When I was growing up, we had a lilac shrub in the back yard, and each spring my mother would clip panicles of the lavender flowers and bring them inside. Sitting in a vase in the living room, they would fill the house with scent.
The smell of things is a powerful mood and memory trigger for us. From ancient times, we learned to recognize good smells vs. bad/dangerous odours. But beyond that, when we inhale an aroma, the molecules bypass the thalamus, which processes input from our other senses, and go directly to our brain’s core for emotion and memory-making.
I recall being in a Mandarin restaurant buffet perhaps a couple of years after my hubby and I had travelled to Asia, and as I inhaled the aroma of one particular dish, for a few seconds I was no longer in that restaurant – I was back on the other side of the world, remembering where I’d first eaten it.
So yesterday, the weather was fine, if windy, and I took a break from writing to drive around and visit a few of our lovely local public gardens.
Fruit trees on farms have blossomed early, as all the trees have burst into leaf. It’s as if everything is celebrating the end of a long, cold winter.
Along the Niagara Parkway, we have a beautiful stretch of ornamental pink cherry trees, and they were fluttering in their spring finery.
The next garden I stopped at was the Centennial Lilac Garden. Only about a third of the shrubs there have bloomed, but enough to wander through and take in their heady scent. Several cars pulled in just after I did, but I was busy taking photos and sniffing the aroma of the different varieties – some are delightfully scented, some little, but they’re all lovely signs of Spring.
I passed one shrub where a woman was holding a cell phone camera and barking at her husband, “Stand there!” I imagined my hubby’s reaction if I ever tried that with him, as I strolled onward to look at a pretty pink azalea in the far corner.
By the time I reached the front of the garden again, perhaps ten minutes had gone by. Apart from a couple who I’d passed sitting on a bench up on the hill, every other visitor had left. Kind of a fly-by shooting.
It struck me how much the tourists had missed the point of the lilac garden: the scent! Lilacs are charming in their quiet way, but we really enjoy them for their wonderful, nostalgic odour. It’s not just me – their unique scent is widely tied to feelings of spring, and childhood. The fragrance had been described as “heavenly”, and has a calming effect, helping to both reduce anxiety and bring a sense of well-being. It’s often used in aromatherapy.
In ancient Celtic lore, the scent of lilacs was believed to transport humans to fairyland.
That’s music to a writer’s ear. We thrive on not only the shape of a lilac’s florets, but its history, and its associations. I’m also a photographer and a trained naturalist, so I’m noticing everything when I’m walking around. (Come on a forest walk with me some time and you’ll see what I mean.)
In a café, on a street, in a mall or an airport, I’m absorbing sights, sounds, and human behaviour. Yes, if I’ve been in your vicinity, I’ll have noted how you look and dress – how you present yourself to the world – and what you’re doing. Are you snuggling on a bench with a paramour? Are you behaving like a brat? Are you on your phone completely ignoring the person you’re with? Are you pleasant, or bitchy?
Writers notice a lot. It’s how we paint pictures for our readers. Whether it’s fog creeping across the moors, or taking a romantic walk through a garden, I need to get the details right for your reading mind to feel like it’s right there in the action.
Isn’t that a good way to go through life, though? We’re living in not just a moment, but many moments, fully immersed in wherever we are. By doing so – by taking the time to do it – amazing things can happen.
A couple of years ago I took a friend to see the cherry blossoms at the Royal Botanic Gardens Arboretum in Hamilton. We’d stopped under one of the heavily-laden trees, which was showering little white petals all around us, so that she could take some photos, and I noticed a sound. It seemed to me like a soft buzzing, barely perceptible, and I asked if she could hear it. She could, and we looked for the source. What we saw, when we really looked closely, was hundreds of tiny bees moving through the blossoms over our heads, humming gently as they worked. It was most magical, and we felt so privileged to be part of it that we stayed there for several minutes.
Yesterday I had all kinds of delightful moments – the sunlight glowing through a bed of tulips, bright daffodils nodding their heads in the wind, a big bumblebee collecting nectar from a little hyacinth. Bees require patience to photograph, while you wait for a moment when they’re almost stationary.
My final stop was at the two big creamy magnolia trees across from the parking area. All the flowers are gorgeous, but I was trying to take a photo of one that was low enough and angled forward enough to get a shot of the cluster of stamens in the centre of the blossom. Meanwhile, the wind was busily shifting the branches all over the place, and aimed the flower straight toward my face just as I was clicking the shutter. I did manage another photo of it resting quietly, the wind having said its piece.
I could write any of these scenes into a novel, but first – and foremost – I had the great pleasure of experiencing them myself.
It’s easy to spend days glued to a laptop; it takes commitment to go out and enjoy the world around us. But it’s so worth it. Make sure you stop and smell the lilacs.