“Oh, look,” whispered the sweetest of voices on the slightest of breezes each night when I stepped outside. “We have created enchantment here.”
I thought I was alone, but the powdery scent of perfume had me thinking otherwise. The voice was quite feminine, I imagined, and absolutely southern — dripping with refined charm and long, slow vowels.
As the heady fragrance embraced me during these midwinter night’s dreams, I became convinced that Miss Blanche DuBois, of A Streetcar Named Desire, had decided to keep me company each time I stepped outside in the evening.
Unfortunately for Blanche, “enchantment” was not the word I would have used — especially on those nights when the flowery fragrance was thick, as if Blanche had used a heavy hand to spritz herself so her eau de odeur could be smelled and tasted.
With all due apologies to Tennessee Williams, my line would have read: “Oh, look. We have created stink here.”
One man’s scent, I suppose, is another man’s stench. Joe, along with many of my neighbors, enjoyed each evening’s “enchantment.” But not me — and because the smell didn’t exist during the day, I’d put it out of my mind and nose, which meant that each night’s walk was an olfactory assault.
Still, I had to discover the identity of the plant that was dolling itself up for a night on the town. None of my neighbors had gardenia or jasmine, plants whose fragrances also make me gag. And so, under cover of darkness, I sniffed random shrubs up and down the street.
Early one morning, before the sun had burned away the previous night’s aroma, Joe came into the house. “I think I found the plant,” he said. “It’s on the other side of our fence.”
I ran outside and strained my neck so that my nose could reach one of the powder puffs dangling from the tall shrubs on the other side of the fence. One inhale and I knew Joe was right.
Blanche DuBois was my neighbor.
Actually, the plant, appropriately named Dracaena fragrans or corn flower, had been planted years ago by our actual neighbor, Darin. He had planted a row of the shrubs using woody stem pieces from a single plant, just sticking them in the ground along the edge of his property.
He had marveled at the plant’s ability to so easily root — and I too was a bit awestruck. In time, the little cuttings had grown into towering plants, some 15’ to 20’ tall, with full heads of sword-like leaves and slender, pale brown trunks.
If Dracaena fragrans looks somewhat familiar, it should. In many parts of the country, especially in northern areas, it’s an indoor plant, usually grown in pots and placed in the corners of lobbies and waiting rooms. In such an environment, this African native rarely achieves the height that it does when planted outside in warmer climates.
It also hardly ever blooms — and that’s a good thing, or else every lobby and waiting room would smell like some old French Quarter boudoir.
Now that January is well under way, the flowers of Dracaena fragrans have faded — and so too has Blanche DuBois.
I imagine she’s probably off to other far away places, where she will inevitably depend on the kindness of strangers, and spray what she hopes will be a seductive scent for bees and unsuspecting gardeners.
I, for one, will no longer be an unsuspecting gardener. I’ll be ready for her when she returns here at year’s end. After all, my nose knows.
Nitty Gritty Dirt Man 
She has a very attractive flower. I think some of those night-scented flowers are better enjoyed from a distance rather than up close and personal.
Hi Jean. I agree — but there are so many of this plant blooming along the fence that there is no distance great enough from which to enjoy it. 🙂 Still, there are a few of the night-scented flowers that are quite pleasing.
It’s interesting that you don’t like the fragrance from gardenias and jasmine as well. You must be hyper-sensitive and they overpower. I don’t think it’s typical to see dracaena “in bulk” like that! It’s great to see the bees enjoying themselves, but hopefully for your sake the flowering season won’t be very long!
Hi Debra. The bloom time is really just about a week or two. I can live with that. It’s funny what you say about being hyper-sensitive to those scents. I love the way roses smell, but there are times when I smell a rose-scented perfume and I hold my breath! I think my nose is built for Chanel No. 5. 🙂
You are discovering all sorts of new plants but I’m so glad you won’t have to lurk around the neighborhood in cover of darkness 🙂
Hey Brenda. There are many times when I’d like to know what the neighbors make of me — not that I would change. I just think it would be amusing. Happy travels! 🙂
I find all your articles so intriguing because you get to grow so many plants that I only know as houseplants or summer ornamentals here in Indy. I had no idea there was a bloom, let alone a scent, on Dracaena. I’m with you on many of those old fashioned fragrances. A little goes a long way.
Hi Mario. Hope all is well with you — just say the word when you’ll be in the south Florida area, and we’ll take a garden tour. 🙂
I, too, have never encountered a Dracaena flower either. Amazing. Back in the day when my home library was larger, I had a couple of books on fragrant plants but don’t recall ever seeing it there either. Thanks so much for the photos and for bringing “Blanche” out of the shadows!
Hello M’Lady. I’m glad to know I’m not alone in not knowing what Dracaena could do. It amazes me what norther houseplants are capable of when left to their own devices. 🙂
I love what you did with this post 🙂
…but I do wonder what your neighbors think of you sniffing around their yards under cover of darkness.
Oh, Bittster — you’ve hit the nail on the head. Not too long ago, a neighbor spotted me taking photos of weeds in my lawn. Quizzical isn’t a strong enough word to describe the look on his face. 🙂
Kevin, you have outdone yourself with this post. Your writing is nothing less than outstanding. I DEMAND A BOOK!!!!!
I couldn’t help but laugh, as you described yourself sniffing your way down the block. Your use of Streetcar is hilarious — Blanche = perfect. Enchanting is a perfect term for your descriptions. You make me laugh, you make me smile; sometimes, you even make me cry. What more can a reader expect from a writer. I can’t wait until you join Tennessee Williams “on the shelves.” It HAS to happen.
You’re an inspiration to this humble blogger. 🙂
–K
diaryofadedicateddiabetic.wordpress.com
Dear, dear kkeevins. 🙂 Thank you. I’m working on it. When it’s good to go, I’ll let you know. . .
Alas! A gardener, photographer, writer — and NOW — a POET!
I’ve always known that you’re a man of many talents; it never ends. 🙂 ❤
🙂
Ha, loved the post! That is quite some plant, and such unusual blooms. Too bad the smell wasn’t more enchanting for you!
Hi Indie. It might be one of those plants that’s bet sniffed from afar — otherwise, it smells more like a confined, flower-filled room in a funeral home.