a love letter to the mountains of colorado, and beyond
I haven't been to the specific region that inspired Holy Cross, but I have been fortunate enough to spend time in other alpine areas where juniper grows wild and sprawls across the mountainsides, heedless of the stony soil and cold, thin air -- and oh, does this fragrance ever do justice to what an incredible experience it can be to breathe the same air, to see the same plants stubbornly thriving amidst the same stone, and to merely exist there for a while.
The mineral notes are what struck me first, not unlike the way you might see a mountain towering from a distance, and perceive little else but the sheer imposing mass of its stony facade. Compelling in its own right, it's beautifully evocative of high altitude air, in a sense not only unique (at least to me) as an accord but genuinely impressive in how easily it conjures impressions of rough, exposed stone and jagged mountain crags. I've encountered plenty of air or salt renderings in perfume, or even dust or concrete or crumbling brick, but Holy Cross is the first perfume that's ever made me instantly think of stone in this particular context, to the point where it feels memorable for that alone.
Along with pine and damp, misty greens, juniper is the other essential part of this journey, and the longer I sat with the fragrance, the clearer they all became -- much like, to borrow from the example above, seeing the same mountain but from a much closer vantage. The juniper here particularly stands out to me, and similarly to how stone is rendered, it's in a way unlike I've seen it depicted before. Every other juniper-forward scent I've ever tried presents it more like you'd find it in gin (think Pineward's own Juniperus, for instance), rendered light and pleasant and even a little sweet, and focuses on the fragrant berries. In Holy Cross, much like its persistent little needles that can and will snag on your pants and even cling to the fabric as you try and pass by, juniper doesn't let you forget that it is not merely a flavor. It is an entire plant, and an evergreen at that, capable of not only surviving but flourishing upon rugged, breathtaking, and harsh mountainsides. The mineral accord doesn't disappear in the least, and the pine and wildflowers and windswept vegetation are unforgettable parts of the vista too, but it's the humble, tenacious juniper that stays with me the longest, and I can't help but love it all the more for its dogged perseverance.
Much like the austere splendor of the mountains to which the scent pays homage, I found Holy Cross to be a fragrance that all but demanded my awe and my respect, stirring my soul in a sense far more sublime than classically beautiful. But more importantly, my time spent with it was deeply rewarding, and it is a scent I will think about for a long, long time after my first spray.
