Beauty That Stinks

My children brought home Paperwhite (Narcissus) bulbs just before school let out for the winter break. I’ve been dutifully taking care of them ever since, keeping them watered and reporting daily on their kitchen-window-sill-progress. The bulb rooted in pebbles and water, nestled in a plastic cup decorated with foam shapes and permanent marker, bloomed first. The other one, covered in soil inside a terra cotta pot, followed about five days later. Wow, does my kitchen stink! Strike that. Wow, does my house stink!

One morning this week, after sending the children off the school, I walked in the front door thought, “Oh no, there’s rotting food somewhere in the house.” I spent the next 15 minutes searching for the piece of meat, cabbage leaf or open can of black beans that could cause such a stench. And then it hit me: It’s the paperwhites. I actually banned them from the house last year, knowing how adversely I react to their scent. This year, though, I forgot…until now.

Yet, my heart is softer this year, and I won’t banish them from my home. The blossoms are sweet and lovely, straining to reach for the bit of sun that makes it to my kitchen’s north-facing window. I have conversations with them as I wash dishes; I play a guessing game as to which flowers in the clusters will fully open first; I share the thrill of growth and emergence with my children (and those thrills are few and far between in the chill of winter). Sometimes the garbage can smells, but I still keep one in my kitchen. Sometimes the dog smells, but she remains an integral part of our family. And sometimes the plants smell, but I focus my attention on the beauty and growth opportunities they bring into our home. That said, once their bloom season is complete, my nose will be quite happy to see them go.