Celebrating Wildflowers- Plant of the Week

Standing Cypress, Ipomopsis rubra offset color reproduction or engraving/etching


Celebrating Wildflowers-
Plant of the Week

On Cyprian Labdanum

On Cyprian Labdanum

Mysterious Blood Oranges-About Pigmented Citrus


Blood Orange

Mysterious Blood Oranges-About Pigmented Citrus

BERGAMOT – A RESILIENT CITRUS

BERGAMOT – A RESILIENT CITRUS
Bergamot Citrus bergamia syn. Citrus aurantium ssp. bergamia

Bergamot in Perfumery and Cologne: A Match Made in Heaven

Bergamot Fruit


Bergamot in Perfumery and Cologne: A Match Made in Heaven

Fragrant Quote for December 31st, 2012-Christmas Carols by Annie F. Johnston

Aurora Borealis


"How Christmasey it looks and smells," she whispered to Allison, as the doors swung open and a breath from the pine woods greeted them. The chancel was wreathed and festooned with masses of evergreen. To-night tall white candles furnished the only light. Far down the dim aisles they twinkled like stars against the dark background of cedar and hemlock.
Betty was glad that they had entered early. The deep silence of those moments of waiting, the dim light of the Christmas tapers, and the fragrance of the pine seemed as much a part of the service as anything which followed. In the expectant hush that filled the little chapel, she pictured the three kings riding through the night, until she could almost see the shadowy desert and hear the tread of the camels who bore the wise men on their starlit quest. She saw the hillside of Judea, where the shepherds kept their night-watch by their flocks, and all the mystery and wonder of the first great Christmastide seemed to vibrate through her heart, as the deep organ prelude suddenly filled the air with the jubilant chords of "Joy to the world, the Lord has come."

Oil of Petitgrain Bigarade.

Bitter orange


Oil of Petitgrain Bigarade.

Fragrant Quote for December 30th, 2012-Fragrant Song of the Firs-The Outlook, Volume 73

Forest b&b Vitakrala Haddebo 12-2010


Beautiful trees are these spruces and firs, either in the forest . or when brought by the planter to his home grounds. The leaves are much shorter than those of most pines, and clothe the twigs closely. There is a vast variety incolor, too, from the wonderful whitish or "glaucous" blue of the Colorado blue spruce, to the deep shining green of Nordmann's fir, a splendid introduction from the Caucasus. Look at them, glistening in the winter sun, or drooping with the clinging snow; walk in a spruce wood, inhaling the bracing balsamic fragrance which seems so kindly to the lungs; listen to the music of the wind in their tops, telling of health and purity, of God's love and provision for man's mind and heart, and you will begin to know the song of the firs.
Myrtle


A Mediterranean: Myrtus communis L. (Myrtle)
Plate from Banks' Florilegium - Joseph Banks, National Museum of Australia, Canberra, Australia


Plant Exploration: From Queen Hatshepsut to Sir Joseph Banks
A fair Puritan / E. Percy Moran.


CHRISTMAS PLANTS AROUND THE WORLD

Fragrant Quote for December 29th, 2012- The Yule Logs Song by Harriet Prescot Spofford



Berliner Salon mit Kaminfeuer
The Yule Logs Song by Harriet Prescot Spofford

And this is the song the yule-log sang:
"Far in forest glades I grew,
Fed on draughts of noontide dew;
Passed the spotted snake's low lair,
Passed the browsing of the bear,
Fresher branches thrust each year,
Passed the antler of the deer,
Till space and sun and solitude
Made me king of all the wood.
"Then, my lower branches laid
In a mighty depth of shade,
Glad my tops the sun descried
Coursing up the great earth's side,
Knew the cloud's phantasmal forms,
Wrestled with a thousand storms,
Proudly bore victorious scars,
And measured lances with the stars!
"Twice a hundred years the snow
Her white and glimmering veils did throw
Round me; moonbeams touched my spires
With a light of frosty fires;
Knee-deep in the summer fern
Twice a hundred years return,
And into leaf my full plumes burst
Green as when they bourgeoned first.
"Spices of the sun-soaked wood
Rose about me where I stood;
Gums their richest resin cast
On every wind that wandered past;
Blossoms shed their petals sweet
In balmy drifts about my feet;
Berried fragrance filled the gloom,
And the wild grape's ambrosial bloom.
"Here the bee went blundering by
Honey-drunk, the butterfly
Flittered,— ah, what songs I heard
Shrilling from the building bird!
How all little life did house
Securely in my sheltering boughs
That drew the green walls close when there
The great hawk hung in upper air!
"Still the dawn, the star-flame old,
That steeped me through and through, I
hold,
The gladness wrought in every root
While the wood-thrush blew his flute,
And music ordering all my art
With sorrow fit to break the heart
When the summer night was still
And far off mourned the whippoorwill.
"Now, my wealth of centuried hours,—
Memory of summer showers,
Bloom and song and leaf and wing,—
Upon this yule-tide hearth I fling.
All the life that filled my year
I bring back to the Giver here,
Burning gladly in His name
The hoarded sunshine of my flame!"
And the children listened, but all was still;
A core of heat was the yule-log's heart, And into the ashes the live coals dropped
Like rubies that flash and break apart; And the shadows skimmed up the darkening wall,
And the wind brought a clamor of music near,
And the stars themselves bent down to hear,
While out in the valley far below
The peal of the Christmas-bells rang clear.

