In the Garden
March 9, 2022
Yesterday a picture of her came uninvited. It was so clear, I search the whole house and all my social media for the photo. I was you, standing in the rose gardens here or in another botanic garden, a beautiful hat full of flowers, your crocheted purse with the bamboo handles. The sun shone full on your happy face.
Devastated, I couldn’t find the photo but the memory remains strong.
Whenever I think of you, I smell roses. Most people don’t know the smell of roses because the ones we buy in the store don’t have a scent. Each type of rose has its own scent but tea roses in general smell peppery. English roses have sweet smells. Shrub roses have a light scent. I learned that from you.
There are new types of hybrid tea roses each year. There are competitions for the rose of the year. Jackson & Perkins delivered many roses to my childhood home. Brick lined rose beds bisected the yard. Over a hundred roses blooming throughout the summer. Mr. Lincoln is a dark red rose that grows tall on the stems. A peace roses petals are deep apricot in the center to pale yellow on the outer petals. Peace roses were your favorite, though your favorite color was pink. Each rose has a metal tag at its base just as though it were in the botanic garden.
With you and since I’ve lost you, I’ve been to many, many botanic gardens. I always stroll through the rose gardens, leaning in for a smell, cupping the flower underneath, checking the name. Even after all these years, I feel you in that moment. Your bright eyes smiling through that lined face. Your fuzzy white hair barely contained. Your long fingers on your soft, soft hand reaching forward to share the admiration with me. You taught me that appreciation for the flower, the garden plan, the growers.
So even though the roses lining my walk are not those beautiful hybrid teas but common Knock-Out roses, I still think of you as I pass them.
I have met new roses in the passing years. Beach roses along the coast of Massachusetts were a find I wish I could share. I love their deep orange rose hips and the jelly produced from them as much as the rose. You would have liked that too.
Today on your birthday, I remember you though you’re never far from my thoughts. The smell of roses lingers in the air and those walks in rose gardens warm my soul.
Reflections from a Coach 
I smelled the roses in my grandma’s garden reading your piece and my eyes filled. These little moments and memories that somehow mean so much. ❤️
Grandmothers are the best.
What a beautifully emotional and crafted tribute to your mom– or at least I think it was your mom. The sensory images are powerful, captured in your writing, and reminding me of how much memory is associated with smells, and specific items and features. Beautiful, Susan.
Thanks, Melanie. My memory of my grandmother is all tied up in smells. I hadn’t even realized. My memory of my father is tied up in having him stand next to me in church singing.
This post rigged at my heartstrings, Susan. I can feel the intense longing you have for your mom.
You’re right about the smell of the roses. They’re MUCH more fragrant at a botanical garden.
I so appreciate how my gram introduced me to the love of gardens along wi5 so many other things.
So much bittersweetness in this slice. When I look at the picture you included I see a Knock-Out rose front and center.
They are good relatable substitutes for their fussier cousins.