Boxwoods and Nanny Marshall
The scent of joy...
Into The Blue is about finding joy in simple pleasures. One of those pleasures is our sense of smell.
I think smell may be our most underappreciated sense. Hollywood and Madisan Avenue make billions titillating our eyes, and the music industry does likewise with our ears, but nobody thinks too much about our noses (okay, maybe the perfumers).
Our olfactory sense is not only a blind spot for rapacious capitalists. Us too. We readily seek pleasures for our eyes and ears but often forget about our noses. Today, I want to remind you that your nose can drink in the fragrance of joy. That is worth cultivating.
A Pleasing Aroma
A certain dullness of spirit prevented me from recognizing this joy for a long time. I simply took smells for granted. There were bad ones and good ones. I hated the smell of broccoli and loved that of pizza. Didn’t think too much more about it.
But over time, slowly, I began to pay more attention. Maybe it came with taking up gardening. I began to notice the fragrances of the flowers and plants in the yard. Before, I would have a vague thought: “Hey, it smells nice out here.” After, I learned the distinctive bouquet of the lilac, the magnolia, the hyacinth. Ooh, I love the hyacinth!
Of course, there are also all the glorious aromas of food. These I think we get more instinctively, because they are intimately connected to our own nourishment. As soon as the bacon starts to heat up, the kids are out of bed and in the kitchen! But even here, there is much more joy to be had, the wonderful fragrances of all the varied spices, herbs, and other ingredients that go into a meal.
In recent years, I have begun to take more note of the aromas of spirits. I still have so much to learn here, but a good wine or beer or whiskey has a universe of “flavors” for the nose before it ever meets your mouth.
Once you start to revel in the olfactory with intention, the world opens up to you. The scents of the kitchen, of the beach in summer, of the one you love. They all carry with them a delight. They remind you of the great blessing you have in just being alive.
Transported by a Fragrance
Beyond the immediate pleasure of a fragrant aroma, the singular power of our olfactory sense is its ability to conjure treasured memories. Our sense of smell is a time machine.
I learned this most vividly in a most unusual way.
This story begins with my grandmother, Nanny Marshall. She was a beautiful person. She lived a long life, and she was full of life. Her life was not easy, but she lived it with grace and poise. She was quick to laugh, quick to kindness, quick to love. A gentle and thoughtful soul. Deeply intelligent. Deeply reflective. Deeply faithful. She was committed to her family, to her friends, to her community.
Nanny was a gardener. She had a beautiful yard. It was a magical place. She had apple trees, and she made me apple sauce from their fruit. She had a gigantic pine tree. There was a bed of itchy pine needles under there. She also had boxwoods, but I never noticed them. No kid knows what a boxwood is.
Nanny had silver hair, wisdom personified. She loved me, and I loved her.
But I grew up, got serious, had a family, and forgot all about Nanny’s yard. Then, one day my family and I were on vacation in Colonial Williamsburg. They have a formal English-style garden there, framed with large, manicured bushes. They give off the most peculiar odor.
As we were walking through the splendid garden, that odor wrapped itself around me. I was mesmerized. I lost all sense of time and place (or the whereabouts of my family). What was that smell?
When my wife finally found me, she says I had my head stuck in one of those bushes. “What are you doing?! What is it?,” she asked. “Nanny,” I replied. The bushes are English boxwoods.
Somehow, that scent had hidden itself in my childish soul, waiting to be rediscovered.
Now, I have three of Nanny’s boxwoods in my front yard. They were in my Mom’s yard for many years, and she gave them to me, and we planted them in front of my previous home. They’ve been transplanted three times now, yet they are thriving. Every time I walk by them, I take them in deeply. And I smile.
I’ve lost my Nanny. But not really. I will see her again. Until then, the boxwoods testify.
That’s the power of our olfactories. That’s joie de vivre.
How about you?
So, I encourage you to take some time to stop and smell the roses, literally.
Notice the scents around you and how they make you feel. The aroma of your morning coffee, your mom’s cooking, your lover’s clothes, the top of your baby’s head. The next time you have a glass of wine, go ahead and put your nose in there; savor it all. Get out in the woods, or at least your yard, and just be still. Take in all the fragrances of our glorious earthen home. That’s joie de vivre.
Is there a fragrance or smell that calls to mind a wonderful memory or a person whom you love? Honeysuckle from your childhood, manure from the fields, burning wood, your dad’s after shave. Seek it out and let it minister to you. That’s joie de vivre.
And please spread the love! Share with us in the comments below the scents that bring you joy.
A Short Meditation
Gray hair is a crown of glory;
it is gained in a righteous life.
Our obsession with youth impoverishes us. It blinds us to the value and wisdom of a long life well lived. God blesses the person who quietly seeks him and his ways, day after day, year after year, decade after decade. Oftentimes, he blesses such a person with long life, and always, with abundant life.
A life so crowned is a testimony and a foretaste. In Christ, we say, “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15:55). A crown of thorns for a crown of glory.
Too dear for words! The little garden I have today speaks to me of Nanny each day.