Black Pepper Field Report

Black Pepper Vine

Black Pepper Field Report

The IFEAT Medal Lecture:ON THE SCENT OF SOUTH AFRICAN ESSENTIAL OILS -AN EVENTFUL JOURNEY



Landscape scenery in Kruger National Park, South Africa, along the Sabie River.
The IFEAT Medal Lecture:ON THE SCENT OF SOUTH AFRICAN ESSENTIAL OILS -AN EVENTFUL JOURNEY

Fragrant Quote for December 28th, 2012-A REMINDER OF CHRISTMAS By Benjamin Peck Keith


When I sense the balsam fragrance:
Of the hemlock and the pine,
I seem to hear the carols,
Of a bygone Christmas time.
And the thunder of the organ,
And the soft and mellow chime,
Of those bells I heard in childhood,
Waken memories sublime.
When I sense the balsam fragrance:
Of the hemlock and the pine,
I seem to see the World all clothed:
In robes of winter time,
And the tinkle—tinkle—tinkle,
Of the sleigh-bells' joyful rhyme,
Comes drifting to the present,
With the fragrance of the pine.
And I'm sure, in the great hereafter,
When all things are divine,
And arms of Angel loved ones,
Our own once more entwine,
There in heaven, as an incense,
The fragrance will combine,
Those best loved, Christmas odors,
Of the hemlock and the pine.

Lavender-France-A Documentary



Lavender Field, Vaucluse, France, near Valreas
Lavender-France-A Documentary

Benzoin-Laos-A Documentary

Mekong river at sunset in Luang Prabang, Laos


Benzoin-Laos-A Documentary

Fragrant Quote for December 27th, 2012- Down to Sleep By Helen Hunt Jackson

Autumn in the Birchwood



Down to Sleep

By Helen Hunt Jackson
November woods are bare and still;
November days are clear and bright;
Each noon burns up the morning's chill;
The morning's snow is gone by night.
Each day my steps grow slow, grow light,
As through the woods I reverent* creep,
Watching all things lie "down to sleep."
I never knew before that beds,
Fragrant to smell, and soft to touch
The forest sifts and shapes and spreads;
I never knew before how much,
Of human sound there is in such
I.ow tones as through the forest sweep,
When all wild things lie ''down to sleep."
Each day I find new coverlids
Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut tight;
Sometimes the viewless mother bids
Her ferns kneel down, full in my sight;
I hear their chorus of "good-night,"
And half I smile, and half I weep,
Listening while they lie "down to sleep."
November woods are bare and still;
November days are bright and good;
Life's noon burns up life's morning chill;
Life's night rests feet which long have stood;
Some warm soft bed, in field or wood,
The mother will not fail to keep,
Where we can "lay us down to sleep."

Native American Legends-Why flowers are fragrant

 

Hummingbird

Native American Legends-Why flowers are fragrant

Native American Legends Why the flowers grow A Choctaw Legend

Image by Edward Curtis
A Smoky Day at the Sugar Bowl-Hupa

 Native American Legends Why the flowers grow A Choctaw Legend

Native American Tree Mythology

 Native American Tree Mythology

The Lotus/Heritage Study


Lotus Lilies


The Lotus/Heritage Study

Fragrance Quote for December 26th, 2012-Toto's merry winter By Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards




