer one of the Palm Springs Indians definitely assured us, "Heap plenty rain this winter. We catch 'em lots." And so it proved, for the winter of 1905-06 has seen a large rainfall.

It will be a surprise to many to learn that in variation of altitude the Colorado Desert is the most remarkable place now known on earth. The San Jacinto Mountain is its northwestern outpost with an elevation of 10,805 feet. The Salton Basin is 253 feet below sea-level. In a direct line the distance between the two is approximately twenty-five to thirty-five miles, so that in that short distance the desert gives us a variation of altitude of over eleven thousand feet.

But if one should object and say the mountain summit should not be regarded as belonging to the desert, we will take the town of Banning as the highest point or outpost of the actual desert. Its elevation is 2,317 feet, which, added to the Salton Sink depression, gives a variation of 2,570 feet in a distance of less than one hundred miles.

There is a peculiar charm and surprise about the odors of the desert that needs comment. Each odor is vivid and distinct, and can readily be distinguished from its fellow. It is as if the pure atmosphere compelled a segregation of odors rather than a commingling of them. I remember one night walking along in the warm air of the virgin desert with the vivid odor of the creosote bush filling the nostrils. Suddenly we entered a stratum of cooler air. The creosote disappeared and that of growing alfalfa took its place. Fifty yards farther on there came the smell of burning wood — indicative of man's dwelling — then the odor of willows. It was not the variety that surprised but the clear vividness of each odor as set off from all others that arrested the attention.

And one may be on the desert a whole year and never have his senses assailed with the vile odors that are the peculiar property of cities. Decaying garbage, the musty smell of shut-in rooms, the awful air of closed-up churches, the polluted, "gassy," earth smells when the streets are dug into for repairs to gas-mains, etc., the thousand and one smells and stinks and abominations to the olfactory senses of civilization are never present on the desert. I am willing to endure the primitive conditions in order to be free from these apparently necessary adjuncts of our civilized life, for in the one are health and life and in the other are disease and death.

There is another phase, too, of the odors of the desert that must not be overlooked. Whatever the doctors or scientists say of them, there can be no question but that the odors distilled by the sun from the numberless sages and other desert plants have a distinctly soothing and healing influence upon all people suffering from pulmonary or bronchial difficulties. To be slowly suffocating through the cruel action of dread disease and then to come here and find relief, find the lungs beginning to expand again, the closed passages opening, the blood beginning to circulate again, this is to experience a delightful surprise. And it is one that never fails if the sufferer comes early enough and is willing to place himself wisely under these beneficent desert influences.

Fragrant Quote for April 23rd, 2012 from Old Boats by Walter Prichard

Fragrant Quote for April 23rd, 2012 from Old Boats by Walter Prichard

"I live inland now, far from the smell of salt water and the sight of sails. Yet sometimes there comes over me a longing for the sea as irresistible as the lust for salt which stampedes the reindeer of the north. I must gaze on the unbroken world-rim, I must feel the sting of spray, I must hear the rhythmic crash and roar of breakers and watch the sea-weed rise and fall where the green waves lift against the rocks. Once in so often I must ride those waves with cleated sheet and tugging tiller, and hear the soft hissing song of the water on the rail. And 'my day of mercy' is not complete till I have seen some old boat, her seafaring done, heeled over on the beach or amid the fragrant sedges, a mute and wistful witness to the romance of the deep, the blue and restless deep where man has adventured in craft his hands have made since the earliest sun of history, and whereon he will adventure, ardently and insecure, till the last syllable of recorded time."

Fragrance Quote for April 22nd, 2012- "WHAT HEART BUT FEARS A FRAGRANCE?"- Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi

Fragrance Quote for April 22nd, 2012- "WHAT HEART BUT FEARS A FRAGRANCE?"-
Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi

What heart but fears a fragrance?
Alien they
... Who breathe in the white lilac only May;
For there be other spirits unto whom
Fate's kiss lies dreaming in each stray perfume!

Who mock at ghosts of odour — poor they bel
Bereft the scented balms of memory,
For unto one in April's rain-blest earth
There starts for aye the sharp, glad cry of birth;
And Love will find in rooms unbarred for years
Familiar sweetness loosing sudden tears,
Clasping the will in mastering embrace
As in the presence of a phantom grace.

Then there be odours pungent — fires in Fall
The gipsying of boyhood to recall;
And there be perfumes holy — nay, but one
Whose pang is like none other 'neath the sun
To drown the sinking senses in a joy
Beyond all time to weaken or destroy!
Odours there be that swoon, entreat, caress —
Elusive thrall, to doom or stab or bless;
Each vagrant scent that holds the breath in fee
Doth wed the heart in Life's eternity.

Who fear no wraiths of fragrance — sorry they;
Who breathe in lilac odours only May;
For there be other mortals unto whom
White magic wanders in each stray perfume.

Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi

Fragrant Quote for April 21st, 2012-THE LAST PAGE IN THE SUMMER JOURNAL By MIRIAM BROWER JACOBS

Pine Tree, oil painting by Giovanni Segantini



Fragrant Quote for April 21st, 2012-THE LAST PAGE IN THE SUMMER JOURNAL
By MIRIAM BROWER JACOBS

And what is our summer? Not that which dies as the red glow fades, but the summer that shall live in our love. What is our summer? It is the fragrance of a wild rose that we breathed for one exquisite moment. It
is the purple glory of a sunset that flooded the world around us as we stood gazing westward across a silver sea. It is a star-ray that when the sun had departed, shone upon us through the branches of a lonely pine. But more than these, it is the warm handclasp of a friend who stood with us when the wild rose bloomed and watched with us the twilight fade.

Fragrant Quote for April 20th, 2012 -Frijole Arroyo by M. F. Rowantree.

Fragrant Quote for April 20th, 2012
Frijole Arroyo.

There a cloud of sweetbrier's lifting
Faces like the morning's glow.
... There a meadow's white with drifting
Of the satin flowers' snow.

There a fragrant breeze is sleeping
(Never breeze so sweet before !)
Where the purple lupine's sweeping
Sea-like to a cottage door.

And beyond the pink sweetbrier
There's a hillside all aglow,
All a wide, bright flame of fire
Where the Indian brushes grow.

There the fir trees dark and solemn,
Cool and odorous branches spread,
There in column after column,
Like marshaled hosts to battle led,

Stand the redwoods, tall and stately,
They, the mighty ones of earth,
There have grown to heaven greatly
Since the night-time of their birth.

There the red madrono blushes
By the flowing of the creek,
(Just the dusky hue that flushes
In an Indian maiden's cheek.)

There a mountain stream is gliding,
With a hundred twists and turns,
Rushing over boulders, sliding
Through long avenues of ferns.

O the lawn and garden closes,
Never touched by gardener's art!
Dearer are their sweet wild roses
Than all others to my heart.

