One of my missions for this visit was the harvest and tincturing of the thorny bushes that account for the most intoxicating fragrance of spring in my village. The yellow flowers of a variety from the family of broom – only much more thorny. In Hebrew it is called Kidah Seirah. The thorns are sharp and evil and can be likened to small poisonous swords and may cause quite some pain for a while for those unfortunate enough to be wounded by them. The flowers, however, are heavenly smelling – with a scent reminiscent of sweet peas and sunshine. When the peak of the blossoming season arrives, it is almost dangerous to walk outside without becoming intoxicated by their sweet and ethereal aroma.

It was my dream to be able to extract and even a little bit of spring in my visit, but I was not able to make it true. When it comes to tincturing, I am quite the novice and am yet to feel successful with the results.

After an elaborate harvesting process with my devoted assistant, and waiting for over a week to mature, the result is not quite satisfying. Once the blast of alcohol brashly escapes the vessel, I am left with a sweet, honeyed yet sickening aroma that is not floral, but rather – reminiscent of propollis. Medicinal and not quite what I would call pleasant, not to mention inspiring or spring-like. I have left the jar behind, and took with me the renewed memory of the dangerous beauty of spring blossoms, and a few pictures to share with you.

The first one being the bushes in their natural rocky hills environment.

This is a handful of the precious flowers, which took about an hour to pick:

And this is how I ruined them by soaking them in alcohol, hoping to get their essence in return for the free booze:

I am quite convinced that the absolute of these flowers would have been incredible. But given the challenge of picking the flowers, despite their abundance, it would not be very realistic to keep such an operation for an extended period of time. It was fun though!

Spending almost a week at the highly fragrant countryside where I grew up was, as expected, thought provoking in a way that may make one question what they do for living. The fragrance in the air did not originate in the perfumes I was wearing – in fact, I hardly wore any fragrances in my visit there. When one is surrounded by myriads of species of wild flowers, herbs and shrubs in full bloom, wearing perfume will be missing the whole point: the abundance and variety of beauty that nature has to offer at this time of year.

Once again, my suspicion that I became a perfumer to compensate for the lack of fragrance in the city I have recently chosen to make my home, was given an extra boost. Do I need to choose between the two? Apparently yes. I need to choose between living in a highly fragrant, unpredictable and ever-changing scent environment; and between living in an odorless town in the other end of the world, and surround myself with artificially made perfumes extracted from flowers from all over the planet where I decide, for the most part, what I smell at any given point during the day or the year. One is the origin, the inspiration, a memory carved in my heart and etched upon my olfactory existence with powerful spells. The other is an asylum, an emotional lab and an art studio where I can create and fill in the gaps.

One environment is too powerful to create in. It would be just like carving a sculpture of your lover in the middle of making love. The other provides the space and perspective for putting my thoughts together communicating myself. The predictability and the control that is possible there is strangely peaceful and calm.

Photograph: Beautiful and odorless pomegranate flowers from my orchard in Clil.

The fumes of frankincense reached out to the square before the church, and impregnate the walls and the rocks within. My soul is instantly hypnotized by the smoke – thick yet pure. Despite its richness, inhaling olibanum smoke feels like clearing your lungs. It is known for its powerful influence and its ability to assist in reaching a meditative state of mind. It immediately connects to one’s soul, startling at first like a reminder of one’s deeper self and aspiration, yet soothing, deep and powerfully transformative in a strangely balanced way. I almost got lost forever between the chants of the Koptic priests and the Latin hymns of the Catholic monks accompanied by the dramatic multitude of organ.

Although the Jewish people followed the footsteps of the Egyptians in the art of using incense for holy rituals and communions with God, ever since the ruin of the second temple, most incense burning practices were abandoned. Qetoret, the holy incense of the temple was composed of resins and spices, including olibanum, myrrh, balsam, onycha, cassia, saffron, costus, cinnamon and other aromatic barks. It is strictly forbidden from any other use but inside the temple. Therefore, synagogues are for the most part deprived from the extreme psycho-spiritual satisfaction that results from prolonged inhalation of olibanum fumes or any other incense in most Jewish communities (left for the scent of citron and myrtle in Sukkot and sprigs of fresh herbs that may be used for blessing on Sabbath in some cultures).

Frankincense oil does not have the same powdery, desert-dust-like quality of the resin tears. Rather, it is balsamic, fresh, with some citrus reminiscence. But recently I came across a CO2 extraction of wild frankincense that is rich and intensely similar to the incense. I am very curious to see how much of those qualities will remain after including this oil in a formula. If I am to succeed, I will be lost forever between the chants of the Koptic priests and the Latin hymns of the Catholic monks accompanied by the dramatic multitude of organ.