One of June’s quiet little pleasures here in Maine is the sudden bloom of the mock orange bush. You might not even notice it until the scent hits you—that soft, sweet, citrusy fragrance that makes you stop mid-step and look around. It’s like nature decided to splash on a bit of perfume before heading to a garden party.
I have a mock orange near my porch that I planted back in 1993, from a little seedling that had popped up in my parents’ garden. Theirs was a well-loved old shrub, and I wanted to bring a piece of it with me. I was told it would never make it, but I planted it anyway. More than thirty years later, it’s still thriving—so much so that I’m constantly pruning it back, and still it gets huge every summer. It’s a survivor with a mind of its own.
Today, I trimmed a few small branches and stripped off all the leaves to make a little nosegay. I tucked it into a tiny purple vase, and it looks absolutely perfect on the windowsill. The scent fills the room—soft, citrusy, and a little dreamy, like a mix of orange blossom, jasmine, and vanilla. There’s something so satisfying about taking something from the garden and turning it into a moment of beauty indoors.
While there are some species of mock orange native to North America, especially out west, the kind we usually see here in New England—Philadelphus coronarius—was brought over from Europe long ago. It was a favorite in colonial gardens, passed down through generations, and mine is no exception. It’s a little piece of family history, growing just outside the door.
The blooms don’t last long—just a week or two if we’re lucky—but they always feel like a reward for making it through a long Maine winter.
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