Dear are all the dips and hollows,
Fir-crowned heights and valleys fair;
Their beauty calls and my heart follows
At its bidding and is there.

M. F. Rowantree.

Fragrant Quote for April 19th, 2012-A South Sea lover- By Alfred St. Johnston

Fragrant Quote for April 19th, 2012-A South Sea lover-
By Alfred St. Johnston

After passing for some little distance through this semi-open space their guide turned aside into a narrow path, where the night lay darker as the thick forest, that covered the island beyond the girdle of palms, seemed to cover everything with a dense black mantle of shade. Here the palms were not so numerous, though ...their ringed columns still rose amongst the noble trees, making the great strength and massiveness of the forest giants more striking by the very lightness and grace of their own growth. It almost seemed to Christian— with his northern coldness of imagination—that Nature was too lavish of her gifts. Everywhere were leaves and flowers and ferns and tendrils; the sky was darkened by them, the ground was covered with them, the very tree-trunks and the great gnarled boughs were wreathed and draped with a wild growth of tangled vines and strange luxuriant creepers. The forest air was perfumed by ten thousand flowers, great bushes of the starlike single gardenia were covered with white blossom, so that every moving breeze that breathed about them enriched still further the perfumed air. Then upon Christian began to fall that mysterious intoxication of the tropic night that one must have felt to understand; warmth was added to his blood and he breathed deeply, his eyes grew tender, and a gentle languor, that did not affect him physically, flowed into his mind. He scarcely thought, he only felt and allowed this beauty to flow into his heart, and in perfect silence he followed the two Polynesians, who were walking ahead talking fast in their soft rich voices, without noting whither they were leading him.

Fragrant Quote for April 18th, 2012 Fragrance Alice Blackwell -Lake Erie College-1915

Fragrant Quote for April 18th, 2012

Fragrance
Alice Blackwell -Lake Erie College-1915

... Listen, close your eyes a moment,
With your head up, nose tip-tilted,
As a wild and furry thing
Alert, will sniff a new-born breeze,
A new and tantalizing odor
Mingling indistinct, yet beck'ning—
'Tis the wild perfume of spearmint
Growing by the tinkling brook.

Suddenly you feel your whiskers
(Or the place where wild things have them)
Brist'ling, quivering, with the knife-keen
Painful joy of new discov'ry.

When the poignant breeze upholds
In gusty folds of ice and warmth
The promise of a time of newness;
When you feel the fresh awak'ning
To new life and animation;
When you press your face deep down
Within the leaves of potted primrose,
And take long sniffs of satisfaction
As you smell the good brown earth,
Perfumed with hope of new creation;
Then your very finger nails
Are quiv'ring with the poignant message
Of the shiv'ring pungent wind,—
Spring has come I

As a wild and furry thing
Alert, will sniff a new-born breeze,
So you find yourself in springtime
Walking with your nose tip-tilted
With your very hair-roots quiv'ring
With the message of new birth.

Fragrant Quote for April 12th, 2012 from VERA VORONTZOFF. By Sonya Kovalevsky

Fragrant Quote for April 12th, 2012 from VERA VORONTZOFF. By Sonya Kovalevsky

"It was the close of April. . . . Suddenly, one night, a mild, warm rain began to fall, and from that moment all went as if by magic. It was as if a secret power of effervescence lay hidden in the fine, fragrant rain. . . . Yesterday everything had been black and naked, and now it looked as if a thin light green veil ha...d been thrown over all. Neither was the air the same as yesterday. The fragrance was quite different, and it was so easy to breathe! All nature was smitten with a real spring fever. The birches had already clothed themselves in a fine transparent network of leaves, light and delicate as lace. From the poplars' big, swelling buds fell balsamic scales that filled the air with a strong intoxicating perfume. . . . The spruces shot out long, palegreen cones, straight as candles, which showed strangely against the brown ones of last year. Only the oak still stood naked and surly, as if he had no thought of spring."

Fragrant Quote for April 12th, 2012 from VERA VORONTZOFF. By Sonya Kovalevsky

Fragrant Quote for April 12th, 2012 from VERA VORONTZOFF. By Sonya Kovalevsky

"It was the close of April. . . . Suddenly, one night, a mild, warm rain began to fall, and from that moment all went as if by magic. It was as if a secret power of effervescence lay hidden in the fine, fragrant rain. . . . Yesterday everything had been black and naked, and now it looked as if a thin light green veil had been thrown over all. Neither was the air the same as yesterday. The fragrance was quite different, and it was so easy to breathe! All nature was smitten with a real spring fever. The birches had already clothed themselves in a fine transparent network of leaves, light and delicate as lace. From the poplars' big, swelling buds fell balsamic scales that filled the air with a strong intoxicating perfume. . . . The spruces shot out long, palegreen cones, straight as candles, which showed strangely against the brown ones of last year. Only the oak still stood naked and surly, as if he had no thought of spring."

Fragrance Quote for April 16h, 2012-Rambles By William Allingham

Fragrance Quote for April 16h, 2012-Rambles
By William Allingham

After peeping in through the windows of this thrice famous little Church of Saint Martin, I mounted the hill behind, through a market-garden, and found atop a hawthorn in bloom—my first this year. With what a delicious soothing flowed the well-remembered fragrance over my sense! One has nothing to quarrel with in these lovely joys ...of nature. 'I love this hawthorn-bush,' I exclaimed aloud, 'twenty times more than Canterbury Cathedral, with all its pillars and arches, in every style of Gothic!' and, picking one pearly tuft, went over to the windmill, and stood awhile under its lee; now looking up with awe at one great sail after another swashing down like a Titan's sword, now looking forth on the prospect of green sloping corn-fields, with here and there a grove, and amid a shallow vale the simple city, with its one dominant edifice, three-towered, in the midst.

It was Saturday night, and I walked about the streets by gas-light, presenting them older and more picturesque than garish day; but the Cathedral yard was locked up, which did vex me. I remembered York last year, and that great pile by moonlight, and how I stood on the west steps and climbed with mine eyes into the stars by the ladder of those vast towers.

What Men Live By and other stories by Leo Tolstoi

What Men Live By and other stories by Leo Tolstoi
http://archive.org/stream/whatmenliveby00dolegoog#page/n5/mode/2up

Spikenard and Valarian-Odorographia: a natural history of raw materials and drugs used in ..., Volume 2 By John Charles Sawer

Illustration of Nardostachys grandiflora


Spikenard and Valarian-Odorographia: a natural history of raw materials and drugs used in ..., Volume 2
By John Charles Sawer

VALERIAN AND NARDOSTACHYS

VALERIAN AND NARDOSTACHYS
http://www.itmonline.org/arts/valerian.htm
Spikenard, Green(Nardostachys jatamansi) essential oil-Nepal wild harvested

Green spikenard essential oil is a light yellowish green to dark olive green liquid displaying a deep, earthy-rooty, precious woods bouquet with a green, mossy, musky undertone of good tenacity

Many people wonder some spikenard is green and some amber or brown and my feeling is that the green color is due to the fact tha...t the distillation, for the most part occurs in deep rural parts of Nepal where copper vessels are often used for distillation. During the distillation process there is a chemical interaction with roots being distilled which imparts a green tinge to it of various degrees. If crude iron vessels are used a dark brown oil is produced and stainless steel, a lighter brown oil is produced. The very same thing happens when vetiver is distilled in copper, crude iron or stainless steel.