Little Mouse
It was nearly dark, but not quite, for the covered embers still sent out a dusky glow. It was warm; the floor was smooth and flat; there was a smell as if there might be something to eat, somewhere. Altogether, it was a very pleasant place for two little mice to play in; and as they had it all to themselves, why should they not play? Play they did, therefore, with right good-will; scampering hither and thither, rolling over and over each other, poking their little sharp noses into every crack and cranny they could find. Oh, what fun it was! How smooth the floor! how pleasant the dry, warm air, after their damp cellar-home!
But about that smell, now! where did it come from? Playing and romping is hungry work, and the two little brown mouse stomachs are empty. It seems to come from under that cupboard door. The crack is wide enough to let out the smell, but not quite wide enough to let in Messrs. Scrabble and Squeak. If they could enlarge it a bit, now, with the sharp little tools which they always carry in their mouths! So said, so done! "Nibble! nibble! nibble! Gnaw! gnaw! gnaw!" It is very fatiguing work; but, see! the crack widens. If one made oneself very small, now? It is done, and the two mice find themselves in the immediate neighborhood of a large piece of squash pie. Oh, joy! oh, delight! too great for speech or squeak, but just right for attack. "Nibble! nibble! Gobble! gobble!" and soon the plate shines white and empty, with only the smell of the roses — I mean the pie — clinging round it still. There is nothing else to eat in the cupboard, is there? Yes! what is this paper package which smells so divinely, sending a warm, spicy, pungent fragrance through the air? Ah! pie was good, but this will be better! Nibble through the paper quickly, and then — Alas! alas! the spicy fragrance means ginger, and it is not only warm, but hot. Oh, it burns! oh, it scorches! fire is in our mouths, in our noses, our throats, our little brown stomachs, now only too well filled. Water! water! or we die, and never see our cool, beloved cellar again. Hurry down from the shelf, creep through the crack, rush frantically round the kitchen. Surely there is a smell of water? Yes, yes! there it is, in that tin basin, yonder. Into it we go, splashing, dashing, drinking in the silver coolness, washing this fiery torment from our mouths and throats.

THE ESSENTIAL OILS INDUSTRY OF GUATEMALA

Guatemala heredera de la cultura Maya


THE ESSENTIAL OILS INDUSTRY OF GUATEMALA

THE AUSTRALIAN SANDALWOOD OIL INDUSTRY



Stacks of cut sandalwood and a cutters camp, Jan. 1949
THE AUSTRALIAN SANDALWOOD OIL INDUSTRY

THE AUSTRALIAN EUCALYPTUS OIL INDUSTRY

Eucalyptus globulus

THE AUSTRALIAN EUCALYPTUS OIL INDUSTRY

Fragrance Quote for December 25th, 2012-Keeping Christmas Our Way by Gene Stratton-Porter



Christmas
CHAPTER XI. Keeping Christmas Our Way
"I remember, I remember
How my childhood fleeted by,--
The mirth of its December,
And the warmth of its July."

When dusk closed in it would be Christmas eve. All day I had three points--a chair beside the kitchen table, a lookout melted through the frost on the front window, and the big sitting-room fireplace.
All the perfumes of Araby floated from our kitchen that day. There was that delicious smell of baking flour from big snowy loaves of bread, light biscuit, golden coffee cake, and cinnamon rolls dripping a waxy mixture of sugar, butter, and spice, much better than the finest butterscotch ever brought from the city. There was the tempting odour of boiling ham and baking pies. The air was filled with the smell of more herbs and spices than I knew the names of, that went into mincemeat, fruit cake, plum pudding, and pies. There was a teasing fragrance in the spiced vinegar heating for pickles, a reminder of winesap and rambo in the boiling cider, while the newly opened bottles of grape juice filled the house with the tang of Concord and muscadine. It seemed to me I never got nicely fixed where I could take a sly dip in the cake dough or snipe a fat raisin from the mincemeat but Candace would say: "Don't you suppose the backlog is halfway down the lane?"
Then I hurried to the front window, where I could see through my melted outlook on the frosted pane, across the west eighty to the woods, where father and Laddie were getting out the Christmas backlog. It was too bitterly cold to keep me there while they worked, but Laddie said that if I would watch, and come to meet them, he would take me up, and I might ride home among the Christmas greens on the log.

Violets-A Pretty Plant and a Tasty Treat

Violet Flower

Violets-A Pretty Plant and a Tasty Treat

VETIVER OIL (KHUS)

Vetiver

VETIVER OIL (KHUS)

Essential Oil Industry of Honduras and Haiti

Haitian Landscape
Essential Oil Industry of Honduras and Haiti

ZANZIBAR’S ESSENTIAL OIL INDUSTRY

Zanzibar Door


ZANZIBAR’S ESSENTIAL OIL INDUSTRY

TAGETE OIL IN SOUTH AFRICA

Tagetes minuta 


TAGETE OIL IN SOUTH AFRICA

The Production of Herbaceous Oils in Argentina

Argentina Map


The Production of Herbaceous Oils in Argentina

THE UKRAINE’S ESSENTIAL OIL INDUSTRY

THE UKRAINE’S ESSENTIAL OIL INDUSTRY

SOUTH AFRICA’S ESSENTIAL OIL INDUSTRY

SOUTH AFRICA’S ESSENTIAL OIL INDUSTRY

Turkish Rose Oil Production

Turkish Rose Oil Production

Fragrant Quote for December 24th, 2012- A TRIBUTE TO THE EVERGREENS BY FRED MYRON COLBY

