Basil is in the trinity of my all-time-favorite-of-all smells. Sweet, spicy, fresh, uplifting … I cannot resist its smell. Only Rosemary and lavender top this herb in my own personal encyclopedia of halcyon scents.
That’s why it’s sad that after a decade of gardening, I still cannot grow this gorgeous plant, Sweet Basil, like I mean it. Maybe it’s because the herb is associated with Aphrodite, the goddess of love, that flaxen-haired vixen I somehow managed to offend deeply and long ago.
Maybe it’s because this small, green, capricious bush dwells on subtlety while I like to just say it already. Maybe it’s because I love to water like I just found a faucet in Death Valley. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
All I know is that Yia Yia’s basil always bloomed just fine until I came around and tried to water, aerate, rearrange and leave a mint on the pillow.
But you know what? Basil on the way out still smells like heaven.