IRIS OF MY EYE

ONCE SPRING HAS SETTLED IN TO STAY, BEARDED IRISES STAND UP TALL, SHAKE OUT THEIR SKIRTS AND PUT ON A SHOW IN A CLOUD OF NOSTALGIC PERFUME.

- HANNAH AGRAN WITH LAUREN DUNEC HOÀNG 

Some aromas leave deep furrows in our souls, emotional proof of the scientific ties between scent and memory. For me, it's the perfume of bearded irises. The frilly flowers lined the front path of my childhood home, a jaunty companion to the peonies each May. In fact, my parents have a photo of me with my nose buried in a bloom. The white ones smelled like oranges, an uncanny fruitiness that delighted me as a kid and transports me now. I also loved tracing their beards, the fuzzy golden "caterpillars" that tempt pollinators down the petals to the flowers' centers.