“Rose Petal Place began a long time ago when a girl was moving away from her lovely home and garden. She cried for her beloved garden because no one would be there to take care of her flowers. She didn’t want them to perish so she made a secret wish that the flowers would live forever. Out of this magical wish, combined with her tears of love, brought Rose Petal and all of her friends to life. They still reside in this garden tending the little girl’s flowers.”
My mom loves to garden. She plants beautiful gardens each year. Me? I have a necrotic, black thumb. In the movies, they say that after rehab the first step is to have a plant and keep it alive before moving on to a pet. Never made any sense to me, because a cat will certainly let you know when she is hungry. Repeatedly, incessantly, in-your-face. Plants sit there mutely and wither and die because I won’t ever remember to give it water. Or the right sunlight. Or dirt.
So as a kid, Mom was often taking me to Pikes nursery to get plants for the season. One year, middle school age max, Mom went to get rosebushes for the side of the house. She got some yellow ones. And despite them being expensive (as in more expensive than a $3 impatien or whatever), she let me choose a rosebush – whatever one I wanted, to put wherever I wanted.
I picked this pretty pink bush called a Tiffany rose and instead of putting it with all the other roses outside the dining room window, I wanted it in this tiny triangle of dirt that separated the drive way from the back steps – right where you go up into the house. And it *thrived.* I think Mom’s actually eventually died or got replaced or something, but this pink rosebush bloomed right where everyone walks by every day for the next 20 years.
So when my Dad sold the childhood home this summer, I requested he dig up my Tiffany rose so I could keep it and replant it at my house. Mom was like, “you can just go buy a Tiffany rose at the nursery right near your house.” But I didn’t want a Tiffany rosebush, I wanted THE rosebush that sat by our steps for decades.
So my dad kindly dug it up and bagged it, and I brought it home where my husband planted it in the backyard by the gate. But…I know nothing about planting stuff, or where to plant stuff, or how to make poor, chopped up old rosebushes grow in a new place. And despite nearly daily watering, one by one I watched the three main stalks of the bush turn brown and die. I was so disappointed. I gave up and stopped worrying about it.
About two weeks ago, Paul said he thought the bush was bouncing back. I had seen the green growth at the base of the plant from the upstairs window and told him, no that is just a weed growing up next to it. Paul said he didn’t think it was, but it was definitely next to the plant, not growing from any of the stems. Until I actually went down and looked at it…
That’s not a weed – those are rosebuds! I was so excited that it had managed to start growing again after all, that it didn’t even process that rosebuds turn into actual roses. Today when I went to take the kids out to play, Lucas says, “Look Mommy!”