My fathers journey with his roses started in southern California 30 years ago and the climate then was absolute heaven. My father had always had a special place in his heart for roses, and one of the first things he did on our new property was to plant rose bushes all along the half-moon shaped drive and around the front lawn.
He planted roses in the backyard, around the swimming pool, and on the hillside too. As my father toiled in the soil, people passed by and took notice of him working in the yard. Planting all of these roses took a lot of hard work; but soon he had all of them in the ground. As my father had been working for over a month on this project, I observed that not one of the rose bushes had a single flower. In fact, they all looked sort of bare and woody. It wasn’t long; however, that things began to change.
Soon, small green buds began to appear on each rose bush. After a couple weeks passed, brilliantly colored flowers began to emerge. There were pinks, yellows, whites, and reds. The deepest reds I’d ever seen. Deeper than blood. There were peach colored roses and multi-colored too. They filled the air around the entire house with the wonderful perfumed scent of sweet roses. Cars with passengers no longer passed by, but they all stopped and admired the flowers.
As I gazed at the flowers one day, I couldn’t help but think of my father, and of all his hard work. I thought of his strong faith in the future life of his beloved roses. His faith that knowing one day, his woody plants would stand proud and magnificent for all the world to admire. I thought of how his labor and his love transformed that old yard into a spectacle of beauty. He made his love visible through his roses. This is what inspires people when they walk into a garden. It’s the work, the love, and the visible transformation that draws us to a garden. The garden evokes emotion; it provides an escape from our daily routine. It is an ever-changing, living entity, like the Great Barrier Reef. And even though my father still pours out his love and labor for his flowers, they love him too. They reward him every season with their dazzling display of color, they bring joy to my mom, and to anyone passing by.
Recently, I had the opportunity to visit my parents for Christmas at the house in Southern California. Now it is many years later, and the rose bushes are over 30 years old. They are fully mature, massive, and stout. Some have died in a rare freeze and were replaced, but most of them are still growing strong. As I sat enjoying breakfast one morning, I noticed the most beautiful, single rose growing on a single rosebush outside the window. It seemed to be welcoming me home! And as I gazed at the other roses, I realized that they too, are part of the family.
