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Memories of a Long-Past Summer Day
Fragrance discovery from Discovery Set Progressive Botany Vol. 1:
We were only 16, and it was our last summer before our working lives began. Nothing held us back, and we rode our bikes everywhere. Summer was coming to an end, the harvest was in. Back then, giant bales of straw stood tall in the fields. We had decided to climb one of the bales and enjoy a lovely day up there. Everything was packed for our picnic: food, blankets, wine, music, and off we went. Of course, we knew the farmers didn’t like to see that. But we would be careful.
Living on the edge of town and surrounded by fields, we didn’t have to travel far. After just half an hour, we found our suitable candidate. In a hurry, so as not to get caught, we pushed our bikes across the harvested stubbly field to the giant straw bale.
We were apparently not its first guests. For on one side of the bale, torn straw bales lay scattered in the field, which was very convenient for us. Here we could hide our bikes well.
The ascent turned out to be more difficult than expected. Now and then, we had to tear down hay bales to create a step for climbing. Then we stood in a cloud of dust and loose straw, coughing and laughing at the same time. But finally, we made it: we had arrived at the top.
It was beautiful. We had a good view, but we also had to realize that everyone could see us from the field. That, on the other hand, was not so good. The solution: we removed some straw bales from the center, created a dip, and stacked the hay bales around us like small battlements. With that, our picnic spot was perfect. Blankets were spread out, music was turned on, and the cozy part of the picnic began.
Lying in the gentle afternoon sun, hidden from the eyes of the outside world and enveloped in the spicy scent of fresh hay, we were free from all the small and big problems of everyday life. We sang and laughed, and as the day turned to evening and our bottle of wine had significantly lost its contents, we confessed the secrets of our hearts to each other, just as best friends can.
Carduus reminds me of that long-past summer day. After the first spray, a dry-spicy cloud of dust seems to linger in the air. This moment slightly reminded me of the cocoa powder that gets whipped up when you’re too quick with the mixer while baking. But once the dust settles, a spicy hay scent begins to develop. This, however, focuses more on dried herbs, chamomile, and dried flowers than on woodruff-coumarin. A subtle fine sweetness accompanies the fragrance.
Carduus is a beautiful and at the same time very unusual scent. It has a special kind of down-to-earth honesty that I truly miss in many of the fragrances currently thrown onto the market. It is not particularly pleasing. Especially beautiful.
We were only 16, and it was our last summer before our working lives began. Nothing held us back, and we rode our bikes everywhere. Summer was coming to an end, the harvest was in. Back then, giant bales of straw stood tall in the fields. We had decided to climb one of the bales and enjoy a lovely day up there. Everything was packed for our picnic: food, blankets, wine, music, and off we went. Of course, we knew the farmers didn’t like to see that. But we would be careful.
Living on the edge of town and surrounded by fields, we didn’t have to travel far. After just half an hour, we found our suitable candidate. In a hurry, so as not to get caught, we pushed our bikes across the harvested stubbly field to the giant straw bale.
We were apparently not its first guests. For on one side of the bale, torn straw bales lay scattered in the field, which was very convenient for us. Here we could hide our bikes well.
The ascent turned out to be more difficult than expected. Now and then, we had to tear down hay bales to create a step for climbing. Then we stood in a cloud of dust and loose straw, coughing and laughing at the same time. But finally, we made it: we had arrived at the top.
It was beautiful. We had a good view, but we also had to realize that everyone could see us from the field. That, on the other hand, was not so good. The solution: we removed some straw bales from the center, created a dip, and stacked the hay bales around us like small battlements. With that, our picnic spot was perfect. Blankets were spread out, music was turned on, and the cozy part of the picnic began.
Lying in the gentle afternoon sun, hidden from the eyes of the outside world and enveloped in the spicy scent of fresh hay, we were free from all the small and big problems of everyday life. We sang and laughed, and as the day turned to evening and our bottle of wine had significantly lost its contents, we confessed the secrets of our hearts to each other, just as best friends can.
Carduus reminds me of that long-past summer day. After the first spray, a dry-spicy cloud of dust seems to linger in the air. This moment slightly reminded me of the cocoa powder that gets whipped up when you’re too quick with the mixer while baking. But once the dust settles, a spicy hay scent begins to develop. This, however, focuses more on dried herbs, chamomile, and dried flowers than on woodruff-coumarin. A subtle fine sweetness accompanies the fragrance.
