My Roses Want to See You

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   No where does one thing lead to another more than in the garden.  You start out pruning roses, then find yourself pulling the weeds around them and then the weeds everywhere, only to empty the wheelbarrow over the compost pile, fill it again with that good rich dirt and spread it over a waiting bed, in which you sprinkle the arugula and parsley seed you stuck in your back pocket that morning. One plant leads to another too, whether it flourishes or not, it will beget either the stubbornness to try again or a hunger for something new. This I realized today, as I counted the roses in the vegetable garden alone. There were twenty-two. How did this happen you ask? Well I’ll tell you.

    It started as five bare-root roses scrounged from the clearance section at the Park Seed garden festival. They were only a few bucks apiece. What was there to lose? Had we known the whole landscape would be all but taken over one day, we would’ve considered more carefully.  But such is the nature of garden-life: You just never know. (Consider the artichokes, for instance!) They were gaudy hybrid-tea roses with cheesy names like Miss America, Sun Fare and Always and Forever, but they were enough to prove the critics wrong. Roses are worth every bit of the trouble they cause and will go on causing trouble and being worth it long after the lazy postmodern gardeners rest under plastic flower arrangements.  

    In our quest to learn how to prune and defend against the various pests and nefarious spots and molds, we stumbled upon David Austen’s English Roses and thus began the one great love affair of my gardening life. Though the hybrid-teas are still with us, the English Rose is a breed apart. They are simply what roses ought to be. Chesterton said, “I don’t deny that there should be priests to remind men that they will one day die. I only say that at certain strange epochs it is necessary to have another kind of priests, called poets, actually to remind men that they are not dead yet.”  English Roses are the poets of the garden, filling you with rapture while letting blood, wedged between the peppers and the eggplant, like learning in wartime, giving value to survival.

There is Queen of Sweden, Lady of Shalott, Munstead Wood, Generous Gardener, Molineux, Young Lycidas, Lark Ascending and more. We’ve made room for their coming in all their varied hues, scents and postures and we’d gladly scoot the tomatoes over for just one more.

     What’s the secret to rose-gardening? you ask.  Well, there is one and I’ll tell you. Horse manure.  And here again one thing leads to another, for if you give a girl a rose, she’ll need a horse to go with it.


     “I took a walk through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. Believe it or not, there amid the trenches and the bomb craters and in the raw, cold weather was a whole garden of red and yellow roses in bloom.”  -from Ernie Pyle’s Here is Your War

4 thoughts on “My Roses Want to See You

  1. What a perfectly lovely post, an absolutely delightful way to begin a misty spring morning….you are truly a treasure and one of the greatest blessings in my life! You have an amazing way of making the practical lyrical; of using literature and history to nourish and inform and inspire; and of creating images for our eyes and minds and hearts that remind us who our Creator is, images that demand a response of joyful worship.


  2. You were reading my thoughts – I love this so much! Your roses remind me to not be fearful, because God is good to give them.


  3. Very nice, Sarah. The post reminded me of my grandmother and how much she enjoyed her roses, amid the work they required. I also liked the Chesterton quotation, which I had forgotten.


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