House of Enfleurage

I call this The House Rose because it was growing here long before I began choosing roses for perfume.

I still haven't identified it. It blooms in loose clusters of soft blush flowers, that start orange, with irregular flashes of deeper pink, and its fragrance is noticeably fruity rather than the dense, old-fashioned rose scent of Baronne Prévost.

Knowing the cultivar name would be satisfying, but scent is how I really know this rose. I recognize it by that light fruitiness before I notice anything else.

For now, The House Rose suits it.

Not every flower in my garden becomes perfume.

This Rose of Sharon is enormous right now, covered in ruffled pink flowers. I keep leaning in to smell them because they look like they should be fragrant, but this one truly smells like almost nothing.

And that's fine. I grow many plants because I want to preserve their scent. This one is here simply because it's beautiful, and for a few weeks each summer it becomes an entire wall of flowers.

I love picking flowers from my garden.

Several of my roses are blooming again, so I gathered the most fragrant flowers and divided them between two projects. Some went into organic cane alcohol for tincture, while the rest were separated into petals and placed onto an enfleurage tray.

The basket lasted only a few minutes before I started pulling it apart, but it was too beautiful not to photograph first.

One tiny insect, and the evidence of an earlier life stage elsewhere in the garden.

I found this vivid green leafhopper on my fig tree. Later, while looking at The House Rose, I noticed a row of delicate white forms attached beneath one of the leaves.

They looked like tiny insects, but they are empty cast skins left behind as leafhopper nymphs molted and grew.

Leafhoppers feed on plant sap, and larger populations can leave pale stippling across foliage. A few insects or cast skins do not necessarily mean serious damage, so for now I am simply watching the leaves and enjoying how unexpectedly beautiful the adult is up close.

The garden is always showing me something I wasn't looking for.

Baronne Prévost has become my favorite rose in the garden, and my favorite rose to use for enfleurage.

Its petals are unusually thick, which gives me more time to work with them. After a full day on the tray, they still smell like Baronne Prévost. They don't quickly shift into the dry, tea-like scent that some rose petals develop as they sit.

That matters in enfleurage. I want the petals to release their true floral scent into the fat before they begin contributing something tired or vegetal.

It is also simply an extraordinary rose: richly scented, old-fashioned, and strong enough that one flower can scent the air around it.

Not every plant I bring home is destined for perfume.

We went to the nursery this week, where the boys spent some time petting the resident cat while I picked out plants for a new garden bed. None of these were chosen for enfleurage or tincturing. I just thought they were beautiful and wanted to make another part of the garden feel more finished.

Back at home, the basil is growing well and several of my roses have started blooming again. Some plants become perfume materials, some end up in the kitchen, and some are simply here because I like looking at them.

A little of what’s growing around here this week.