Gardens have their own way of doing things. Some years some plants look great, other years they don’t even show up; no real rhyme or reason to it.
Of course, we could say it is the weather. After all, this year we actually had two nights of frost at the end of May. We were away and had to call our son Mike and have him cover up the plants for us. We had left supplies, having looked ahead and noticed the possibility.
However, I don’t think it’s just that. I think plants and gardens have much more going on with them then we can tell. This year I have many plants blooming their heads off, in spite of the cold snaps.
I am not really a rose grower, but finally I have four beautiful roses growing in my garden. I don’t think it is a coincidence that three of them were given, or supplied to me, by my rose-whisper daughter Laurie, and the fourth was a present from someone who took one of my classes. I think that means I should let the roses decide who wants to come here, rather than me deciding for them.
One of the roses is the rose, Dr. Van Fleet, grown by my great grandmother, then my dad, and finally his daughter and grandson and granddaughter. It was Laurie who managed to get the cuttings growing enough for all of us to have them blooming in our gardens this year.
I am sure Dad is smiling at them all, probably sprinkling some kind of magic dust on them.
Another of the roses was planted in a rose bed where at least five other rose bushes died in the previous years. This one didn’t die to my huge amazement. Mrs. Doreen Pike is busting out all over with pink blooms and I love its old fashion scent.
The red Rosa Zephirine Drouhin that I moved a few times has finally taken off and is climbing madly up the trellis to the deck above it. Hardy long into the fall, I love her beautiful red roses, and delightful scent.
Out at the new rose fence, Teasing Georgia grows like a weed. I trimmed her back at least half when putting up the fence for her – and now she is literally covered with pale yellow blossoms. She and the great grandmother rose are getting along just fine.
Outside on my office deck the crow that adopted me last year struts around. He drinks from the birdbath, and eats their lard food. We named him Poncho. The little birds don’t seem to mind him, so I just have to resign myself to his big appetite. I wish he would chase the grackles away though!
Lots of other blooms to talk about, but today, a nod to those roses that have decided to thrive in our yard. I am grateful for their decision to stay!
