The Flower-Blooming Old Man

The dill has bloomed.

To understand this moment, one must first know the 'leafy stage of dill'.
Those thin, feathery leaves.
They resemble fennel, but are more delicate, and when touched, they leave a scent on your fingertips that is a mix of green freshness and citrus.
For those who only know dill packaged in plastic at the supermarket, this 'living scent' is hard to convey.

Especially in the morning.

At that time of day when the soil still holds a bit of the night's moisture.
When fine droplets cling to the tips of the leaves, and you touch them lightly, the dill's unique volatile fragrance spreads through the air.
That is less like cooking and more like 'the scent of early summer itself'.

But the truly interesting part comes after that.

At a certain point, dill begins to grow rapidly in height.
What is known as 'bolting'.

Dill that has entered this stage becomes something different from the soft herb it was before.
The stems suddenly take on a rigid quality, the spacing between the nodes stretches, and an air of 'transitioning to the next phase' drifts over the entire plant.

Many people get impatient here and harvest it.

'The leaves have become tough.'
'The scent has changed.'
They say things like that and call it a day.

But that is a waste.

The essence of the dill plant actually intensifies as it approaches the flowering stage.

Small yellow flowers spread out radially at the tips of the thin stems.
An umbrella-like structure.
That geometric way of blooming, characteristic of the Apiaceae family.

When you look at it closely, it is strangely precise.
Like a small Stand ability, countless tiny flowers share the workload.

And what is interesting is the 'change in scent' of these flowers.

The scent, which was green and light during the leaf stage, takes on a bit of spiciness once it flowers.
Within that greenness, there emerges a density unique to a plant heading toward seed production.

People who love to cook get excited at this stage.

Putting the flowers themselves into pickling liquid.
Pairing them with salmon.
When combined with vinegar, the scent becomes three-dimensional.

But the feeling for those of us growing it is a little different.

'Ah, it's come this far,' there is a strange sense of deep emotion.

Especially when you've grown it from seed.

At first, it is truly unreliable.
So thin that it seems like it would collapse just from a strong spray of water.
Right after germination, it's at a level where you can't even distinguish it from weeds.
A few months later, it is holding its flowers up toward the sky.

Watching this change every day makes your human sense of time go haywire.

The changes in a plant over several weeks are overwhelmingly more intense than the few seconds of stimulation from social media.

Dill flowers aren't the type to impress with flashiness.

It is actually the opposite.
They slowly work their way into the hearts of only those who observe them closely.

The way they sway when the wind blows.

The moment their outlines turn golden in the evening backlight.
The change as small insects begin to gather on the flowers.
The shift in the center of gravity of the scent as it transitions from leaf to flower.
Once you start noticing those things, home gardening is no longer just about 'making ingredients'.

It becomes an observation of the seasons.

The dill has bloomed.

That is not just a simple blooming.

It is the signal that spring has completely ended and early summer has begun to take control.