Russian Olive

TINGE_ASHLEY_WORSPACE_ciara_richardson_photography_7 Last summer Curtis and I went to Europe for a few weeks. It was when wedding season was in full swing. I had been so busy with things that I wasn't even packed until an hour before we left for the airport. Even still I forgot a brush, my makeup, and a few other odds and ends. I just wanted to escape for awhile, and escape we did. When we planned the trip a year prior I had no intention of doing flowers, I was still working my 9-5 office job and figured I still would be. Things changed rather quickly. I was happy to get a chance to step back and miss flowers.


We flew into Paris and I remember feeling tired and energetic all at once. We were trying to figure out the train system and my shoulders hurt from carrying everything I brought with me on my back. You romanticize Europe all your life, at least I have. On that train ride into Paris I was somewhat skeptical that it wasn't going to live up the hype, things were dirty and graffiti was painted on what seemed like every square inch of concrete. Suddenly though we were underground and the city was above us. We exited the train and walked up the stairs to the street and I will never forget that moment. It was better than I had ever imagined it to be, perfectly old world and modern all at once. Chills ran slowly up my spine. We visited a lot of cities in Europe but there is something different in the air in Paris. I noticed how much they appreciate each moment. They are living, truly living each day.


After flying home and exiting the plane, I was blasted with the most amazing smell. Russian Olive grows everywhere in Utah. All along the freeways, there are hundreds of them. They smell wonderful, and intoxicating and they had bloomed while I was gone. It was as if they were personally welcoming me back and I was happy to be back.


I was telling Curtis the other day that I'm craving the smell of russian olive. That smell holds with it so many wonderful memories for me. I don't have a fancy studio. As much as I would love one, I don't quite yet. Whenever I smell russian olive it will bring me right back here, standing in front of this workbench with flower stems covering the floor.

Photo: Ciara Richardson