As spring approaches, I always find myself thinking of plum blossoms. Yet, in Seoul, they are difficult to find. Even common varieties like white or green plums, which might be expected to bloom in neighborhood corners, are rarely seen. Unlike cherry blossoms, which are planted along streets and bloom in abundance, plum blossoms remain elusive.

When cherry blossoms bloom, they burst into full splendor, drawing admiration from all around. Their petals fill the air like confetti, celebrating spring’s arrival. Plum blossoms, however, emerge quietly. They linger between the last breath of winter and the first warmth of spring, often appearing beyond a sunlit wall, unnoticed but resolute. If cherry blossoms are the festival of spring, plum blossoms are its quiet prelude.

Though I am not one to embark on tammae (探梅, the search for plum blossoms in early spring), I still find myself reaching for old art books, admiring paintings of plum blossoms, and imagining their scent. I enjoy Plum Blossom Cottage, a painting by Jeon Gi, housed in the National Museum of Korea, for its contemporary charm and gentle warmth. Likewise, Plum Blossoms and Study by Jo Hee-ryong, held in the Kansong Art Museum, captures the lively and bold essence of plum blossoms. Many late Joseon-era paintings depict a scholar seated in a tranquil mountain study, gazing at plum blossoms in full bloom. One can imagine the scholar, immersed in reading, suddenly lifting his head to the sight of branches covered in delicate white flowers. Perhaps it was not merely the visual beauty that caught his attention, but rather the soft fragrance drifting in through the open window, gently calling him to turn his gaze.

Looking at these paintings, I can almost sense the scent of plum blossoms at the tip of my nose. As a student, I traveled through the southern provinces each spring, where the scent of plums carried on the crisp wind, drifting in from unseen distances before lingering sweetly in the air. It was a fragrance that seemed to lull me into a gentle daze, much like the drowsiness of spring. The ancient poets called this scent amhyang (暗香, “the hidden fragrance”), a scent that is not seen but subtly permeates the air with its quiet presence.

In the language of perfumery, plum blossoms belong to the white floral family. However, unlike the creamy, opulent richness of tuberose or ylang-ylang, plum blossoms have a more understated and refined presence. Their scent is closer to the crisp clarity of jasmine. This similarity arises from shared key fragrance molecules. In jasmine absolute, benzyl acetate plays a major role in creating its sweet, floral scent. Interestingly, the same compound makes up over 50% of the fragrance profile of plum blossoms. The addition of benzyl aldehyde introduces a subtle spiciness, further aligning its character with that of jasmine.

Yet, the presence of similar components does not mean the scents are identical. Jasmine carries a fresh, green vibrance intertwined with its floral softness, while plum blossoms leave a more composed and profound impression. Instead of a creamy texture, their scent has a firm density—fruity in its sweetness, yet clean and unembellished. If jasmine evokes the warm winds of the tropics, plum blossoms embody the quiet strength of a flower that emerges through the final breath of winter’s cold.

Plum blossoms form their buds in the heat of summer and then endure the bitter cold of winter. To bloom, they require not only the passage of time but also the test of harsh conditions. Only after braving the cold can they finally open their petals in the embrace of spring. When that long-awaited warmth arrives, the blossoms unfurl as if opening their doors to a long-anticipated guest. And then, the profound fragrance, once cradled in winter’s grasp, is finally set free. It lingers on the spring breeze, slipping away, unseen yet unforgettable.