Once upon a time, as a matter of fact quite some considerable time ago, Guts and I lived in Vermont. I almost said that we inhabited it because then the state actually contained more cows than humans then.
As you might expect the state was full of meadows. I used to pass by on my daily walks and smell them, quite different smells at different times of year. In spring when many of the meadows were still wet underfoot, the smell was green and damp, full of violets (non-smelling ones, very few violets have a scent detectable by human noses) dandelions and the tall fluffy heads of Queen of the Meadow. Later on the smell was dominated by grasses and the pink clover which grows all over the state, and that is the state flower. Then you lost the smell to the first haying, generally about the middle of June.
Meadow scents are very far removed from the smells of the domesticated plants in the front garden. Those are often selected and bred for their smells but there is something faintly foolish about them. You get what in the insect world might well be scent overload, bringing a gun to a knife fight as it were.
There used to be an old French perfume recipe meant to catch the scent of meadows called Millefleurs. It means a thousand flowers and in point of fact I don’t know if the intention was to create a meadow scent but judging by the old Crabtree and Evelyn bottle I used to have, it may well have been. These days I’m not sure if anyone produces the old Mille Fleurs, except possibly Dawn Spencer Hurwitz. She has one in her line-up of French Court perfumes. I haven’t smelled it and can’t speak for it, but I certainly hope it resembles those Vermont fields.