We often hear about the merits of “stopping to smell the roses,” with so many literary maxims & adages, but how often do we really do just that? With my middle name being Rose, you might figure floral frolicking would remain present in my mind, yet all too often I burrow inward mentally & tend to resist the things I know will make me happier. In the moment, it’s not really a conscious decision. It’s mainly in times of reflection that I have those a-ha epiphanies that reveal such truths about my patterns of behavior.
And in a world of increasing tech advances & global climate change, what does the natural world look like now? What will it look like in another 10 or 20 years? These are things I frequently contemplate in my introvert mind.
When in New England visiting family, I had ample opportunity to appreciate a spectacular rose garden tended by a master gardener. Since the spring had been incredibly wet, one boon took the form of exquisite blooms, profuse & brilliant in hue. After years of tending my own perennial gardens at the farm, I’ve developed an appreciation for those green-thumbed individuals capable of pruning roses & amending soil to produce such jewels. There’s tremendous skill involved in coaxing out such loveliness from dormant woody bushes.
And so I think about how life does this to us… Coaxing our beauty from our souls through the pain of cutting back deadened wood or unhealthy offshoots.
Roses also conjure up images England for me, which for those reading for a while know is a healing place for me. References in Shakespeare to names smelling as sweet & cabbage roses tessellating in Morris prints on wallpaper & fabrics, along with depictions in art, floral design, & even costumery show how roses carry great influence in the human imagination. In the biblical book The Song of Solomon, the “Rose of Sharon” is another name for Christ, symbolic in meaning & horticultural history of the region. From rose-hip teas to dried petals in sachets to make drawers smell lovely, to candied petals in decorative patterns gracing cakes & confections, we even delight in the taste of roses, savoring their unique flavor.
The scent of roses reminds me most of my Nana, who copiously applied its perfume to her body & clothes, so much so that a hug left you with a rose-scented cloud about you.
When I recently shared the images of my father-in-law’s stunning rose garden on social media channels like Instagram & Twitter, I felt amazed by the overwhelmingly positive response & feedback. It’s as if even the mere images of those roses allowed others to experience their beauty even if in a vicarious, digital way. Maybe there’s something in our collective memory of human experience that has imprinted these positive associations with roses, so much so that several mythologies provide countless references to flora such as this.
Gardens full of stunning blooms signify paradise & the lushness of the natural world. Beauty made manifest.
One of the things I love most about England is that shared valuing of gardens & horticulture ubiquitously. It appears as if every home, town, & city proudly displays floral arrangements & gardens–whether in front of a home, in a quad, within a secret pocket garden, or even lining the streets towards a municipality center. There’s a shared appreciation for the maritime climate there that nurtures exquisite horticultural feats, & yet there’s a simplicity to the way flora is arranged in meticulously planted edges abutting patchwork-mowed lawns or greens that always have some lovely plants flowering, regardless of the time & season. Such magical landscape architecture forever keeps the eye of the observer entertained, & that beauty is owned, shared by all.
And so I hope that this blog entry has allowed you even if just a few moments of joy in seeing this beauty as well, forever captured in the height of such blooming, never to die. May we all appreciate & never forget the miracle of such visual pleasure while we can appreciate it.