Other factors also influence the color and odor depending on the age of the roots, the soil they are grown in, etc. As the roots are in direct contact with the earth it takes on the qualities of those various earth types. The chemistry of spikenard varies considerably according to these environmental conditions and this also influences the final odor so the above mentioned notes on olfactory properties are just meant to give some idea of the scent one encounters on smelling spikenard.

In natural perfumery spikenard is used in sacred perfumes, forest notes, earth accords, incense bouquets, fougere, Oriental bases, musk accords amber notes, precious woods bases, heavy florals

Blends well with-
agarwood eo and co2
agalia odorata seed absolute
allspice eo, co2 and absolute
amber eo and co2
ambrette seed eo, co2 and absolute
angelica root eo, co2 and absolute
aruacaria eo
balsam peru eo and absolute
benzoin absolute
bay leaf eo and absolute
birch tar eo
cabreuva eo
cade eo
cassie eo and co2
cedarwood eo's and absolutes
choya loban
choya nakh
choya ral
cinnamon bark eo, co2 and absolute
cistus eo and abs
clover sweet absolute
clove bud eo, co2 and absolute
costus co2
fengreek eo, co2 and asolute
fir eo's and absolutes
frankincense eo, co2 and absolute
ginger eo, co2 and absolute
guiacawood eo
hay absolute
henna leaf co2
hop eo, co2 and absolute
juniper berry eo, co2 and absolute
labdanum eo and absolute
lavender eo, co2 and absolute
lavindin eo,co2 and absolute
lawang eo
lovage root eo, co2 and absolute
myrrh eo, co2 and absolute
nagarmotha eo and co2
oakmoss abs
opoponax eo and absolute
orris root eo, co2 and abs
osmanthus absolute
patchouli eo, co2 and abs
poplar bud absolute
saffron co2 and absolute
sandalwood eo, co2 and absolute
spruce eo's and absolutes
seaweed absolute
siamwood eo
tonka bean absolute
tuberose absolute
vetiver eo, co2 and absolute

Fragrant Quote for April 15th- 2012-Nature's calendar By Ernest Ingersoll

Fragrant Quote for April 15th-
2012-Nature's calendar
By Ernest Ingersoll

The singing of the birds is now at its climax, too—the crowning grace of this sweetest month of the year. How much of the joyousness of June is due to their melody! How it welcomes the rising of the day upon a blooming and odorous world with glorious matins, and ushers in the evening with vesper hymns! But every hour of this happy season is ringing with bird music, as it is redolent of the perfume of flowers. One hears, first of all, at the earliest gray intimation of dawn, the cheerful summons of the robin. The phcebe is quickest to make response to this reveille, but it is hardly light before all the others are awake and in tune. From the borders of the distant wood come the rollicking whistle of the cardinal and the staccato notes of that other "redbird," the fiery, black-winged tanager, while shrill exclamations from flickers and oven-birds and redstarts strike through the softer, more continuous melody of the thrushes. In the deeper woods, at sunrise, the illumined arches of the trees are vivid with the gay coats and pleasant chatter of warblers, flycatchers, and titmice. The meadows and pasture-lands echo to the jolly roundelay of the song sparrow, the prattling of field sparrows and indigo-birds, while the crazy bobolinks, hovering over grass or grain, are no wilder in their antics than are the yellow-breasted chats that turn somersaults above the roadside thickets. Here and in the orchard are heard, in the brisk morning air, the warbling of the vireos, the clear carols of the two orioles, the brilliant performance of the rosebreasted grosbeak; while close about the house, as we step from the door to take a look at the morning, our ears are pleased with the exquisite voices of wren and yellow-bird, vireo, chebec, blackbird, and half a dozen other intimate friends.

Fragrant Quote for April 14th, 2012- The Australian journal: a weekly record of literature, science ..., Volume 1

The Australian journal: a weekly record of literature, science ..., Volume 1

Meantime a strange unnatural silence had gathered around, the sky had lost its brilliancy of blue, and the hot sun shot forth his fierce quivering rays upon the parched earth with still greater intensity. The cattle lay under the shade of the gums and ironbarks, with their tongues lolling out for lack of water, the birds sheltered in the wattles, and nature, hushed, seemed waiting for some startling display of her power. It was the calm before the storm, for far away to the southward, the mountain tops began to grow of a still darker purple, whilst over the sky, in that direction, spread a reddish kind of gloom, like the reflection of a fire; this was followed by a greyish mist, and then came quickly up over the hill large masses of heavy black clouds. The old lady suddenly looked up. "Rain at last," she said, "come in my dear, this is the thunder gust." But the girl had never seen so magnificent a display of nature's artillery before, and asked to be allowed to sit beneath the wide verandah and watch the storm. The old lady went in and left her alone. The black cloud rolled on, preceded by a sudden puff of wind which lifted the dried leaves scattered round the house, and then left a silence and a stillness deeper than before. Then came two or three heavy drops of pattering rain, and as the cloud overspread the house, the deluge broke forth in all its grandeur; the winds roared and surged in fierce gusts from all points of the compass, the rain poured down in sheets, the blue lightening darted vividly to and fro, and heard above all the battering and banging of the elements, the loud thunder bellowed like the discharge of thousands of cannon. For an hour or more this lasted, then suddenly as it had commenced, the rain ceased, the clouds rolled far away to the northward, the bright sun broke out again, and the water that rushed by from the hills in a thousand yellow runnels flashed and glistened in its light. The fresh perfume rose from the distant bush and from the gladdened earth, the cattle lowed with delight in their damp pastures, the sleep bleated on the plains, the birds sang joyfully as they shook the drops from their wings, and nature brightened and gladdened once more, praised the good God for the south wind.

Kiu Hua Shan—Or The Nine-Lotus-Flower Mountain.

Kiu Hua Shan—Or The Nine-Lotus-Flower Mountain.

