Location: Vermont
Romance. This is not a rose I grew. It was from a Valentine’s bouquet. There is no denying it, no matter how hardened one’s heart gets, roses speak to a woman’s heart. Roses say more than words. They smell, feel, look like the luxury of blooming, undeserved love.
Everywhere I have lived I have planted rose bushes. Last summer I drove by a house I once lived in and there by the front door was the David Austin English rose bush that I planted 9 years ago. A “Mary Rose” type.
It had reached its full height, about 4 feet tall and 3 feet wide. It’s very fragrant and evidently had survived and even thrived in the cold Vermont climate.
My favorite David Austin Rose is the Graham Thomas, a soft yellow, extremely hardy, piece of growing Sunshine!
A few years ago I went to the Chelsea Flower Show in London. There were buildings chockfull of roses, new varieties, old standards. I roamed like a woman in love. My eyes were glazed over by the time I was done. But there is nothing like raising your own roses.
Some people are afraid of these queens. Don’t be. Face the fact that they might die. And that they will get fungus and bugs. But so what. They also bloom and sometimes they take root and live for decades. And walking out of your front door to the vision of a rose that is opening, a rose that you brought to this spot, that you believed in. Nothing compares to the feeling of watching an individual plant grow – not even a big fancy flower show. It’s a different kind of being in love. So take the chance. Plant a rose.
(P.S. Use fertilizer, organic pest control and herbicide, watch vigilantly for Japanese beetles and kill them on sight, water well, and believe. )
