Do you have any idea what a goatskin glove smelled like in the 16th century?
Pretty much like a dead goat.
(He uses the first-person quite broadly….
He was born in Grasse several hundred years later.
Leclef is 34.)
It turned out they all thrived in these hills, about 12 miles north of modern-day Cannes.
Madame LaFleur (translation “Mrs. Flower” and, yes, this is the name on her government ID) has been harvesting roses every May for 50 years, since she was 16. Her son (left) started joining her when he was about five.
By the last century, though, this cradle was showing serious cracks.
Where there were once hectares upon hectares of flower fields, only a few parcels remained.
As convincing synthetic versions of Grasse’s crops were becoming available, urbanization was also overwhelming the French Riviera.
Dry-stone walls, some dating back over 500 years, snake through the property, creating terraces for planting (and cozy crevices for insects and worms).
Buildings grew more abundantly than bushes.
Madame LaFleur (translation “Mrs.
Her son (left) started joining her when he was about five.
Local horticulturist and landscape engineer Antoine Leclef is on a mission to preserve the biodiversity of this land. Current population includes: 163 species of plants, 33 species of birds, 31 species of butterflies, 8 species of dragonflies, and 12 species of bats.
One ton of roses will yield about three tall latte cups' worth of liquid rose absolute.
But in recent years, a renaissance has taken hold: As of 2022, two has become 29.
And one of those new farmers is a little fragrance company you may have heard of: Lancome.
“I fell in love.”
In October 2020, the ink was dry and Lancome was in the farming business.
Leclef was hired to trigger the show.
Grasse, population 51,000, is a Provençal town with chipped facades, sometimes graffitied, and hanging shutters. But as luxury fragrance brands return to the region, there are hopes that it will once again savor the sweet smell of success.
Several thousand rose bushes were planted, along with irises, jasmine, and lavender.
To capture the aromatic essence of the rose requires months of fertilizing with manure, watering, and pruning.
And then: speed.
The frilly pale-pink Rosa centifolia (“hundred petal” rose) blooms for just three weeks in late spring. Out of hundreds of rose species, it is one of only two used in fragrance. The other, damascena, grows mostly in Turkey, Bulgaria, and Morocco.
They would gather a dozen silky blossoms in one hand before dropping the fistful into their ankle-length aprons.
“Je dois y aller,” she said (“I have to run”).
Local horticulturist and landscape engineer Antoine Leclef is on a mission to preserve the biodiversity of this land.
A delay of even one hour can mean a significant loss of scent for these flowers.
The petals begin toferment; their oil dissipates.
When the cycle ends, the solvent is evaporated, leaving behind what is called a “concrete.”
When I returned the next day at 8 a.m., the harvesters had not yet started their work.
Fields that had been a wall of green the previous afternoon were again punctuated with pink.
This dance would continue for another two weeks.
A ton of roses generally yields about 35 ounces of absolute.
Grasse, population 51,000, is a Provencal town with chipped facades, sometimes graffitied, and hanging shutters.
The process is magical.
Temperatures are rising: “This year we had three days of frost.
When I was growing up, we had one or two months,” says Leclef.
In the first four months of this year, we had 45.”
(Lehmann walks the walk she doesn’t have air-conditioning in her Paris apartment either.)
Out of hundreds of rose species, it is one of only two used in fragrance.
The other, damascena, grows mostly in Turkey, Bulgaria, and Morocco.