A Feast of Lanterns by L. Cranmer-Byng

A Feast of Lanterns
by L. Cranmer-Byng

The Wonder Garden by Frances Jenkins Olcott

The Wonder Garden by Frances Jenkins Olcott

A FAIRY STORY FOR GROWN-UPS by KATHERINE HARRINGTON

A FAIRY STORY FOR GROWN-UPS
by KATHERINE HARRINGTON

Oh! to bed, mother? So soon? See, the tulips are still open and the dandelions are as bright as day. Let's sit here in the willow rocker by the window. Please! just until the tulips close—and I'll whisper you the biggest secret, you could never guess. Listen. Do you know, there's a fairy lives on our front porch, right here in the honey-suckle? I found her one morning before breakfast, looking for the song sparrow's nest. And she showed me another fairy, too, who lives in the locust tree that grows by the roadside, and blows perfume on the people as they pass by. Yes, it is the fairy who blows down perfume! The perfume could never get out of the flowers at all, if it weren't for the fairies to blow it.

And it's the fairies who are my little sisters, mother, and we play together sometimes. Don't you remember once we were playing out in my sand-pile and I said, "Here! you're playing in my sand!", and then you came out of your kitchen—remember?—and said, "Who are you talking to?", and I laughed at you, and the fairies laughed too, and turned somersaults at you and said you were a grown-up. Yes they did! And you are a grown-up, too, and you don't know that we have a house. But we have, and if you ask me where it is and what is in it, I'll say, "I won't tell!" because then you'd say "Wha-a-t?" and frown your face and squint your eyes at me—See! See! You're doing it now!

Oh, at night? Why! didn't the fairies ever tell you what happens at night? You're so funny, mother. Why, every night at twelve o'clock when everyone's in bed and the big gas light on the corner has gone out, the lilies of the valley ring their bells and the wind-harps play and all the flower fairies in our garden come out and dance in the starlight—all except one— Oh, I can't tell you about him; because, see, it makes big tears come in my eyes. He's a poor little lame fairy that lives in a violet, and when he was a baby his mother told him that he was a violet-fairy and that he must always sleep in violets. But one night he said he was tired of sleeping in violets, and so he creeped out real still and went hippity-hop just as c-a-re-ful over into the pasture and crawled into an empty dandelion and went fast to sleep. But oh dear, dear, dear! by and by a big, nasty cow came along, and because there wasn't any dandelion fairy to tell her not to, she lay right down on that dandelion with the violet-fairy in it. And that's how he's lame in one foot and can't dance. But the fairies never tell it to anyone, and we all dance together—and we have such fun! I tell them how to make mud-pies, and they show me how to suck the honey from nasturtiums and how they make the three-leaved clovers grow to four.

But here is the biggest secret of all! Last night after supper when you were washing the dishes, I slipped out on the porch to watch the fairy ^hut up the honey-suckles. And as I was watching, she smiled at me and whispered: "Would you like to be a sweet-perfume flower?" And I said, "Yes," and clapped my hands. Then you came and snatched me up to bed; and on the way up-stairs you put your head close down on me, like this, and said: "Mm-m-m, but you smell good! You've been in the rose garden." That's how you said, mother, but I just laughed at you, for I knew what had happened—and the fairy lives on our front porch, in the honey-suckle.

Fragrant Quote for April 13th, 2012-The Carolina mountains By Margaret Warner Morley

Fragrant Quote for April 13th, 2012-The Carolina mountains
By Margaret Warner Morley

Waynesville is not on the Pigeon River, but in the fertile and charming valley of Richland Creek which enters the Pigeon a little to the north of here. The village lies, as it were, in a nest of the Balsam Mountains, which rise so close about it that one cannot see them to advantage, but from various points in t...he village one can look out towards the Newfound Mountains where the fine large mass of the Crabtree Bald immediately attracts the eye. Crabtree Mountain! — and below it and running half around it Crabtree Creek — what a picture rises before the imagination at those two names! For the wild crab is one of the most precious gems of the forest. In the spring it blossoms, the first you know of this being the exquisite fragrance that pervades the woods. If, then, you go abroad you will find the wild orchards loaded with flowers like apple-blossoms, excepting that they are old-rose in color, delicately shaded with clear pink and white. No tree is more wonderful in appearance, and none is so wonderful in fragrance. The perfume, powerful yet delicate and very refreshing, rises in a vast cloud of incense from the fire of the flowers until the whole forest seems steeped in it. And if you choose to press a few of these ardent blossoms between the leaves of a book, or drop them among your papers or your clothes, you will have reason to remember the ecstatic blooming of the crab tree for a very long time.

Gardenia jasminoides Enfleurage Absolute

Gardenia jasminoides Enfleurage Absolute

For those who did not read the description of the Jasmin sambac Enfleurage absolute they may wish to do so as it contains valuable information about the process.
http://www.facebook.com/fragrantharvest/posts/3092859156337

... Gardenia jasminoides Enfleurage absolute is an light yellow liquid displaying a suave, lilting, fresh, green, balsamic, delicate, sweet floral bouquet with a citrusy-fruity-honey undertone

As with all the enfleurage absolutes their is a unique, soft radiance issuing forth from the absolute giving a strong sense of the essence issuing forth from the living flowers in a natural garden environment.

As mentioned in the Jasmin sambac enfleurage post- my feeling is that the absolute contains a high percentage of the top-note aromatic molecules of the flower and would therefore benefit from being combined with a soft fixative oil like New Caledonia sandalwood in which it should be aged for 6 months.

Jasmin sambac Enfleurage Absolute/Columbia, South America

asmin sambac Enfleurage Absolute/Columbia, South America

Today I received a small consignment of their enfleurage absolutes and over the next few days I will be reviewing each in turn

Several years ago a small company in South America began a unique project for the capturing the ethereal essences of exotic flowers using their own version of the ancient enfleurage process. They decided to use organic palm oil as the starting point for absorbing the delicate aromas of the flowers. Each day, the spent flowers are removed after their essence is absorbed into the palm oil and new ones are added until the palm oil becomes fully saturated. After this step is achieved the essence saturated palm oil is washed with organic alcohol to remove just the essence the palm oil contains and the alcohol is carefully distilled off with just the concentrated enfluerage absolute remaining.

The flowers are grown organically(Jasmin sambac, Hyacinth orientalis, Gardenia jasminoides, Lilium auratum, Poliathes tuberosa, Cleredendron fragans) They are harvested by hand and all other steps of the process of extraction are done by hand. It is a delightfully environmentally process from beginning to end and the olfactory results are profoundly beautiful.

It is very important to remember that this very simple method of extracting the essence of the flowers is a passive one as compared to extracting the essence by the modern conventional method of using strong solvents like hexane. In other words the flowers sit in the cool palm oil and slowly release their natural aromatic molecules into that base oil as compared to having the hexane solvent actively penetrate into the cellular structure of the flower and remove not only the volatile constituents but the pigments and waxes as well.

The enfleurage method therefore contains little waxes and pigments and is flowable liquid which is light in color containing a high percentage of concentrated top-note centric volatile/essential oil with mild tenacity whereas the absolute contains alcohol soluble waxes, pigments and volatile oil and tends to be thicker in consistency(viscous liquid to solid waxy or plastic mass) with an odor that is heart-note/base-note centric
with good tenacity.

