Smells #1

Hyacinth is a flower that grows from a bulb and does not tolerate the south Florida climate. So, why have I spent an exorbitant amount for one that will not last more than a week? It’s the smell.

I sniff the small petals and even through my smoke damaged sinuses, I can whiff her fragrance that zips me back to a past. I can exaggerate the sensation by closing the house, turning the ac way down, and then take a hot shower. When I come from the shower I go immediately to the blossom and inhale deeply. ZOOM!

I am back in the Pioneer Valley. It’s winter. The hyacinths are blooming in the hot houses and are just getting into the stores. I walk across pristine white snow, listening to the crunching of the children’s shoes breaking through the top crust. My nose is a bit runny from the cold. The cold dry air is cleaning my nose like water cleans the palate. The snowfall has cleared almost all aromas. Perhaps, smoke from a chimney passes but on the campus there are few of these. Central heating now.

We arrive at the college botanical green houses. We walk quickly through door, anteroom, and the second door and into the first house. The humidity and smell of the hyacinth hit us all right inside the door. It is a sensual blow that is captivating, exciting and quieting at once. There is nothing else going on in our lives at that moment. It is a sensual meditation.

The children quiet and move from flower to flower. Hyacinths, roses, orchids each with a particular fragrance and look. The hot house is unseasonably heated. There are oohs and aaahs and a few zipper sounds as jackets are opened to the warmth. By their own volition the children have adopted their library voices. We are dazzled by the splendor of nature even in this unnatural setting.

Gently their animation returns as they politely jostle to show each other a discovery. Yet unnamed to the four-year- olds, stamens and pistils wave at them from within the petals. Colors not seen for months throughout the winter are now demanding early attention. We wander through the aisles of plants. It is ok to touch, to see, to feel with all the senses. It is wonderland.

Afterwards we rezip the winterwear, clamor back into white clean world outside. We wade through the snow back to the school room, hugging our memories of odors and colors and textures that won’t be seen again for weeks more.

For this I pay $5.