A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily painting them red. Alice thought this a very curious thing, and she went nearer to watch them, and just as she came up to them she heard one of them say, `Look out now, Five! Don’t go splashing paint over me like that!’
In the past I thought that roses were lame. Sickly sweet, they reminded me of overdone Valentine’s Days back when I grew up in El Paso – with a side of those chalky hearts that give me toothaches. They are a fallback – a flower that you get when the boy you are into doesn’t know what to get you. Blah.
So when we purchased our house, I thought I would pull up the existing gardens. I wanted nothing to do with them. Uninterested. However, as winter turned into the spring and my yard became full of life – the carrots sprucing up, the trees getting lime green new leaves, and the rose buds (so many!) – How can you take your eyes off of this older rose bush? Moreover, I can’t take my eyes off the rose bush, daily.
The Garden:
Did you know that rose bushes can live for 35 years? I don’t know how old this one is, but I bet Donna spent many summers pruning and bleeding from the razor sharp thorns. I have an inkling due to all of the cuts and scratches I’ve received over the past year. Realizing why people have thick leather gloves and wear long sleeves, I am creating my wish list of gardening tools. White scratches adorn my arms as I try my best to remove diseased leaves, and/or prune for winter. Reminders that I am by no means immune to their purpose.
Spring quickly arrived and the roses teased me with peek-a-boo. Magenta and deep reds peek from the side. It was a mystery at all times with how large or how pink the roses would turn. I find myself obsessed.
When did I become this domestic?
When they bloom, I gasp. A flower has the power to take my breath away. Who am I?
Every morning, I look. I swoon. I remind myself to not take these moments for granted, nor the house that we were intended to be in.
I have my own Alice in Wonderland garden.