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melissa_thefarm

Rose season and the labor of a garden

melissa_thefarm
11 years ago

Yesterday evening it hailed again and possibly when I go out today I'll discover that the rose season has been hastened toward its close. It wouldn't be tragic (unlike the hail-destroyed cherry season) as I've been living intimately with my roses for several weeks now, possibly the most intense rose season I've ever experienced. Most of my time in the garden I've been working. With my new experiment of letting annual grass grow in all the beds, I've had a lot of grass cutting with shears to do, where the yard-high grass flopped over and buried other plants. More recently it occurred to me that I needed to begin my annual job of mapping the various sections of the garden while the roses are still in bloom and identifiable; and I've been looking closely at some of my mystery roses and writing descriptions and making little drawings of buds, flowers, and thorns.

During these tasks I stop frequently and look at my roses. Back in 2007 and 2008 I made large orders of once-blooming old roses from specialist nurseries: quantities of Gallicas, Centifolias, Damasks, Mosses, and a handful of the less numerous Albas. In two years I added about 120 varieties to the garden. I'm still getting to know what at the beginning was an amorphous mass of pink, purplish pink, magenta, stripes, and white, but the roses meanwhile have reached their maturity. There is nothing more sumptuous, in a friendly way, than a garden of once-blooming old roses, with their lush informal foliage and their thousands upon thousands of blooms. The air is sweet with their fragrance, and I like to rub buds and stems and smell the varied scents of the glands which add another dimension of odors. This has been a good year, in spite of the wild swings between hot and cold that have characterized 2012; during the spring the excesses in temperature seem to have balanced themselves out, and although we've had hail, we've also gotten good quantities both of rain and of sun. The beetles have been a plague, but this is not quite Paradise, though at times it gets close.

I'm beginning to understand why the Gallicas were the garden roses supreme until the oriental kinds came along, and why they were bred in such numbers. A few days ago I cut some flowers for a bouquet for the kitchen table: 'President de Seze', 'Rosa Mundi', 'Tuscany Superb', 'Belle sans Flatterie', all growing on the escarpment just below the house. How full, how beautifully shaped, how fragrant, what richness and variety of colors; and they've lasted well by my relaxed standards. In my garden these are the easiest roses in the world to grow. Once they've been planted and watered the first year, after that I cut the grass when it gets too tall, and prune them in the winter, when I also check for obnoxious tree seedlings. That's all. I've felt before that during the height of rose season I'd love to go and live in the garden, and who knows, when the young trees and shrubs finally get some size on them and cast significant shade, perhaps I'll do so. Right now it gets too sunny and hot. But I've spent many many hours, many days, outside, drawing the garden in through the very pores of my skin.

Melissa

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