The Fragrances of a North Carolina Spring

We bought Two Rocker Ridge in the dead of winter, which meant our first real introduction to the foothills didn’t arrive until spring. And by “spring,” I mean the strange Appalachian preview event known locally as False Spring, which is sort of meteorological practical joke that arrives sometime in early March.

The locals explained it to us with the kind of calm, knowing tone usually reserved for warnings about flash floods, black bears, or relatives who stay too long at Thanksgiving.

“Oh yeah,” they said. “First comes False Spring.”

Apparently, we get a few days of unseasonably warm weather with just enough sunshine to convince every plant in the county that winter has packed its bags and moved to Florida. The daffodils pop up everywhere practically overnight. The Bradford pear trees erupt into enormous white clouds of blossoms, covering hillsides and driveways and unsuspecting newcomers with what appears to be a scene straight out of a greeting card.

You would think the air would be perfumed. You would be wrong.

The daffodils around here, as it turns out, are mostly the unscented varieties, which feels like a missed opportunity on Mother Nature’s part. I mean, if you’re going to show off like that, at least bring a little fragrance to the party. And then there are the Bradford pears.

Now, visually speaking, these trees are breathtaking. Truly. They look like someone draped the entire landscape in lace doilies. From a distance you might imagine the air smells like honey, or fresh linen, or the delicate whisper of spring itself. But get closer.

Closer.

A little closer.

And suddenly you realize you have made a terrible mistake. Bradford pear blossoms smell like dead fish.

Not just “oh, that’s odd” dead fish. I’m talking three-days-in-the-heat, tide-went-out-and-forgot-to-take-it-with-it dead fish. The kind of smell that makes you instinctively check the bottom of your shoe and question every life choice that led you to stand under that tree.

Around here we admire Bradford pears the same way we admire volcanoes: from a safe and respectful distance.But wait … there’s more.

While the daffodils refuse to smell like anything and the Bradford pears smell like something that should probably be reported to the authorities, there is one fragrance that arrives in abundance as False Spring rolls into early summer.

Skunk.

Yes. That unforgettable, eye-watering, soul-penetrating aroma that announces two important seasonal developments:

1. The skunks have been extremely successful in their romantic endeavors, and
2. A troubling number of them have chosen to test their reflexes against the would-be NASCAR drivers of rural North Carolina.

The result is a scent that drifts gently through the foothills like a malicious ghost, reminding you that nature is beautiful … but also occasionally vindictive. Because here at Two Rocker Ridge, spring doesn’t arrive with birdsong and floral perfume. It arrives with dead-fish trees, daffodils that refuse to pull their aromatic weight, and enough skunk essence in the air to convince you that somewhere in the woods there’s a perfume factory run entirely by creatures with very poor judgment.

And that, friends, is why when False Spring rolls around each year, we step onto the porch, take a cautious sniff of the wind, and say the traditional TRR greeting of the season:

“Ah yes… spring. CLOSE THE WINDOWS!”