A rose by any other name

Something appears to have happened in my garden. All of a sudden, it is full to bursting with roses – some of which are just in bud, some in full bloom, and some, which have got to the painful point of just bursting.

A rose by any other name

Gorgeous pink

As I stood taking photographs of the roses in my garden on Friday evening, I watched as one burst in front of me – the petals cascading to the floor – completely spent. It had done everything that it could do, and after giving days of incredible scent, it was over. Just like that. I almost felt a stab of pain as I watched it happen – gone for another year.

I hadn’t been expecting the roses – I have been so caught up in planting other parts of my garden, that I had completely forgotten that they would be coming. It sounds strange to hear myself say that, as my garden is small, and the roses are such a big part of the garden in the summer months, but because most of them were already in the garden when I moved in, I don’t really anticipate them, and when they bloom, they are like a wonderful surprise. There is the rambling rose, which towers high above the rest of the garden. I can’t even tell, to what it is clinging, but the tiny white flowers, tinged with pink, are so different to all of the rest of the roses in the garden – which are largely the old English type, that she stands quite apart from the rest.

Some of the roses are quite gaudy – in bright oranges, or yellows, they wouldn’t have been something that I would have picked for myself, but they try so hard, and stand so proudly, that I daren’t think of taking them out. The scent from them is divine too,  so I take great delight in cutting them, and filling jugs full of them for the house. They may only last a few days – but for that time, the cottage smells heavenly.

A rose by any other name

Perfection in peach

There are roses which are tightly budded, like a pair of lips, waiting to be kissed, and there are others which have petals which are so far flung, that they look to be trying to break away from the plant. Each of them have their own personality – but each very much a rose.

Roses seem to be so uneqivocally English – there is something about them which screams Cottage Garden – they are talked of in literature, and shown in paintings throughout the ages, and they always evoke pure beauty. It seems strange that they have such thorny stems – almost warding away the picker!

For these few weeks, the garden will smell of roses, and I plan to enjoy every second of it!

You can read more on my blog: theenglishrose.blog.com

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