Carduus is a beautiful and at the same time very unusual scent. It has a special kind of down-to-earth honesty that I truly miss in many of the fragrances currently thrown onto the market. It is not particularly pleasing. Especially beautiful.
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Roses at the Peat Fire
I discovered this fragrance through the Discovery Set Progressive Botany Vol. 1. I liked the idea of exploring scents of Scottish origin.
Right after spraying, the fragrance initially smells rather herbal and almost disappointing to me. But one or two minutes later, a pleasant smoky note becomes noticeable, which initially evokes an association with lightly dosed birch tar. This beautiful note remains very present on my skin for the next 20 minutes and soon reminds me of a cozy peat fire by the fireplace. About half an hour after the first spray, the herbal notes from my initial perception begin to weave together with the castoreum and the frankincense into a pleasantly soft, slightly smoky fragrance tapestry. As it develops further, the scent takes a slight turn towards faintly perceptible yet closed rose buds, which, however, does not come across as disturbing. Instead, it adds a fine floral green component to the slightly smoky aspect.
An interesting fragrance with a surprisingly complex development for me. Unfortunately, it has rather modest longevity. Nevertheless, this scent makes me curious to explore more fragrances from this house.
Right after spraying, the fragrance initially smells rather herbal and almost disappointing to me. But one or two minutes later, a pleasant smoky note becomes noticeable, which initially evokes an association with lightly dosed birch tar. This beautiful note remains very present on my skin for the next 20 minutes and soon reminds me of a cozy peat fire by the fireplace. About half an hour after the first spray, the herbal notes from my initial perception begin to weave together with the castoreum and the frankincense into a pleasantly soft, slightly smoky fragrance tapestry. As it develops further, the scent takes a slight turn towards faintly perceptible yet closed rose buds, which, however, does not come across as disturbing. Instead, it adds a fine floral green component to the slightly smoky aspect.
An interesting fragrance with a surprisingly complex development for me. Unfortunately, it has rather modest longevity. Nevertheless, this scent makes me curious to explore more fragrances from this house.
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Frankincense, 1 × extra smoked, please!
Among the simple pleasures of my life are: forest walks. What could be more beautiful than walking through the woods, listening to the birds, and going hunting? Oh no, I can already see some turning away in horror. But, friends, hold on! I’m not hunting innocent creatures. My desires are of a different nature.
As I wander through the forest, I keep my eyes open for a very special prey. My favorite prey. It’s hard to believe how clingy it is. And once you’ve discovered it ... what can I say? The joy is immense! But at the same time, you know it’s going to get incredibly DIRTY!
This happened a few years ago. I was wandering through a section of the forest where, alongside pines, firs had also spread out. Large old firs, standing closely together in the dark woods. Reverently, I let my gaze wander over them and enjoyed this somewhat strange sight in the otherwise so light pine forest. And then I saw it. My hunter-gatherer heartbeat noticeably quickened.
A wide stream of resin was flowing down a trunk and began to form thick, voluminous clumps at the end of its flow. Reddish-white clumps, unlike any I had seen before. The resin I collect from pines is more whitish-golden. The red was new.
Anyone who has never scraped half-fresh resin from trees has no idea how sticky it is. Once it sticks to your fingers, your fingers stick to everything. Tree bark ... sand ... dirt ... needles ... it doesn’t matter! The anticipation of the smoking is worth all the trouble.
Once home, I lit the charcoal and placed a few clumps on it. What developed in terms of scent was more than just a surprise.
"Black Forest smoked ham," was my first impression. Delicious, of course! But also a very clear "huh?". After all, this was resin I had collected myself ... and why ham?
Only a few clumps remain from my collection effort back then. Like little treasures, I guard them and only rarely smoke them.
But now I have discovered this wonderful scent from Naomi Goodsir! It only took one spray, and everything I have described so far was suddenly present in an instant.
Yes, the opening reminds me of smoked ham. Quite quickly, a peaty, smoky whisky appears, bringing back memories of the remote and eternally windy Scottish Atlantic islands. Shortly thereafter, the perfume reaches its darkest and smokiest point. Here it lingers for a while and seems to settle down. Then, something fresh glimmers quietly in the smoke. At this point, I estimate, the Somali frankincense makes its presence known. It lightens the heaviness of the smoke and gives the scent something bright. As the smoke fades into the background over the next few hours, the frankincense comes to the forefront. The scent remains dry, smoky, and later becomes frankincense-heavy.
