They amaze me, the velvet flowers. Roses.
I’ve never grown them but I hear it can be difficult to do so.
My mother had red climbing ones all over the backyard fence in New Jersey. My sister has taken me to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden to see the wonderful specimens with memorable names. “With over 5,000 bushes of more than 1,200 kinds of roses, the Cranford Rose Garden features one of the largest collections of rose cultivars in North America.”
In 1977, my father took Mark as a toddler in the stroller to the cemetery at Old St. Mary’s Church on South 4th St. In addition to the historic gravestones there were old fashioned roses everywhere.
I like roses at every stage – bud to all-the-way-falling-off petals.
Last week it was lush blue and white hydrangeas which I shared with my daughter at the hospital, the blue for birth of a boy seemed perfect. They were a great background for the food pusher post the other day. This past Saturday, it was white hydrangeas combined with pale pink roses.
At each wedding I was given lovely flowers to take home. I brought this bouquet from the reception back to Ohio.
As I carried it in from the car, I noticed the roses had opened.
You can savor the celebrations as you admire the blooms.
Plus, the scent of them reminds me of my grandmother who worked in the florist shop in Lincoln Illinois when I was a kid.
Photographed with iPhone6 just now.
