At that time, scents are heaviest on the air. You move from the orbit of one to the next, with scarcely a break between. Take, for instance, the incense rose, Rosa primula , which smells exactly of that. A few years ago, Fergus moved it from where it wasn't doing very well to where it is now extremely happy, but that happens to be eight or so metres from the nearest path, so it's become hard to catch a whiff of it. This morning, however, it was with me strongly, distance notwithstanding.
Our sweet briars (and they self-sow pretty freely) are more helpfully placed, scent-wise, though ready to grab you by the clothes or scalp as you sidle past. Their scent is of stewed apples. If you prune them pretty hard each year, they will be making new growth right through the summer and into autumn, and it is the young foliage that gives off the strongest aroma. The way to prune is to remove every year the previous year's flowered/fruited growth - whole branches of it - leaving the long, unbranched young wands to do the flowering and fruiting for the coming season. (Beware the armature of prickles, as this is exceedingly vicious.) The hips are brilliant scarlet and look scintillating if sited next to the plumes of pampas grass.
All elaeagnus have tiny but wonderfully-scented flowers. Some of them, such as the evergreen E. x ebbingei, flower in autumn, but deciduous kinds do so in late spring. E. angustifolia will make a beautiful little silver-leaved tree (like the weeping pear, but without the weeping habit), if pleased. It likes a continental climate - hot summers and cold winters.
This is related to the elaeagnus that is now called 'Quicksilver' (once 'Caspica'), which makes a large shrub (the size is easily controlled by pruning) with brightly silvered, oval leaves. It is usually grown just for its foliage, but also bears tiny, pale-yellow, fragrant flowers in late May. This blooms about two weeks after E. umbellatus, which is exceedingly prolific in flower and scents a large part of my garden, downwind. It makes a big shrub; the young foliage is pale green. Plant it in the background somewhere, as it is dullish for much of the year.
For the second half of May (in the south), Azara serrata is a great asset against a sunny wall, though allowed to bulge forwards. It is quite bulky (good near to a blue, evergreen ceanothus) but not entirely hardy. The poufs of bright yellow flowers are showy and smell strongly of fruit salad on the air; it has glossy, evergreen leaves.
May-flowering, deciduous azaleas are well known for their powerful pong, which can be almost too strong and pervasive in quantity. I would rather visit a garden in which they abound than grow them myself. But there are other, more restrainedly fragrant azaleas, such as the June-flowering Rhododendron occidentale and, another welcome late one, R. arborescens.
Rhododendrons can be under- and interplanted with lilies-of-the-valley, which will make a carpet with their characteristic foliage, each shoot having one pair of leaves. They like moisture and a leafy, organic soil. Although tolerant of quite deep shade, they flower much more freely where some sun can reach them. The wild lily-of-the-valley is not in general cultivation, and has unnecessarily small flowers for garden purposes. On the other hand, just to be difficult, I find 'Fortin's Giant' a bit vulgar and self-advertising. Var. rosea is a dirty and ineffective pink that appeals to some. 'Variegata' has longitudinal yellow stripes on its leaves, and they are charming although, unfortunately, large areas of a colony will revert to plain green and the flowers are as small as the wildings'.
One way or another, the typical C. majalis, as grown in all our gardens (you can surely beg some from a friend), is the best to have. If grown near to paving, it will run between the cracks, which is delightful if you don't tread on them. Should there be a few stray blue forget-me-nots around, that is better still.
I have never had lilies-of-the-valley in such quantities as to be able to sniff them on the air (I have experienced this elsewhere), but they are ideal for pulling (not picking, let alone cutting; just pull each stem cleanly out of its socket) and enjoying at close range indoors.
The climbing honeysuckle season starts in earliest May, Lonicera caprifolium being one of the most precocious. It is a charmer, though pale in colouring. It is sometimes difficult to find the right place for yet another climber. In the case of honeysuckles, you could do worse than grow one (or more) as an open-ground shrub, without providing it with support. No objection whatever will be raised to this treatment. Or, give it the pole treatment and grow it up a strong pole of convenient length, rising among and above the contents of a mixed border.
If you have plenty of space, you might spare a thought for L. rupicola var. syringantha (2m), which makes a large, fairly unruly, though easily controlled, non-climbing shrub, with clusters of tubular, rosy-mauve flowers, very well scented. After its main early-summer flowering, it will continue to produce some blossom right through to autumn