A truly fine fragrance that releases many beautiful memories for me.
As I wander through the forest, I keep my eyes open for a very special prey. My favorite prey. It’s hard to believe how clingy it is. And once you’ve discovered it ... what can I say? The joy is immense! But at the same time, you know it’s going to get incredibly DIRTY!
This happened a few years ago. I was wandering through a section of the forest where, alongside pines, firs had also spread out. Large old firs, standing closely together in the dark woods. Reverently, I let my gaze wander over them and enjoyed this somewhat strange sight in the otherwise so light pine forest. And then I saw it. My hunter-gatherer heartbeat noticeably quickened.
A wide stream of resin was flowing down a trunk and began to form thick, voluminous clumps at the end of its flow. Reddish-white clumps, unlike any I had seen before. The resin I collect from pines is more whitish-golden. The red was new.
Anyone who has never scraped half-fresh resin from trees has no idea how sticky it is. Once it sticks to your fingers, your fingers stick to everything. Tree bark ... sand ... dirt ... needles ... it doesn’t matter! The anticipation of the smoking is worth all the trouble.
Once home, I lit the charcoal and placed a few clumps on it. What developed in terms of scent was more than just a surprise.
"Black Forest smoked ham," was my first impression. Delicious, of course! But also a very clear "huh?". After all, this was resin I had collected myself ... and why ham?
Only a few clumps remain from my collection effort back then. Like little treasures, I guard them and only rarely smoke them.
But now I have discovered this wonderful scent from Naomi Goodsir! It only took one spray, and everything I have described so far was suddenly present in an instant.
Yes, the opening reminds me of smoked ham. Quite quickly, a peaty, smoky whisky appears, bringing back memories of the remote and eternally windy Scottish Atlantic islands. Shortly thereafter, the perfume reaches its darkest and smokiest point. Here it lingers for a while and seems to settle down. Then, something fresh glimmers quietly in the smoke. At this point, I estimate, the Somali frankincense makes its presence known. It lightens the heaviness of the smoke and gives the scent something bright. As the smoke fades into the background over the next few hours, the frankincense comes to the forefront. The scent remains dry, smoky, and later becomes frankincense-heavy.
A truly fine fragrance that releases many beautiful memories for me.
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Where Has the Smoke Gone?
Oliban was a blind buy that I made based on the listed fragrance notes. It seemed to fit well into my preferences. At least, I thought so. However, my nose realized that this was not the case.
Where do I even begin? With the bottle. In a noble dark, almost black brown, with edges that are meant to resemble the crystalline structure of a gemstone, it is a real feast for the eyes. Of course, the bottle is not cut glass, but pressed glass. It has to remain affordable, after all. However, this does not diminish the overall impression of beauty.
With great anticipation and the beautiful bottle in hand, I expected a smoky, perhaps slightly sweet, but also woody incense scent. After all, the perfume is called Oliban. Tobacco as well as rosewood are listed in the fragrance description alongside tonka and amber. Sounds good, right? One spray and wow ... boundless disappointment. What is this?
Soapy rose unpleasantly mingles with a hint of far too fresh white incense. That's it. I'm shaken. This can't be true. Where has the smoke gone?
By the way, I can't detect a remarkable scent progression either. Initially, I have soapy rose mixed with fresh white incense. This is, by the way, the slightly citrusy note that blends into the rose soap. Tobacco? Not a trace. Something sweet? Not here. In the later scent progression, the rose recedes and only the soap remains.
This scent leaves me perplexed. The beautiful bottle doesn't help either. Is it my skin or my nose? No idea. I definitely need to recover from this unpleasant fragrance experience and treat my nose to a dose of Bois d'Ascèse or Cardinal.
Where do I even begin? With the bottle. In a noble dark, almost black brown, with edges that are meant to resemble the crystalline structure of a gemstone, it is a real feast for the eyes. Of course, the bottle is not cut glass, but pressed glass. It has to remain affordable, after all. However, this does not diminish the overall impression of beauty.
