Some flowers evoke their scent the moment you say their name – you can almost breathe in lavender as you read it on the page, roses take you to a warm summer’s day in the garden, and freesias for me are one of the most heavenly scents in the world.
Hyacinths aside, you don’t necessarily immediately think of the scent when you think of spring flowers. I love watching for the first pinpricks of yellow, white, and purple which herald the springing forth of the confetti-scatter of crocuses. They take the stage once the brave little snowdrops have nodded their dainty heads in the chilly winter breeze. And after that, you start to see the lush green shoots of the daffodils. There are few things in life more cheery than wrapping up warm on a cold day, taking a walk and seeing golden daffodils smiling the news that spring is here.
Years ago now, I read on Brocante Home that in February, you should buy daffodils as often as you buy milk. They are out in the shops long before they are out in the garden, and I can rarely resist as bunch. They are generally half the price of a lottery ticket, and while you may not be in line to win a million pounds, there is that wonderful lottery of what colours the daffodils will turn out to be.
And so it is the first day of February. January seems to have sped away. I have a vase of daffodils which are mid way between gold and yellow – they have almost the quality of chalk-paint about them. And although I don’t think that daffodils are a flower which immediately evoke a scent memory (they really are all about colour, and the coming of spring) when I walked into the living room this morning, it was filled with the scent of spring, and daffodils. Such bliss.