Harison's Yellow Rose
I do wish those roses I brought in last night would have lasted longer. This morning over breakfast I kept hearing soft little plops as singles or multiples of those still-pristine yellow petals showered onto the tabletop. Before long, the blossom-laden branches of Vanhoutte spirea will be all that's left in the little cobalt blue pitcher. The spirea will likely initiate its own shower activity later, featuring tiny white petals.
Flowers like these are the only roses we had at home during my early childhood. They grew east of the Arborvitae that's south of the house on the farm. I never knew the name of these roses until I started paying attention to descriptions of tough old roses that can still be seen around abandoned farmsteads. From Lauren Springer's writings I learned that the name for the yellow roses I remembered is Harison's Yellow.
I'm a little unsure about where I got my start of Harison's Yellow--maybe from the place where my friend Betty now lives, on the same place where my brother and his wife once lived. I may have dug up a small sucker then. Now that sucker has grown into a thicket.
Intermingled with the Harison's Yellow is another suckering old-fashioned rose. That one came from beside the house where Morris and Gloria used to live--on John Evans' farm. When it was to be demolished, Gloria had a plant sale, and I asked if I could have some roses. She said yes. The roses from Gloria have the same flower color and shape as the ones that used to grow up and over the outhouse at the back of Uncle Edwin's yard, where my dad grew up. Mine are not climbing roses, however. The flowers are voluptuous and luscious deep pink. I don't know the name of the rose from Gloria.
I'm ready to transfer the Hansa (which I got from Ella N., who got the parent plant from her nephew's place in MN) over to the thicket of old-fashioned roses. It's a deep magenta rose in the rugosa family. The flowers will look perfect with what's already there, if the bloom period overlaps.
Those easily-shattered rose blossoms on my dining room table lasted just long enough to trigger a flood of good memories involving roses and friends and family.
Flowers like these are the only roses we had at home during my early childhood. They grew east of the Arborvitae that's south of the house on the farm. I never knew the name of these roses until I started paying attention to descriptions of tough old roses that can still be seen around abandoned farmsteads. From Lauren Springer's writings I learned that the name for the yellow roses I remembered is Harison's Yellow.
I'm a little unsure about where I got my start of Harison's Yellow--maybe from the place where my friend Betty now lives, on the same place where my brother and his wife once lived. I may have dug up a small sucker then. Now that sucker has grown into a thicket.
Intermingled with the Harison's Yellow is another suckering old-fashioned rose. That one came from beside the house where Morris and Gloria used to live--on John Evans' farm. When it was to be demolished, Gloria had a plant sale, and I asked if I could have some roses. She said yes. The roses from Gloria have the same flower color and shape as the ones that used to grow up and over the outhouse at the back of Uncle Edwin's yard, where my dad grew up. Mine are not climbing roses, however. The flowers are voluptuous and luscious deep pink. I don't know the name of the rose from Gloria.
I'm ready to transfer the Hansa (which I got from Ella N., who got the parent plant from her nephew's place in MN) over to the thicket of old-fashioned roses. It's a deep magenta rose in the rugosa family. The flowers will look perfect with what's already there, if the bloom period overlaps.
Those easily-shattered rose blossoms on my dining room table lasted just long enough to trigger a flood of good memories involving roses and friends and family.
posted by Mrs. I (Miriam Iwashige) at
6:46 AM
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