The Best Smelling Over The World

Living in Willow Bend does not mean I disappear from town life. Once or twice a week, I drive into Decorah to see friends, usually for coffee near Water Street or a slow walk past the old storefronts downtown. 

The drive itself is part of the habit. I leave the cottage, pass the open fields where the grass moves like water, follow the narrow road that curves gently along the edge of the meadow, and cross the small bridge where you can glimpse the river catching light between trees. 

By the time the houses grow closer together and the streets feel busier, I already feel slightly changed, as if I have stepped into a different pace.

Almost every time, the same thing happens. Someone leans in mid-conversation, pauses, then smiles.

“You smell amazing.”

“What perfume is that?”

“It smells like something expensive. What brand are you wearing?”

They describe it as soft but deep, floral without being sharp, the kind of scent people expect from a luxury bottle kept behind glass. 

I always laugh before answering, because the truth never sounds impressive at first. I tell them it is not perfume at all, it is my handmade jasmine soap.

The Scent That Does Not Try to Impress

I do not wear perfume. Out here, scent comes from the garden, the soil, and whatever blooms are open that week. 

The jasmine soap stays close to the skin. It does not announce itself when you first step into a room. Instead, it warms slowly and opens over time, which is why people notice it only after standing nearby for a while.

By the time I reach town, the scent has settled into something soft and rounded, which is why they think it must be carefully blended and costly. In truth, it comes from one plant we grow and nothing else.

Why We Only Grow Spanish Jasmine

In our garden, we grow only Spanish jasmine. Not star jasmine, not Arabian jasmine, not any of the showier types people often recognize. Just this one. 

The plant grows along a low trellis near the warmer side of the garden, where it gets full morning sun and is sheltered from strong afternoon winds.

The plant itself is modest. Slender green stems that twist gently, narrow glossy leaves, and small white flowers no bigger than a fingertip. But the scent is unforgettable. 

Spanish jasmine smells warm and rounded, with a soft sweetness that is never sugary. There is a creamy depth to it, almost like warm skin after sun, mixed with something green and alive. 

In the evening, it becomes heavier and more intimate. In the early morning, it smells fresh and slightly cool.

Where It Came From

When my grandmother was young, she traveled to Spain. She spent time in Córdoba, where flowers are part of daily life, woven into courtyards, walls, and narrow streets.

She often talks about walking through the old neighborhoods in the evening, when the air was filled with jasmine drifting from patios and hidden gardens.

She said the scent stayed with her long after she returned home. Before leaving, she carefully bought Spanish jasmine cuttings, wrapped them for travel, and carried them back knowing there was no guarantee they would survive Iowa’s climate. 

Not all of them did, but a few adapted, slowly and stubbornly, and those few became the start of what we still grow today.

She never planted another type after that. This jasmine held memory, and memory mattered more than variety.

Turning Flowers Into Soap

Jasmine blooms intensely but briefly, and my grandmother did not like letting that scent disappear without keeping some part of it. Soap-making, for her, was practical, not decorative.

She taught me to pick jasmine flowers very early in the morning, usually just before sunrise, when the scent is strongest and the petals are still cool. For one small batch of soap, we gather about two tightly packed cups of fresh blooms. 

We never wash them with water. Instead, we gently shake them, check them by hand, and lay them out briefly so they stay dry.

The flowers are infused slowly into warm oil over several hours. The oil is never boiled. Heat destroys jasmine’s scent, and she repeats that every time. 

That infused oil becomes the heart of the soap. Everything else is kept simple and neutral so nothing competes with the flower itself.

Why People Think It Is Perfume

Jasmine binds deeply to oil and skin. Unlike alcohol-based perfume, it does not evaporate quickly. It stays close, warming and opening throughout the day. That is why people notice it in town, not right away, but after sitting close or standing beside me.

When I explain that it is soap, not perfume, people often pause. Some laugh while some ask if I sell it. I always shake my head. It belongs here, tied to our garden, my grandmother’s memory, and the quiet life that shaped it.