With great anticipation and the beautiful bottle in hand, I expected a smoky, perhaps slightly sweet, but also woody incense scent. After all, the perfume is called Oliban. Tobacco as well as rosewood are listed in the fragrance description alongside tonka and amber. Sounds good, right? One spray and wow ... boundless disappointment. What is this?
Soapy rose unpleasantly mingles with a hint of far too fresh white incense. That's it. I'm shaken. This can't be true. Where has the smoke gone?
By the way, I can't detect a remarkable scent progression either. Initially, I have soapy rose mixed with fresh white incense. This is, by the way, the slightly citrusy note that blends into the rose soap. Tobacco? Not a trace. Something sweet? Not here. In the later scent progression, the rose recedes and only the soap remains.
This scent leaves me perplexed. The beautiful bottle doesn't help either. Is it my skin or my nose? No idea. I definitely need to recover from this unpleasant fragrance experience and treat my nose to a dose of Bois d'Ascèse or Cardinal.
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A Fragrance Like a Time Travel
Early 80s. Punk and New Wave are gradually taking over Germany. The Neue Deutsche Welle is ruining the charts for Grandma and Grandpa. And I’m off to shop in Heidelberg with my first earned money.
Ah, Heidelberg, you and your old town. Back then, there were still the small cozy owner-operated Indian shops. Returned hippies had settled in and brought a bit of exoticism to the German wasteland with their Indian connections. Singing saffron-clad Hare Krishnas were jingling through the old town, and I entered my first Indian shop full of curiosity.
Colorful scarves, tea boxes, silver jewelry, shelves full of Indian deity statues, and on a long counter in beautiful glass cabinets, tiny bottles full of attar oils, incense sticks right next door, and clothing racks with Nepalese Indian clothing.
Well, there it was. That strange scent. Behind all the incense sticks, the spices, the tea was something ... somehow like damp earth, dark, almost moldy. Not really pleasant.
The little bottles captivated me. So I sniffed my way through. First bottle: Indian sandalwood, a dream, I can't leave that behind. Next bottle: cedarwood, I’ll take you with me too. One more bottle: pure earth and mold. Urgh, get out of my nasal passages! So that was my first encounter with patchouli.
Ah, for my youthful standards, I left a fortune in that shop. My love for incense and incense sticks began back then and has never left me since.
Reminiscences Patchouli is thankfully not an attar oil. Here, I’m first greeted by an earthy sweetness. Unfortunately, I can't perceive cedar. A bit of woody-freshness, though. Later on, I catch whiffs of sweet vanilla and labdanum. All of this is continuously interwoven with grounded dark patchouli. All in all, a rather linear scent progression.
For me, a beautiful fragrance. A lovely reminiscence of the 70s. Love and Peace, brothers and sisters, Love and Peace!
Ah, Heidelberg, you and your old town. Back then, there were still the small cozy owner-operated Indian shops. Returned hippies had settled in and brought a bit of exoticism to the German wasteland with their Indian connections. Singing saffron-clad Hare Krishnas were jingling through the old town, and I entered my first Indian shop full of curiosity.
Colorful scarves, tea boxes, silver jewelry, shelves full of Indian deity statues, and on a long counter in beautiful glass cabinets, tiny bottles full of attar oils, incense sticks right next door, and clothing racks with Nepalese Indian clothing.
Well, there it was. That strange scent. Behind all the incense sticks, the spices, the tea was something ... somehow like damp earth, dark, almost moldy. Not really pleasant.
The little bottles captivated me. So I sniffed my way through. First bottle: Indian sandalwood, a dream, I can't leave that behind. Next bottle: cedarwood, I’ll take you with me too. One more bottle: pure earth and mold. Urgh, get out of my nasal passages! So that was my first encounter with patchouli.
Ah, for my youthful standards, I left a fortune in that shop. My love for incense and incense sticks began back then and has never left me since.
Reminiscences Patchouli is thankfully not an attar oil. Here, I’m first greeted by an earthy sweetness. Unfortunately, I can't perceive cedar. A bit of woody-freshness, though. Later on, I catch whiffs of sweet vanilla and labdanum. All of this is continuously interwoven with grounded dark patchouli. All in all, a rather linear scent progression.
For me, a beautiful fragrance. A lovely reminiscence of the 70s. Love and Peace, brothers and sisters, Love and Peace!
4 Comments