This means that for the enfleurage absolutes it would be wise to use a mild aroma essential oil with good fixative properties(New Caldeonia sandalwood works nicely for such purposes) Solvent extracted absolutes need little fixation as the alcohol soluble serves this uprose.

Jasmin sambac enfleurage absolute

First and foremost-each of the enfleurage absolutes captures the highest most ethereal top notes of each flower like no other method I have ever encountered. The Jasmin sambac enfleurage is pale yellow slightly liquid with a delightful soft, ethereal floral, fruity, honeyed bouquet with a soft, green, delicate tea undertone .

Obviously the blending possibilities are endless but in my opinion these are such perfect and beautiful essences in themselves that they could be enjoyed as an exquisite perfume in themselves(when dissolved in a natural fixative base oil). It is as close as it comes the smell one gets when strolling through an area where the individual flowers are growing on the living plant-radiating their delicate aromas into the surrounding air.

For those who are accustomed to the more sultry, animalic, indolic notes that solvent extracted Jasmin sambac absolute contains, they should be aware that the enfleurage absolute is uniquely different and captures the delightful ethereal dimensions of the fresh flowers.

Fragrance Quote for April 6th, 2012-The honey-comb: or, Nine-months By Ruth Van Saun

Fragrance Quote for April 6th, 2012-The honey-comb: or, Nine-months By Ruth Van Saun
The honey-comb: or, Nine-months
By Ruth Van Saun

Then my vision anew carries me to grandmother's cookie-jar, that dear old brown jar that never was empty.

"In a dim old country pantry where the light just sifted through, Where they kept the pies and spices and the jam and honey, too, Where the air was always fragrant with the smell of things to eat And the coolness was a refuge from the burning summer heat; It was there I used to find it, when I went to help myself— The old Cookie Jar a-setting underneath the pantry shelf. Talk of manna straight from heaven, why, it isn't on a par With those good old-fashioned cookies from my Mother's Cookie Jar."

THE BOOK OF NATURE MYTHS BY FLORENCE HOLBROOK [1904] http://www.sacred-texts.com/etc/bnm/

THE BOOK OF NATURE MYTHS
BY FLORENCE HOLBROOK
[1904]

http://www.sacred-texts.com/etc/bnm/

HOW THE BLOSSOMS CAME TO THE HEATHER.

Children picking berries on the moor

HOW THE BLOSSOMS CAME TO THE HEATHER.

ONLY a little while after the earth was made, the trees and plants came to live on it. They were happy and contented. The lily was glad because her flowers were white. The rose was glad because her flowers were red. The violet was happy because, however shyly she might hide herself away, some one would come to look for her and praise her fragrance. The daisy was happiest of all because every child in the world loved her.

The trees and plants chose homes for themselves. The oak said, "I will live in the broad fields and by the roads, and travelers may sit in my shadow." "I shall be contented on the waters of the pond," said the water-lily. "And I am contented in the sunny fields," said the daisy. "My fragrance shall rise from beside some mossy stone," said the violet. Each plant chose its home where it would be most happy and contented.

There was one little plant, however, that had not said a word and had not chosen a home. This plant was the heather. She had not the sweet fragrance of the violet, and the children did not love her as they did the daisy. The reason was that no blossoms had been given to her, and she was too shy to ask for any.

"I wish there was some one who would be glad to see me," she said; but she was a brave little plant, and she did her best to be contented and to look bright and green.

One day she heard the mountain say, "Dear plants, will you not come to my rocks and cover them with your brightness and beauty? In the winter they are cold, and in the summer they are stung by the sunshine. Will you not come and cover them?"

"I cannot leave the pond," cried the water-lily.

"I cannot leave the moss," said the violet.

"I cannot leave the green fields," said the daisy.

The little heather was really trembling with eagerness. "If the great, beautiful mountain would only let me come!" she thought, and at last she whispered very softly and shyly, "Please, dear mountain, will you let me come? I have not any blossoms like the others, but I will try to keep the wind and the sun away from you."

"Let you?" cried the mountain. "I shall be contented and happy if a dear little plant like you will only come to me."

The heather soon covered the rocky mountain side with her bright green, and the mountain called proudly to the other plants, "See how beautiful my little heather is!" The others replied, "Yes, she is bright and green, but she has no blossoms."

Then a sweet, gentle voice was heard saying, "Blossoms you shall have, little heather. You shall have many and many a flower, because you have loved the lonely mountain, and have done all that you could to please him and make him happy." Even before the sweet voice was still, the little heather was bright with many blossoms, and blossoms she has had from that day to this.

Tonka Bean-Gernot Katzer's Spice Pages

Tonka Bean-Gernot Katzer's Spice Pages

Tonka Beans: The Scent of Sustainability

Tonka Beans: The Scent of Sustainability

Perfumery Material: Coumarin, Tonka Bean and Fougere Accord

Perfumery Material: Coumarin, Tonka Bean and Fougere Accord
http://perfumeshrine.blogspot.com/2011/02/perfumery-materials-coumarin-tonka-bean.html

Fragrance Quote for April 11th, 2012-Friends of My Boyhood Days by Widgeon

Fragrance Quote for April 11th, 2012-Friends of My Boyhood Days by Widgeon

AS I sit in my easy chair in the gathering darkness of this perfect June evening, there comes stealing in through the open window, the faint perfume of my rose garden. As I inhale the delicate fragrance, the accumulated weight of years fall from my shoulders like a mantle, and again I am a small boy kneeling by the little dog house in the shade of mother's damask rose bush beside the door yard gate, playing with my first puppy. I feel again his cold, moist nose thrust in my hand, his warm tongue humbly licking my fingers. I see the look of devotion in his honest eyes, and hear the eloquent thump of his tail upon the ground.

The languorous summer air is heavy-with the scent of locust blossoms, and the bloom of the vine and shrub, the drowsy drone of bees, the twittering of the barn swallows and the soft cooing of my pet pigeons, while from the meadow come the gurgling song of a bobolink and the mellow whistle of Bob White. The great cherry trees are glowing with ripening fruit and through the gorgeous flowers of the trumpet vine, the dainty humming birds flit in and out.

On the narrow porch under the overhanging eaves, sit my dear mother and sisters, with the manly form of father in the background; his hair and beard dark as the raven's wing. Over all broods the deep peace of a perfect pastoral Sabbath day. Surely it was but yesterday, and not the lifelong span of nearly sixty years ago. It is strange how strong are the impressions of youth and how vivid is the remembrance of beauty.

The subtle fragrance of mother's damask roses has haunted me all through life, and perhaps accounts for my passion for the rose, and why I have so many varieties in my garden, for it was her favorite flower.

