This is a continuation of the author's series on New Orleans lessons, to commemorate both her 10th anniversary of living in New Orleans as well as the 2nd anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.]

J is for Jasmine

Here's to the scent that aroused a musical revolution, waftting out from behind the ears and knees of the night-women. Was it this flower's perfume, so associated with dingy rooms where holy prostitutes made their living and where musicians birthed the sound called jazz, that inspired the name of this rebellious, heathen music? No one knows for sure.

But I can tell you true that in the deep spring of New Orleans, this flower releases her spicy-sweet smell to float across both courtyard gardens and junk-strewn streets. She'll grow in the most exclusive collections and cover rusty chain-link with her dainty white flowers and deep green leaves. Iin the summer, her sister takes over, with her evening blooms and her sticky-sweet fragrance scenting the humid night air. Her presence defines the decadence of this city, a land covered in flowers and perpetually drunk on the smell of sweet love-sweat and the dance of improvised music.