Why the first harvest of the day has the softest scent. Every May, for three weeks, our harvest begins at half past four in the morning. The rows above Grasse are still cool, the petals still closed around the night’s dew — and it is exactly then that the scent is at its most complete.
As the sun climbs, volatile oils evaporate petal by petal. By noon a rose has given half its perfume to the air. By evening it is a beautiful ghost. So we pick early, quickly, and only what the still can take that same day.
The hour matters
A rose picked at noon is a memory. A rose picked at dawn is a promise.
From petal to flacon
The harvest travels downhill within the hour to our copper still, where cold distillation coaxes out a water so fragrant it needs nothing added — no alcohol, no fixative, no apology. That water becomes Tonique Floral, and the concentrated heart of it perfumes Crème Éclat.
One hectare, one month, one dawn at a time. It is the slowest way to make a mist, and the only way we know.