“I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.” –William Shakespeare’s words
Lusciously lovely, showy clusters of large delectable peachy-pink, long-lived flowers. Round bushy super-flowerful habit, loads of glossy green leaves and consistent dark red new growth. Now, if you read this description, found on a tag from Weeks Roses, wouldn’t that intrigue and draw you in? I spied a single bloom among the multiple flowers at one of our local greenhouses, striding over to determine if that single beauty had a fragrance. The sad thing about roses these days, is that they’ve bred out fragrance in favour of longevity and other marketable traits. Much to my delight, the lone bloom had a sweet mild apple fragrance. I was smitten.
I’ve never owned a rose, at least not the ‘fancy’ ones. Originating and living most of my life on the northern prairies of Canada, the only rose I was able to grow is an old reliable bush rose that could survive the extreme winters, a Hansa rose. It’s a prolific bloomer emitting a strong clove-like fragrance though it’s a bit of a gnarly tangle of a bush and as rugged as the prairie immigrants. It’s like having a sweet smelling mongrel: not a show piece in the garden but pays dividends through the fragrance wafting amid the yard from its long-lived flowers.
No flower is more studied or beloved than the rose. Poetry, songs, and legend have long adopted the showy rose. Take a trip to photography sites such as Flickr, Instagram and the like and you’ll find the ancient rose takes its place firmly as a standard. It’s a ubiquitous subject for photographers. Perhaps that is partly why I have resisted owning a rose. But on that day, something deep within me urged me to take that rose home. I cannot tell you how smitten I am with that beautiful lady of the rose world. She has a name and pedigree. She’s a Floribunda named Jump for Joy and is the offspring of Julie Newmar and Julia Child. Apparently, according to the information I found about her she even has a sibling; she’s sister of Sparkle & Shine.
Every single time I am at the piano, sitting in the living room, or walking towards that window, I am nearly startled at her beauty and colour. She’s in full bloom at the moment, every bud gloriously open. The moment I step outside her apple fragrance captivates me. She speaks and I pay attention.
WHEN THE ROSES SPEAK, I PAY ATTENTION
by Mary Oliver from Thirst (Beacon Press)
“As long as we are able to
be extravagant we will be
hugely and damply
extravagant. Then we will drop
foil by foil to the ground. This
is our unalterable task, joyfully.”
And they went on, “Listen,
the heart-shackles are not as you think,
death, illness, pain,
unrequited hope, not loneliness, but
lassitude, rue, vainglory, fear, anxiety,
selfishness.”
Their fragrance all the while rising
from their blind bodies, making me
spin with joy.
The roses laughed softly. “Forgive us,”
they said. “But as you can see, we are
just now entirely busy being roses.” … excerpt from “Roses” by Mary Oliver
I like roses and I love this serie
Diane, this rose is absolutely gorgeous! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a color quite like it. I also love the words from Mary Oliver.
Have a wonderful day!
you and i have way too much in common to be strangers. i wonder if we’re related.
the rose is one of my least favorite flowers. not only is it too formal for my wildflower tastes, but the normal rose aroma gives me a sick feeling. i associate a woman from my childhood with the scent and i have no idea who it is, but it’s someone i didn’t care for. before my mother passed away, she and i discussed it and we didn’t figure out who it was. at any rate, i cannot stand the smell.
however, the apple fragrance you speak of and the color in this collection of images feels like it would be quite a lovely experience. they were probably named before the color called millennial pink was chosen. every shade in your roses falls into that one named color.
my favorite image in this collection is the last one : – )
Ahh…the sweet addiction has found you.
Diane, when you want another rose, I suggest you seek out the David Austin family.I think they are marketed there as English Roses, but any good grower will know them.
I have his “Abraham Darby” growing in a shrub tub.Poor Mr. Darby struggles here, but I cannot bring myself to consign him to compost…