A Conversation about My Disappointed Nose

I've been complaining about the frequency of the rain lately. As the year progresses I'll be complaining about the heat and/or the drought. That's what weather's for, and I appreciate it. But this year I came across a problem that I never had to complain about before. My disappointed nose.                                                             Now, my nose participates fully in all my seasonal adventures. It clogs from pollen, itches from dust, and gets runny in the cold weather. It stuffs up when I mow the lawn, but it has never refused to notice aromas... until now. This is the first year I missed the lilac season. Usually a stream of scent flows around the house from the strategically planted bushes and smells like honey tastes. It draws my attention, and I collect my shears and vases and bring as many blooms inside as I can carry, so I can savor the treat as long as possible. But this year, there may have been smells transmitted, but the rain evidently damped them down. I resigned myself to a long wait for next year, and planned to enjoy the billowing crowds of Japanese honeysuckle showing up everywhere. Their scent is like an attack of sweetness to the nose. Nope, not this year. If it wasn't raining it was misting and the air was apparently too wet to carry the scent molecules far enough. The leaves and the blossoms were beautiful spattered with glistening moisture and beaded with droplets, but no go for the nose's pleasure. Even when I stuck my nose into a cluster of blooms there was no satisfaction. I worried what effect the curtailment of smells might have on pollination and production. If the pollinators who were drawn by the smell didn't get the message, what would happen...or not? Unfortunately I was too cranky with disappointment to research like I usually do, so it will remain a mystery for now.                                                                  And another thing! Is there a special rule for petroleum exhausts? When I take my soggy morning walks, I can smell the exhaust from every diesel engine for miles around... or so it seems. That also makes me and my nose cranky. I drove past a dairy farm where they were decorating the fields the other day. Manure's pungent flavor is also immune to the effects of rain. And there isn't space to discuss my neighbor's stupid dog and his stupid attraction to skunks... that stench also not influenced by moisture in the air.                                                                                                                                       I am determined to shake off the disappointment. The next pretty smells are due soon. The Multiflora roses that infest pastures and roadsides are up next. I hate their behavior because they're bullies and crowd out native plants, plus they have a vicious habit of latching onto your skin when you walk past. But oh my goodness do they smell good. In a normal year. We'll see.                                                       It can't rain forever, can it? There are still the sweet smelling Dame's Rocket that look like forests of purple Phlox in the woods and roadsides, and the roses and the peonies and the lilies each perfuming the air in sequence, followed by the milkweed and the valerian and the hyssop. Surely it can't rain on all of them. Time will smell, er, tell.