Fragrant Quote for April 10th, 2012-The Americana: a universal reference library, comprising the arts ..., Volume 6

Fragrant Quote for April 10th, 2012-The Americana: a universal reference library, comprising the arts ..., Volume 6

Sometimes showers freshen the desert. These are occasionally of sufficient volume to dampen the earth and vegetation, and an awakening of life ensues which is most remarkable. From every shrub and cactus comes a burst of song from birds ordinarily unnoticed. Rabbits creep out and browse, coyotes give tongue in chase of prey. Vegetation seems to awaken instantaneously, plants which before were dry and dustcovered unfold into broad areas of vivid green. Coriaceous ferns, ordinarily lying like dead leaves among the stones, unroll and wave their fronds in the freshened air. From the inconspicuous flowers of the many thorny shrubs of the acacia and yucca tribe the air is laden with perfume.

It would seem paradoxical to speak of the desert in bloom, but the human senses of sight and smell can be regaled by no more pleasant experience than the delicate odors and sweeps of color that sometimes follow an unusual rainfall. Sweeter than the dewy jessamine is the scent of the yellow catsclaw; more delicate than mignonette is the panule of the mesquite.

Golden champa Images

Golden champa Images

Golden champa(Michelia champaca) absolute/India

Golden champa(Michelia champaca) absolute/India

Golden champa absolute is a brownish-gold liquid displaying a suave, fresh, sweet, exotic floral bouquet with a delicate spicy, dry tea undertone of good tenacity

It is used natural perfumery for sacred bouquets, high class floral, Oriental notes, garland perfumes
...
Blends well with
Ambrette seed eo, co2 and absolute
Amyris eo
Basil eo, co2 and absolute
Beeswax absolute
Boronia absolute
Broom/Genet Absolute
Cabreuva eo
Cananga eo
Carnation Absolute
Cistus eo and absolute
Clove absolute and co2
Clover Sweet Absolute
Copaiba balsam eo
Coriander eo and co2
Davana eo and co2
Elderflower Absolute
Fenugreek eo, co2 and abs
Fir Balsam Abosolute
Frankincense/Olibanum eo, co2 an abs
Gardenia Enfleurage absolute
Ginger eo, co2 and abs
Guiacawood eo
Helichrysum eo and abs
Henna leaf co2
Hyancinth enfluerage
Kewda eo/ru
Labdanum absolute and eo
Lovage root eo and co2
Mastic Absolute
Neroli eo
Opopopax eo and absolute
Orange Blossom absolute
Orris root eo, co2 and abs
Osmanthus absollute
Petitgrain combava, mandarin, bigarade
Poplar Bud absolute
Rose eo, co2 and abs
Rose Leaf absolute
Saffron co2
Sandalwood eo, co2 and absolute
Styrax eo and absolute
Taragon eo and absolute
Tonka Bean absolute
Tuberose absolute
Violet Leaf absolute
Ylang eo and absolute
Zdravetz eo and abolute

Fragrant Quote for April 9th, 2012- Forest friends: the woodland adventures of a boy pioneer By John Madden

Fragrant Quote for April 9th, 2012-
Forest friends: the woodland adventures of a boy pioneer
By John Madden

Not the least of the delight on such occasions was found in the surroundings. How impressive the cedar forest, through which the stream ran, looked in the flashing, flaring, murky, red light of the smoking torches! A solid wall of gray tree-trunk and dark foliage set in a background of inky blackness, the night wind stirring in the tree-tops, beginning in the faintest suspicion of a sigh, rising like the increasing volume of sound of a cathedral organ, then dying away with softvoiced diminuendo into the fragrant silence of the sweet spring night. Away off yonder, where those tall hemlock-trees raised their heads above the rest of the forest, a great barred owl would cry his ghostly " Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, ah!" then, like an echo from the seemingly infinite distance, would come an answering "Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, ah!" from another of his night-loving tribe. A fox would bark, then another, and perhaps a third voice of Reynard would come from the ridge of the hardwood trees over beyond the dam.

Fragrant Quote for April 8th, 2012-The Friend, Volume 24

Fragrant Quote for April 8th, 2012-The Friend, Volume 24

How pleasantly the shadows of the wood fall upon our heads, when we turn from the glitter and turmoil of the world of man! The winds of heaven seem to linger amid these balmy branches, and the sunshine falls like a blessing upon the green leaves; the wild breath of the forest, fragrant with bark and berry, fans the brow with grateful freshness; and the beautiful wood-light, neither garish nor gloomy, full of calm and peaceful influences, sheds repose over the spitit. The view is limited, and the objects about us are uniform in character; yet within the bosom of the woods the mind readily lays aside its daily littleness, and opens to higher thoughts, in silent consciousness that it stands alone with the works of God. The humble moss beneath our feet, the sweet flowers, the varied shrubs, the great trees, and the sky gleaming above in sacred blue, are each the handiwork of God. They were all called into being by the will of the Creator, as we now behold them, full of wisdom and goodness. Every object here has a deeper merit than our wonder can fathom; each has a beauty beyond our full perception; the dullest insect crawling about these roots lives by the power of the Almighty ; and the discoloured shreds of last year's leaves wither away upon the lowly herbs in a blessing of fertility. But it is the great trees, stretching their arms above us in a thousand forms of grace and strength, it is more especially the trees which fill the mind with wonder and praise.

Fragrant Quote for April 7th, 2012-The Meadow Preacher by Marion Peckering

Bubbling Bobolink Fragrant Quote for April 7th, 2012-The Meadow Preacher by Marion Peckering

Uncle Aleck came briskly downstairs, and lifted his straw hat from its peg.

"Come, little people, who wants to attend service with me this bright morning?"

"We can't go, Bess is so lame," chanted both children, in a plaintive duet.

"Oh, yes, we can. We'll attend the meadow service," answered Uncle Aleck, cheerily. "Come, on with your hats! Hark! they have begun already. I hear the tenor solo this minute."

Two pairs of blue eyes opened very wide indeed. What could Uncle Aleck possibly mean? A bobolink floated over the red clover in the great field behind the barn, his little throat almost bursting with bubbling music.

Uncle Aleck held out a hand to each of the children. They danced gleefully along beside him down the well-trodden path to the broad south meadow.

"I know,— it's a make-believe church, Uncle Aleck," laughed Harry. "You are going to be the minister your own self."

"Indeed, I am not," answered Uncle Aleck, promptly. "I may have to explain the sermon to you. Very likely you will not understand the language. I'll be sure to introduce you to the little meadow preacher."

Uncle Aleck lowered the bars to the fragrant meadow. The daisies and buttercups nodded a blithe welcome to the new-comers. Molly, the pet Jersey heifer, rolled her soft dark eyes inquiringly, as she stood knee-deep in the cool rank grass, contentedly chewing her cud. Uncle Aleck found a long mossy seat, where the brook curved around the fallen trunk of an old tree, and drew the children down beside him.

