Rows of citrus trees set out in pots: so Marella Agnelli. So Sun King at Versailles. Not being Louis XIV or the wife of a legendary industrialist, I content myself with three to four citrus trees, which I must drag inside—as the gardeners at Versailles once did—every fall/winter. I try to persuade someone stronger than I to do the dragging.
It is a dirty, unpleasant job; I especially love Meyer lemons, which have thorns. My conscript emerges annoyed, but smelling incredible: The scent is not just citrus but the citrus leaves, maybe with a touch of the terra-cotta pot and even the dirt. Irresistible. The above perfume—despite the term “acqua,” it is perfume-level concentration—is precisely that smell. Citrus trees in a pot in a garden, a bit of rosemary or lavender in the air, perhaps all just watered, warming in the sun. That, or a person who’s just dragged a potted Meyer lemon tree up a flight of stairs.
Arquiste L’Etrog Acqua, $190, barneys.com