Die Gartenlaube (The Garden Arbor)


POETS rave about the delights of spring, the glories of autumn, and the luxuriant magnificence of summer. But who has ever talked about the flora of winter? Yet there is nothing so beautiful as a winter landscape. There is a purity and a grandeur about it that the summer landscapes lack. That sensuousness of sound and color is gone, but the air is full of ozone, and the delicate aroma of the pines and the cypress trees. • Even the slumberous whisperings of the needle-laden boughs, or the soft pelting of the snow crystals upon the emeraldtufted cones, have a charm that summer sounds do not possess.
The flora of winter is well defined. Winter is rich in color, and the enchanted foliage is like a chapter from the Arabian Nights. Not only ruby and emerald jewels and shining crystals, but living cones and leaves of green—the dress of a real sovereign—are borne by these trees, the evergreens, which stand out against the whiteness just as if they had stepped out of Aladdin's garden. Have you counted all these beautiful evergreen trees that pitch their emerald richness against the snowy whiteness or the dreary brown of winter? They constitute a very interesting family. The pine, the spruce, the hemlock, the fir, the arbor-vita?, the cedar, the juniper, the cypress and the yew— which of these trees could we spare from the landscape? If we call the white pine the king of our woods, the hemlock should stand for the queen, and a group of balsam fir would answer for the princes. The cedars and spruces stand as sentinels along the line of hills, guarding the valleys, the cedars solitary watchmen, the spruces clambering up in bands, while the yew and the arbor-vita? cluster with neighborly
kindness in our gardens and cemeteries and in the squares and parks of our cities.....
Pleasant are the pine woods even in the winter time. One has a warm, comfortable feeling standing among them on the coldest of midwinter days, for their thick branches have kept the snow from the brown, tasseled ground, and the cold winds cannot enter them. The wind sighs pleasantly through the leaves, and the piney odors are as satisfying as a waft of frankincense and myrrh from Araby the Blest.
Almost as beautiful is the hemlock. Its soft, delicate foliage suggests dreams of summer amid deep snows. These trees. are all cone-bearing, or as the Germans call them, "needle trees." It was one of this family, you will remember, that in the folk-lore story wanted to change its needles into "truly" leaves, like those of
the maple and the oak. Glad enough, however, was the dissatisfied tree, if we recollect aright, to receive its needles back again, and very much should we miss them if all the pines and firs and spruces should choose to give up their needles and cones and put on the costume of the other trees. The larch is the only member of the evergreen family that mimics the other families of trees and sheds its leaves in winter.
Useful trees are all this family; they are not merely ornamental, but commend themselves to the most utilitarian mind. The wood of the red cedar is used in the manufacture of lead pencils. The tall pines on our mountain sides again tower aloft in foreign harbors and on distant seas. From the white spruce the Indian cuts his swift-darting canoe. Our great tanneries are supplied by the bark of larch and hemlock. Healing balsams are furnished by the firs. Pitch, resin, balsams —these are the spices that flavor our winter flora.

Cultivation and distillation of Geranium oil from Pelargonium species in India

Geranium/Pelargonium graveolens


Cultivation and distillation of Geranium oil from Pelargonium species in India

YLANG-YLANG OIL PRODUCTION IN MADAGASCAR AND THE COMOROS


Ylang Tree
YLANG-YLANG OIL PRODUCTION IN MADAGASCAR AND THE COMOROS

Allspice Field Report



Allspice
Allspice Field Report

Clove Field Report



Fresh Clove
Clove Field Report

Perfumery Materials: Neroli, Petitgrain, Orange Blossom, Bigarade


The orange trees courtyard as seen from the Giralda, cathedral of Seville, Spain.

Perfumery Materials: Neroli, Petitgrain, Orange Blossom, Bigarade

The Conifer Oils The Gift of Ancient Times Peter Holmes, L.Ac., M.H.

Fragrant Quote for December 23rd, 2012-The Coming of Winter By Walter Prichard Eaton

Wintertime in Bavaria


I LIKE the coming of Winter, nor can I easily read into it the symbols of sadness which the poets find.

Ah, minstrel, how strange is
The carol you sing!
Let Psyche who ranges
The gardens of Spring
Remember the changes
December will bring!

