I photographed this old Tearose in late light to emphasise the texture of its petals, which possess an odd, almost disturbing combination of powder and fleshiness, as though it were made of baby skin or grandmotherly décolletage. It's another of my newish acquisitions, planted last year; sulked for a wee while then set to forming a busy little nest of mahogany and pewter twigs that have flowered quite generously for such a little plant.
Like most teas, the scent won't exactly have you coming in your pants- it smells more like the packing crates than the Darjeeling itself, dusty blonde wood with a hint of ghostly incense smoke and the most latent dash of mallow sweetness imaginable.
Jean Ducher, as it is known in New Zealand, is the subject of persistent nomenclature fuckery. Where there is doubt, I wish experts in the field would just give the darn things a fresh appellation instead of confusing the hell out of everyone. Identity fraud/misattribution is already rampant, as almost anyone who chases old roses has probably learned. A rose by any other name, etc. etc.
Like most teas, the scent won't exactly have you coming in your pants- it smells more like the packing crates than the Darjeeling itself, dusty blonde wood with a hint of ghostly incense smoke and the most latent dash of mallow sweetness imaginable.
Jean Ducher, as it is known in New Zealand, is the subject of persistent nomenclature fuckery. Where there is doubt, I wish experts in the field would just give the darn things a fresh appellation instead of confusing the hell out of everyone. Identity fraud/misattribution is already rampant, as almost anyone who chases old roses has probably learned. A rose by any other name, etc. etc.
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