If you’d have asked me ten years ago what colour I could live without, I’d probably have said yellow. It never did anything for me. Too loud, too brash, too here I am look at me, vulgar, cheap.
But in recent years, since living here, this has changed.
I cannot possibly imagine life without yellow now.
People use the stakes of mimosa for tomato and bean plants as well as vines and the bigger pieces as firewood.
When you drive through Galician countryside in early spring you become aware just how prolific this plant is. It’s like one continuous firework display, as if nature has exploded. And the smell which lingers especially in the evenings is just… bright yellow.
Another yellow is the yellow of gorse which grows in the hills. It’s a painful color once you’ve walked through it a few times. The branches leave horrific scratches. But the smell. A blend of honey roasted coconut. I’d hug the flowering bushes if it weren’t for the fact that it would hurt so much.
I grew some a few years ago and I’ve allowed them to self seed, so every year I have more in the veggieplot. The villagers find it a bit strange and ask me what I do with them.
They don’t understand that I simply want to stand under them and peer at all that insanely heavenly smelling yellow.