Garden Life: Gardenia
“Oh, come and smell the gardenias,” I sighed rapturously. “It transports me to my childhood.”
We’d watched an episode of Jeeves and Wooster the night before (Slingsby Soup, anyone?), so Littlest Sister’s reply was immediate. “The question to ask, Tuppy, is whether the populace at large wants to be transported to your childhood.”
Tuppy had a very happy childhood, I’m sure. So did I.
The little gardenia bush is crowded with plump green buds—the scent and beauty of the gardenia locked in emerald encasements.
The encasement thins and cracks, and highly scented white unfurls in the sunshine like a young prima donna.
The new-born gardenia is pristinely white, but already the gardenia behind is faded and crumpling, a reminder of the brevity of this life. I do my daily Bible time beside the gardenia bush, where I can catch now and again the sweet perfume of the blossoms. I was reading James that morning, and this verse leapt from the pages.
“For the sun is no sooner risen with a burning heat, but it withereth the grass, and the flower thereof falleth, and the grace of the fashion of it perisheth: so also shall the rich man fade away in his ways.” James 1:11
The gardenia is a living sculpture.
A gardenia is only just open before its soft folds are full of ants seeking the sweet nectar. I looked it up; ants do have a sense of smell, and are apparently able to smell anything a human can. What intoxication it must be to climb into a gardenia! “I taste a liquor never brewed,/ From tankards scooped in pearl...”
Photograph: The little gardenia bush had a difficult winter, but spring has brought her to her own. The gardenia was a gift to me from my parents, and I’ve blogged about it before.
Photographs and text © 2011.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011