My love affair with the Beekman Boys continues, as their recent re-release of a former favorite – Aloe and Iris – arrived on my doorstep the other day. Iris is a tricky scent to isolate and convey through soap or toiletries. I’ve yet to find a cologne or perfume that does justice to the spicy, complex floral of a proper bearded iris. With that said, I wasn’t expecting much from my first brush with Aloe & Iris, but I was pleasantly surprised to find my naked, shower-soaked self brought instantly back to a garden in some splendid June day of my childhood. While the Beekman Boys version doesn’t reek of iris in perfect imitation, it carries enough of the notes to conjure that beautiful flower, and in the midst of my evening shower I was instantly transported to a very specific and happy moment of childhood.
I remember only the setting quite clearly. It was the somewhat hidden side-yard garden of Suzie’s house. T0 be honest, I don’t even remember Suzie being there, and if history is any indication, she probably wasn’t. We were raised like sibiings, so when one or the other of us got tired of the other one, we would simply walk somewhere else and go about our day. In one of the enduring hallmarks of our friendship, we could do that without hard feelings or questions.
On that particular day, I recall making my way down the crumbling set of stones that made for a rather rustic staircase leading from the driveway to the lower side yard. Swaths of blooming purple centaurea stretched out on either side of the bank, turning their heads up at the bright midday sun, enjoying the heat as much as the bees that were buzzing about them. Their fragrance was sweet, but it wasn’t the fix I was after.
After carefully climbing down the jagged stairs, I paused before stepping onto a stone path. The Ko house was always a magical place for me, and I stood there taking in all the beauty of a sunny almost-summer day. The gentle hum of bees was the only sound being made. There was warmth but my childhood self was too young to be bothered much by heat yet. Besides, there was a great elm just ahead that offered shade, and an arbor thick with a canopy of grape vines.
I took a few more steps and the bed of bearded iris was before me, rising almost up to my unimpressive height. I could simply lean forward and inhale their spicy perfume, and closely examine the beautiful beards of gold and yellow so brilliantly complementing hoods of purple and burgundy. It was, and remains, a fragrance idyllic and emblematic of summer – and to this day that memory can be conjured even in the unlikely setting of an indulgent shower.
It set off a ripple effect of memories – the beds of peonies, the sun-dial pedestal, a circular path bordered by hostas, and a hidden clump of mockorange unseen, but whose sweet perfume carried in the hot, humid air. Fragrance and memory can be beautifully intertwined.