Yet Psyche was of immortal stuff, and might easily have
comforted herself with Shelley's reflection, "If Winter
comes, can Spring be far behind?" The seasons wax
and wane, each with its own peculiar charm, and the last
rose of Summer is, after all, but the promise of a larger
bush next year, rather than the sad reminder of man's
mortality. We may be permitted some sober moments,
some lingering melancholy, when we walk in the garden
and see the sweet alyssum borders withered down, the
Japanese anemones cut off in their perfection by the
frost, the leaves of the poplars by the pool blowing
across the sward or floating on the dark water. But
even then we remember that the potatoes are dug and
stowed away in the cellar, and from the orchard comes the pungent fragrance of apples; and lifting our eyes to the hills, we see the banners of Autumn already flying on their wooded slopes.
The garden dies down for its winter sleep, the harvest is reaped, and the season slips into that indefinite stage between autumn glory and winter snow, when a blue haze hangs in the leafless trees, the chill winds of November blow, and there is ice on the little water pools of a morning. It is in this season, this hush of Nature before the winter storms, that Thanksgiving comes, our most characteristic and best-loved American holiday. Surely there is no melancholy in Thanksgiving, though there may be just a touch of soberness as we think back to those grim days when the Pilgrims reaped their first scanty harvest between the sea beach and the forest edge, and thanked God for the mere gift of life. The last warmth of Indian Summer has gone from the air, the last golden leaves have dropped from the maples, the smell of bonfires is no longer pungent; yet every country-bred American, I fancy, knows what I mean when I say that the Thanksgiving season has a peculiar, a unique charm.

Fragrance Quote for December 22nd, 2012-Another Short-Food Christmas



Christmas morning
Another Short-Food Christmas
By Mary G. Philips
MERRY Christmas! What visions and memories that greeting immediately brings up! Different memories for each of us, to be sure, and yet with a golden thread of similarity running through the fabric of the dream of our past American Christmases that makes our hearts warm whenever we hear the familiar words, "Merry Christmas!" We all have in common, of course, the marvelous Christmas odors—the smell of Christmas trees and greens lining the streets outdoors, and the spicy smells one catches in whiffs wherever a house door is opened. For weeks before the festival those fragrant indoor odors of gingerbread, fruit cake, mince meat and cookies are apt to be met with upon entering any friend's house, and they always cause a little happy lift of spirit because they mean that Christmas is coming. Then there is the atmosphere of secrecy and tissue paper permeating everything for at least a month before the great day, and the last minute shopping in a good-natured, shoving, jolly crowd, and the carrying of parcels, all glorious in ribbons and holly, and the trimming of the Christmas tree, speaking in subdued voices so that the children will not waken, and the filling of the stockings, and the last weary, but joyous "Good night! It's almost Christmas Day now!" And then, as if one hadn't had happiness enough in getting ready, comes Christmas Day itself!

"Ylang" Decoding Obscure Notes - A Series About the Building Blocks of Natural Perfumery-Ayala Moriel

Ylang-Ylang


"Ylang" Decoding Obscure Notes - A Series About the Building Blocks of Natural Perfumery-Ayala Moriel

Frangipani Passions



Frangipani flowers
Frangipani Passions

Hardy Fragrant Jasmine Romantic Poet's Jasmine Woos Gardening Hearts in Cascadia

Jasmine Flowers

  Hardy Fragrant Jasmine-Romantic Poet's Jasmine Woos Gardening Hearts in Cascadia

Fragrant Flowers of Bangaladesh



Kadam Flower
Fragrant Flowers of Bangala Desh

Falguni Piyush Desai : Floriography in Tagore’s Poetry



Damayanti and the Swan
Falguni Piyush Desai : Floriography in Tagore’s Poetry

Fragrant Quote for December 21st, 2012-From "Winter Solstice to Vernal Equinox" in the Atlantic Monthly, No. 73



Winter Solstice full moon
The scent of the thaw precedes the actual process. I should think that the snow must soon be swept away, by the flavor of the air, which tastes of the leaven of spring distributed through the wintry mass. And yet the spring is still far distant.
Sap flowing, resinous bark, breathing buds, all are suggested in the fragrant draught of the moist air. In years gone I have been much puzzled to trace to its origin this compound perfume sprinkled upon the keen breath of winter. I have at last tracked it to its source in the evergreens. Though the fragrance is to be noticed at other seasons, it is never so marked as in the winter time. Is it possible that the odor is enhanced by the shedding of the leaves, now going on? There was a touch of extra refinement to-day when, as I passed under their swinging boughs, the old fir-trees shed the breath of the hyacinth upon my path.
From "Winter Solstice to Vernal Equinox" in the Atlantic Monthly, No. 73