"This church has a great blue roof," said Harry, gazing thoughtfully up into the summer sky.

"Look at the wild roses and meadow rue. They are the lovely altar flowers," added Helen.

"Bobolink is singing praises with all his might. Hear the crickets' accompaniment, —' Peace, peace, peace!'" said Uncle Aleck.

A tiny red squirrel whisked across a fallen rail, and darted into a hole in the wall.

"Shouldn't think his grandma would allow him to run around right in meeting!" whispered Harry, laughing.

"Hush!" said Uncle Aleck. "There is the little meadow preacher. Now we will listen to his sermon."

"Where? where?" exclaimed the children, breathlessly.

"See that tiny green pulpit, with the wee mite standing erect inside? That is jack-in-the-pulpit, the meadow minister. Now I will try to translate his little sermon for you.

"My friends, our text for this bright, beautiful morning is 'love.' My dear meadow people, we feel the love of our heavenly Father all around us in our peaceful home. It enfolds us in the warm sunshine, it refreshes us in the cool raindrops, and it breathes upon us in the sweet south wind. The flower-hearts expand to receive it. Every living thing is filled with this divine love, and rejoices in its happy life. My dear flower friends, some of you will be gathered and borne over those wonderful green hills that enclose our happy meadow home.

"You, also, O my bird friends, will fly far away into the great world outside. There you will find the dear little children running to and fro at work and play. My people, do not fail, I beseech you, to bear to them the message you have received, that they, too, may love one another."

"I think that is a very good sermon," said Harry, staring intently at the brave little preacher, standing so straight in his leafy pulpit.

"I shall know after this what the birds and flowers are trying to tell me," added Helen, softly.

Fragrance Quote for April 6th, 2012-The birds and seasons of New England By Wilson Flagg

Hummingbird Fragrance Quote for April 6th, 2012-The birds and seasons of New England By Wilson Flagg

As June was the month of music and flowers, July is the harvest month of the early fruits; and, though the poet might prefer the former, the present offers the most attractions to the epicure. Strawberries, that gem the meads, and raspberry-bushes that embroider the stonewalls and fences, hang out their ripe, red clusters of berries where the wild-rose and the elder-flower scent the air with their fragrance. The rocks and precipices, so lately crowned with flowers, are festooned with thinibleberries, that spring out in tufts from the mossy crevices half covered with green, umbrageous ferns. There is no spot so barren that it is not covered with something that is beautiful to the sight or grateful to the sense. The little pearly flowers that hung in profusion from the low blueberry-bushes, whose beauty and fragrance we so lately admired, are transformed into azure fruits, that rival the flowers in, elegance. Nature would convert us all into epicures by changing into agreeable fruits those beautiful things we contemplated so lately with a tender sentiment allied to that of love. Summer is surely the season of epicurism, as spring is that of the luxury of sentiment. Nature has now bountifully provided for every sense. The trees that afford a pleasant shade are surrounded with an undergrowth of fruitful shrubs, and the winds that fan the brow are laden with odors gathered from beds of roses, azaleas, and honeysuckles. Goldfinches and humming-birds peep down upon us, as they flit among the branches of the trees, and butterflies settle upon the flowers and charm our eyes with their gorgeous colors. In the pastures the red lilies have appeared, and young children who go out into the fields to gather these simple luxuries, after filling their baskets with fruit, crown their arms with bouquets of lilies, laurels, and honeysuckles, rejoicing over their beauty during the happiest, as it is the most simple and natural, period of their lives.

Tuberose(Polianthes tuberosa) Absolute/India

Tuberose(Polianthes tuberosa) Absolute/India

Tuberose absolute is become increasingly difficult and expensive to procure as the harvest of tuberose flowers has been effected by weather and other problems in India-which is currently the main producer.

The absolute is a golden/orange soft, waxy mass with displaying an immensely rich, powerful, exotic, sweet, heavy floral bouquet with a spicy, waxy, balsamic undertone of excellent tenacity

In natural perfumery used in high class florals(frangipani, lilac, heliotrope, lilac, gardenia, violet) Oriental bouquets, garland perfumes, sacred essences

Combines well with-
Ambrette eo, co2 and abs
Angelica root eo, co2 and abs
Arucuaria eo
Balsam peru absolute and eo
Balsam tolu absolute
Benzoin absolute
Bergamot eo
Beeswax absolute
Boronia absolute
Broom/Genet Absolute
Cabreuva eo
Cananga eo
Cassie Absolute
Champa abs
Cinnamon bark eo, co2 and absolute
Davana eo, co2 and abs
Fenugreek co2 and absolute
Frangipani absolute
Gardenia enfleurage absolute
Guiacawood eo
Helichrysum absolute and eo
Jasmin eo/ruh, co2 and abs
Jonquil absolut
kewda eo/ruh
Lovage root absolute and co2
Mandarin eo
Mimosa absolute
Narcissus absolute
Neroli eo
Orange Blossom absolute
Osmanthus absolute
Patchouli eo, co2 and abs
Petitgrain mandarin, lemon, combava, bigarade
Rose eo, co2 and abs
Sage Clary eo and absolute
Saffron co2 and absolute
Sandalwood absolute, eo and co2
Styrax eo and abs
Tarragon eo and abs
Vanilla absolute and co2
Violet Leaf absolute
Ylang eo and abs
Zdravetz eo, co2 and absolute

Sacred Plants-Ethnobotany

Sacred Plants-Ethnobotany

Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

The Secret Garden by France Hodgson Burnett

Secret Garden The Secret Garden by France Hodgson BurnettSecret Garden

Ira Titus TREES NEED NOT WALK THE EARTH

Ira Titus TREES NEED NOT WALK THE EARTH

Trees need not walk the earth
For beauty or for bread;
Beauty will come to them
... Where they stand.
Here among the children of the sap
Is no pride of ancestry:
A birch may wear no less the morning
Than an oak.
Here are no heirlooms
Save those of loveliness,
In which each tree
Is kingly in its heritage of grace.
Here is but beauty's wisdom
In which all trees are wise.
Trees need not walk the earth
For beauty or for bread;
Beauty will come to them
In the rainbow —
The sunlight—
And the lilac-haunted rain;
And bread will come to them
As beauty came:
In the rainbow —
In the sunlight —
In the rain.

The Lilac-Walter Prichard Eaton

The Lilac-Walter Prichard Eaton

The scent of lilac in the air
Has made him drag his steps and pause;
Whence comes this scent within the Square
... Where endless dusty traffic roars?
A pushcart stands beside the curb,
With fragrant blossoms laden high;
Speak low, nor stare, lest we disturb
His sudden reverie.

He sees us not nor heeds the din
Of clanging car and shuffling throng;
His eyes see fairer sights within,
And memory hears the robin's song
As once it trilled against the day,
And shook his slumber in a room
Where drifted with the breath of May
The lilac's sweet perfume.

