The longer I work with my garden, the more I appreciate experiencing the cycles of the seasons through senses other than sight. I listen to the steady rhythm of icicles dripping on a winter afternoon. Or the softness of a fuzzy catkin in early spring. How about the taste of that first ripe tomato? But for me, the most evocative of all the sensory experiences are those of fragrance.

Your sense of smell is an amazing thing. The unpleasant tang of sour milk prevents you from taking a sip while the aroma of wood smoke and grilled herbs can make your mouth water. Smells are also fantastic memory triggers. A scent can transport you, maybe to your grandmother’s kitchen or a long-ago holiday.

Often times, these sensory memories are evoked by the fragrance of flowers. Aromatic plants bring an added dimension to any garden. An unexpected whiff can stir your emotions or calm them. The key to designing with fragrance in mind is the same as with any other element. Just as too many different colors make a border feel unfocused, a lot of competing aromas can be chaotic. It’s just as important to balance fragrance as it is to balance shapes, colors and textures. So take a tip from the continuous color camp. Space out your fragrant plants, both physically and in time.

One of the very first fragrances of spring is produced by the opening flowers of the Judd Viburnum. Similar in size, habit and texture to old-fashioned Koreanspice, the Judd Viburnum is less susceptible to canker diseases. The flower color is slightly peachy rather than pink, but the delicious scent is exactly the same. Luckily it’s site adaptable, so you can almost always find a place for one.

Dianthus, or Pinks, have been scenting gardens with their spicy clove fragrance since the age of the first Queen Elizabeth. They are sturdy perennials with fringe-petaled flowers that bloom in shades of pink, red and white. Dianthus are partially evergreen in mild winters and appreciate good drainage, making them perfect for rock gardens.

Does it seem that the most fragrant flowers could have been found in our grandmothers’ gardens? The art and science of plant hybridization has focused recently on color, form and hardiness. Roses are a perfect example. Shrub roses are disease resistant and bloom all summer with little care, but they are often fragrance free. Look to Mockorange as the antidote. Varieties in the newer Snow White series are moderately sized, so it’s easy to find a sunny space. Mid-summer will find a Mockorange cloaked in sweetly scented, icy white blossoms that won’t yellow or scorch.

I once grew a Sweet Autumn Clematis on a low fence about 40 feet away from a small Tupelo. Every fall found me momentarily startled when I looked out the window at the contrast of all those snowy white blossoms against the brilliant red leaves. Some gardeners find Autumn Clematis invasive, but since it blooms on new growth, a hard prune back to the ground after flowering is an excellent way to control this vine.

And remember that scents aren’t created only by blossoms. Foliage is an excellent source of fragrance. A colorful container planted with mint or basil is beautifully fragrant as well as delicious. A bed of creeping time is a wonderful place to laze about on a summer afternoon. Although, the foliage of Katsuratree is not fragrant to the touch, it falls into this category. It has many fine qualities-the pretty heart-shaped leaves, set fall color and a picturesque twisted habit are just a few. But the mysterious source of its burnt caramel fragrance is my favorite feature. The scent is usually released on a warm autumn day that follows a cool night, but it only happens once and never on demand.