I love the smell of gardenias. Don’t you?
Their distinctive perfume transports me back to evenings on Pear Street when we threw open the living room windows to catch summer breezes.
Hear the murmur of voices? Mother and Daddy talking with someone–maybe Miz Batson or Chapman, the Spauldings, Lily Fay & William, the girls from the office, aunts and uncles, my in-laws–or even you.
Mom is probably encouraging someone to talk about their latest endeavor, little one, job, love of their life . . .
Someone else could be telling a fish story—dare I say embellishing it like Daddy did so well when he related how he accidently tipped both mother and him out of the boat? (I wish you could have heard his version of events.)
Opinions aplenty–Please Do Not get the men started on politics.
But it was all done in fun.
For me, somewhere along the way, gardenias became synonymous with laughter and stimulating conversation. Their aroma conveys simple hospitality—something my folks were gifted at extending.
Maybe that’s why I’ve always wanted a gardenia bush near my front door. The only problem is I haven’t had much luck growing them. Where Daddy could make a gardenia thrive so it was loaded with shiny green leaves and blossoms, mine offer only a few blooms each year.
But I’m no quitter. We moved our two bushes last summer, and I have hopes for abundance this year.
Plus this week, I planted another gardenia in the large pot by the front porch where it will get plenty of sunshine.
I’d like to think folks will be enveloped in its luscious fragrance when they come to visit.
I hope you’ll stop by to test it out. I’ll fix us something to drink and offer you a cookie. Let me know ahead of time, and I’ll make something special.
I promise to ask you about your latest endeavor, your kidos, or your main squeeze. And I’ll listen to what’s on your mind.
I think I can smell the gardenias already.
How about you?
Is there a summer scent that reminds you of home and hospitality?
I love spring, don’t you?