The heart of boyhood in him stirs;
The wonder of the morning skies,
Of sunset gold behind the firs,
Is kindled in his dreaming eyes:
How far off is this sordid place,
As turning from our sight away
He crushes to his hungry face
A purple lilac spray!

Fragrance Quote for April 5th, 2012-Tuscan feasts and Tuscan friends By Dorothy Nevile Lees

Fragrance Quote for April 5th, 2012-Tuscan feasts and Tuscan friends
By Dorothy Nevile Lees

Few things quicken memories like perfumes. The sense of smell is one of the most potent in calling up and recreating a vanished past. A wreath of vegetable smoke from a bonfire blows across our path, and we are back in the moorland farm where we spent a long past summer; as by magic a thousand half-forgotten details rise before our mind. Or it is a handful of dried lavender, which recalls to us some quaint old English garden where the hot air quivers above the many coloured flowers, where the fruittrees clothe the mellow-tinted walls and the great bushes of purple-grey flowers fill with their spicy odour all the happy, sheltered place. Or the scent of a violet, a freezia, a lily, steals across to us. We start involuntarily; our hearts beat faster, our faces pale. We had believed that the old wound was quite healed, that the grass of utter forgetfulness grew upon the grave where that old sorrow was buried. But the violets, the lilies, yet remember; they have passed on the secret from one generation to another; they will never cease to remind us of that past of which we would fain be rid until we pass into the land where all things are forgotten—that quiet country where regret shall trouble us no longer, where even remorse shall at last be lulled to sleep.

Fragrance Quote forApril 4th, 2012-The Wind in the Willows By Kenneth Grahame

Fragrance Quote for April 4th, 2012-The Wind in the Willows
By Kenneth Grahame
'Now, cheer up, Toad,' she said, coaxingly, on entering, 'and sit up and dry your eyes and be a sensible animal. And do try and eat a bit of dinner. See, I've brought you some of mine, hot from the oven!'

It was bubble-and-squeak, between two plates, and its fragrance filled the narrow cell. The penetrating smell of cabbage reached the nose of Toad as he lay prostrate in his misery on the floor, and gave him the idea for a moment that perhaps life was not such a blank and desperate thing as he had imagined. But still he wailed, and kicked with his legs, and refused to be comforted. So the wise girl retired for the time, but, of course, a good deal of the smell of hot cabbage remained behind, as it will do, and Toad, between his sobs, sniffed and reflected, and gradually began to think new and inspiring thoughts: of chivalry, and poetry, and deeds still to be done; of broad meadows, and cattle browsing in them, raked by sun and wind; of kitchen-gardens, and straight herbborders, and warm snap-dragon beset by bees; and of the comforting clink of dishes set down on the table at Toad Hall, and the scrape of chair-legs on the floor as every one pulled himself close up to his work. The air of the narrow cell took a rosy tinge; be began to think of his friends, and how they would surely be able to do something; of lawyers, and how they would have enjoyed his case, and what an ass he had been not to get in a few; and lastly, he thought of his own great cleverness and resource, and all that he was capable of if he only gave his great mind to it; and the cure was almost complete. When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries. Toad sat up on end once more, dried his eyes, sipped his tea and munched his toast, and soon began talking freely about himself, and the house he lived in, and his doings there, and how important he was, and what a lot his friends thought of him.

Fragrant Quote for April 3, 2012 from A garden of simples By Martha Bockée Flint

ragrant Quote for April 3, 2012 from A garden of simples
By Martha Bockée Flint

Honey is a generic term, including a wide range of varying colours and flavours. It gives a complete chromatic scale, from the limpid apple-blossom honey, earliest garnered, through translucent tints of amber, from the palest straw-colour to the sienna shades of buckwheat honey. As many as the tones of colour, are t...he distinct flavours. Sometimes, as in buckwheat honey, perhaps the richest of all, the very fragrance of the flower may be recognized. The delicate aroma of the white clover and the
basswood honey, with its suggestion of mint, are at once discriminated. The sorrel-tree of the southern Alleghanies also yields, from its erect racemes of cream-coloured flowers, honey, with a distinctive taste and unsurpassed perfume. The honey of the Mississippi Valley, and of the Pacific slope differs greatly from that extracted from the eastern flora. Certain spots in the Old World have been always famed for honey of a particular fragrance and flavour. Mount Hybla, was called " the empire of the bees.'' The honey of Mount Ida, and from the "brown bees of Hymettus," took its bouquet from the wild thyme. In the fourth Georgic Vergil bids us to set near the hives ". . . Fresh lavender and store Of wild thyme with strong savory to flower." The honey of Narbonne is redolent with the sweetness of orange-blossoms. It is to be remembered that many fragrant flowers, notably the rose and the lilac, do not yield their delicious sweets to the bee. While stores of honey are made from blossoms inconspicuous as the red raspberry and the sumach and possessing no perceptible perfume. This fact has long been known. One of the many old plays of uncertain authorship which usher the seventeenth century speaks of" the bee that sucks her honey not from the sweetest flowers, but from thyme the bitterest."

Fragrance Quote for March 2nd, 2012- Woodland idyls By Willis Stanley Blatchley


Anaphalis margaritacea by Kurt Stüber

Fragrance Quote for March 2nd, 2012- Woodland idyls By Willis Stanley Blatchley

The first odor of the sweet white everlasting(Ganphalium obtusifolium) this day greeted my nostrils from the grassy slope of the pasture which I crossed when returning from my berry picking. As I travel along the country roads or wander through the woodlands from mid-July to October, I inhale many an odor, but none more pleasing than that which comes to me from this Compositse. There is nothing like it in my category of smells. Once known it is never forgotten and each season I greet it with ever growing delight. If there is any other odor which it recalls, it is that of the earth, earthy on the first days of the great awakening. Then the moistened leaves and mold give up from many a woodland surface the quintessence of herbs and grass and flowers long since dead and forgotten. But the odor of the everlasting is that of a living thing which I can gather and put into my pocket where for months it will exhale its fragrance.

A plant twelve to eighteen inches in height, it flourishes best in poor soil on the sunny slopes of old fields and pastures. There through the months of summer is its odor distilled, reaching perfection only in autumn after the hoar frost has lent its leaven for a perfect ripeness. Not especially showy or attractive is the plant, but loose branching, growing in small clumps, with alternate linear sessile leaves and a corymb of cone-shaped whitish heads. The stems and under side of leaves are clothed with a dense hoary white appressed pubescence and this, together with the odor, should make it easily known. Where the plant is plentiful this odor penetrates the air for rods around, and is often borne to the traveler, by whom it is welcomed though its source be to him unknown. What a combination of chemical atoms, what perfect union of C. and H. and O. and other elements, must there be for its production! What a hidden secret must this herb possess that it is enabled to produce and exhale such a unique, pleasing and life inspiring fragrance!