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Sweet smell of success

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AND f inally

AND f inally

JUST AS YOUR GARDEN CHANGES FROM SEASON TO SEASON, SO DO THE MAGICAL, MYSTICAL PERFUMES THAT ADD A LAYER OF ENCHANTMENT TO THE ATMOSPHERE.

PICK YOUR PLANTINGS CAREFULLY AND SURROUND YOURSELF WITH NATURE’S MOST FABULOUS FRAGRANCES

Words: BURFORD HURRY

THOSE of us who have explored the narrow cobbled lanes drifting with scent behind La Giralda, the cathedral in Seville, or visited the equally fragrant Generalife Gardens in Granada in spring and summer, or the glorious patios in Córdoba in May will remember the delicate perfume that always fills the air. There is something special, almost magical about it. Those gardens have continued with the centuries-old tradition of Moorish, and probably Roman gardeners before them, of using perfume in the garden. Who could blame them?

Perfume plays an essential part in my garden, too – without it, it wouldn’t be a garden. I am fortunate for, unlike those early days when jasmines and myrtles predominated, nowadays we can choose from a larger palette of shrubs, plants and creepers; I have a variety of trees as well, which perfume my garden throughout the whole year.

To start with, I have my 20-year-old fiddlewood, whose branches cover some of my top terrace and whose tiny cream flowers in racemes provide the background fragrance for the other perfumes. Then I have three lemon trees, whose glorious blossoms in winter take the chill off the mornings and lift my spirits. Neighbours contribute, too. In late summer I have two well-spaced Dama-da-Noite (Cestrum nocturnum), one in a nearby garden and the other further away, whose perfume either comes flooding through my front door to fill my garden with her perfume or, on the pavement further down the road, accompanies me for some of my early morning walk with my dog.

An early spring explosion of scent in the garden from my Chinese jasmine (Jasminum Polyanthum) starts the growing year. She can take cold weather, and in late winter there are tiny pink buds in profusion which open in drifts of snowy white in February to release their strong perfume. The show lasts for about three weeks, then flowers brown and drop off, and the plant concentrates on growing so it’s time for me to redirect or trim her energy. In summer she is a strong and vigorous climber with small leaves on slender twigs and branches. In my garden, she grows in the shade of the white mulberry and has already started to explore the mulberry’s branches. In time she will cascade down the wall below her.

A shrubby climber with similar behaviour and just as heavily scented flowers is Star jasmine (Trachelospermum jasminoides). She has other advantages as she grows more strongly than the Chinese jasmine with larger, more handsome glossy leaves, and although she does need some water, she shrugs off heat and drought. Star jasmine is sensational when she flowers dousing any garden with buckets of scent.

A little later in the year, when I open the veranda door to go down the steps to the river, the familiar perfume of a shrubby jasmine (Jasminum officinale) is there. This is the creeper that

Previous page: Cestrum noctuernm. This page, right: Jasminum polyanthem; far right: Mirabilis jalapa. Below left: Buddleja salviifolia; right: Capparis spinosa is commonly found in the old gardens of Andalucía. Her white blooms backed with pink on a single plant are enough to enhance the fragrance of a large area. Easy to grow, she can reach ten metres or more with a spread of two or three metres. Like other jasmines, she flourishes in well-drained soil, tolerates drought and heat and although her flowers are not spectacular her scent certainly is, and she blooms almost throughout the year.

Years ago, I stumbled on a lemon-scented jasmine (Jasminium azoricum) growing over a trellis in one of the lanes behind the Vilamoura marina. I liked the look of her and helped myself to a couple of cuttings. They grew very easily so she found her way into two of my gardens. She grows vigorously and flowers for many months of the year. On the strength of all that, one crossed the lane in Loulé’s historic quarter into a neighbour’s quintal so her scent, together with my jasmine’s, enriches the lanes. In my present garden, she flowers above the river and finds her way enthusiastically through the bougainvillea to scramble down towards the water. Thinking of her, don’t underestimate the beauty of climbers cascading down a wall or over a terrace. They look lovely. A climber which does just that in the wild is the indigenous clematis (Clematis flammula), whose glorious exuberant tumble of snowy white flowers in late spring and early summer splashes over rocks and bushes and cocks a snoot at drought and heat.

A plant which I don’t have as yet but which has a heavenly scent is a silver berry (Eleagnus ebbingei). It is a large shrub with dark shiny handsome leaves with a silver underside. It flowers in October. Apart from its perfume and appearance, it also ticks other boxes being droughtresistant and enjoying Algarvian sunshine. I have seen it growing well in several of my friends’ gardens and intend getting one for my little haven.

A soft distinctive lemony perfume is provided in spring and summer every year by the several capers (Capparis spinosa) that now grow vigorously in the stone wall about the Cadoiço River. Years ago, I had seen capers growing in Greece and had always wanted a plant. I was reminded of them on a visit to Córdoba to see the May pátios (if you have never seen them, they are definitively worth a visit). While there, I noticed a caper growing out from a crevice in the stone wall of the mosque and took a couple of cuttings. Unlike my jasmine cuttings taken in Vilamoura, these never struck. However, from a nursery-bought mother plant and helped by my resident ants, capers have now sprung up in all parts of my garden; even, to my surprise, on the top terrace. I pickle the flower pods and even the leaves and use them in salads or with fish dishes.

Another early provider of perfume in my garden is a sagewood (Buddleja salviifolia). She has silver green and white backed leaves throughout the year, and in February she has generous hanging panicles of small lilac blooms. There is also a white variety, but I prefer the lilac. The scent, although sweet, is more aftershave than perfume and different to the perfume of most buddlejas. Her distinctive perfume immediately takes me back to Gauteng in South Africa where I first met her as a teenager on the banks of the Crocodile river. My sagewood is a small tree and works well as a background plant. After flowering, I cut her hard back and use some of the cuttings as slips for more sagewoods. Her leaves make an excellent herbal tea.

As for my perfumed white mirabilis (Mirabilis jalapa), I found her on an August trip to northern Portugal. She was growing in a large snowy patch on a granite hillside. There were lots of seeds so I brought them back and propagated them. At first they weren’t too enthusiastic about the barrocal nature of my garden, so I planted one in a large pot and that has done well. Since then I have one volunteering in the garden. The perfume is strongest in the evening and she flowers for most of the late summer. She looks lovely too, as she grows in a very neat shrubby way. Before I leave the topic of perfume in gardens, could I just say something about the Mediterranean smilax (Smilax aspera) which is one local climber that is the bane of gardeners as it has vicious little thorns and is a rampant grower. However, might I add in defence of smilax, my early morning winter walks would be a lot poorer if I didn’t walk through a cloud of her wonderful honey perfume. In addition, her richly-scented blossom provides food for butterflies and other insects and are followed by berries, which the birds like. So, if you have a wild garden and lots of space it is certainly worth leaving.

Most of the plants mentioned will be available at the Spring Mediterranean Garden Fair, 25-26 March, at the Fissul Exhibition Hall, Silves. Visit mediterraneangardeningportugal.org for details.

And if you would like cuttings of my lemon-scented Jasmine, drop me a line at burfordhpt@gmail.com –after all, I got mine from a cutting.

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