With certain plants, the presence of perfume is a given: who would acquire a scentless rose in preference to one with a heady fragrance, however beautiful the flower? At this time of year, 'attar of roses' is a far-off dream-well, three months at any rate. But there are other plants willing to steal a march on the roses, even if the chilly air of early spring can make it harder to detect their fragrance.
Witch-hazel flowers are beginning to shrivel, but when those spiders unfurl in January and February, the gardener who had invested in them for their muchvaunted perfume might have been disappointed that the aroma did not dance on the air in front of their expectant nose. The secret is to warm the flowers up a little and the way to do that is to exhale slowly on them through the mouth and then breathe in immediately through the nose. The citrus tang is released as if by magic, due to the instant rise in temperature. I should sound a word of warning: the purity of the witch hazel's perfume is compromised if you had a garlic-laden meal the night before.
Certain snowdrops, such as 'S. Arnott', 'Atkinsii' and James Backhouse', have the scent of honey. The trouble is that to discover this involves you crawling on all fours in a damp winter garden to check its presence. When the flowers are cut and brought indoors, the sensation is much more pleasant and the perfume—if not the flowers' durability—is enhanced by the presence of central heating.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة March 16, 2022 من Country Life UK.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة March 16, 2022 من Country Life UK.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
Save our family farms
IT Tremains to be seen whether the Government will listen to the more than 20,000 farming people who thronged Whitehall in central London on November 19 to protest against changes to inheritance tax that could destroy countless family farms, but the impact of the good-hearted, sombre crowds was immediate and positive.
A very good dog
THE Spanish Pointer (1766–68) by Stubbs, a landmark painting in that it is the artist’s first depiction of a dog, has only been exhibited once in the 250 years since it was painted.
The great astral sneeze
Aurora Borealis, linked to celestial reindeer, firefoxes and assassinations, is one of Nature's most mesmerising, if fickle displays and has made headlines this year. Harry Pearson finds out why
'What a good boy am I'
We think of them as the stuff of childhood, but nursery rhymes such as Little Jack Horner tell tales of decidedly adult carryings-on, discovers Ian Morton
Forever a chorister
The music-and way of living-of the cabaret performer Kit Hesketh-Harvey was rooted in his upbringing as a cathedral chorister, as his sister, Sarah Sands, discovered after his death
Best of British
In this collection of short (5,000-6,000-word) pen portraits, writes the author, 'I wanted to present a number of \"Great British Commanders\" as individuals; not because I am a devotee of the \"great man, or woman, school of history\", but simply because the task is interesting.' It is, and so are Michael Clarke's choices.
Old habits die hard
Once an antique dealer, always an antique dealer, even well into retirement age, as a crop of interesting sales past and future proves
It takes the biscuit
Biscuit tins, with their whimsical shapes and delightful motifs, spark nostalgic memories of grandmother's sweet tea, but they are a remarkably recent invention. Matthew Dennison pays tribute to the ingenious Victorians who devised them
It's always darkest before the dawn
After witnessing a particularly lacklustre and insipid dawn on a leaden November day, John Lewis-Stempel takes solace in the fleeting appearance of a rare black fox and a kestrel in hot pursuit of a pipistrelle bat
Tarrying in the mulberry shade
On a visit to the Gainsborough Museum in Sudbury, Suffolk, in August, I lost my husband for half an hour and began to get nervous. Fortunately, an attendant had spotted him vanishing under the cloak of the old mulberry tree in the garden.
