An (Olfactory) Ode to a Tree

Spring arrived a little differently this year.

The tree.

On Tuesday morning I woke up to realize that it was “officially” the first day of spring. Of course, for me, the smell of spring had already presented itself for many weeks before then.

It was during my daily afternoon walks that I noticed increasing whiffs of floral, prickly buds eager to present themselves on branches. And wide stretches of green Bermuda grass, usually sparse in drought-stricken northern California, suddenly plentiful and singing sweet, fresh scented notes up to my nose. Yes, spring was clearly upon us, but it began in a much different way this year. 

If you follow me on social media, you know that something terrible happened right outside our kitchen window. An orange citrus tree which straddled both our 81-year old neighbor’s house and ours was unceremoniously chopped to the ground. Just that morning she was proudly displaying an abundance of gorgeous orange fruit throughout all her limbs (see picture above). From my kitchen window, as I sipped my coffee, I could observe her fruits basking in the morning sunlight.

Yes, that very morning she was there, and by lunchtime she was gone. How could anyone do such a thing?

This is my olfactory ode to that tree. May she remind me always of the beauty of nature, and the generosity of trees right outside our window.