A rose by any other name…

I think one of the signs that recovery is moving forward, even if there are a few backward steps along the way, is a renewed interest in reading the blogs that have given me so much pleasure in the past.

I read two blogs written by Australians, including the one by Cathy. I enjoyed so much seeing the beautiful pictures of her roses in a recent post.

My mother loved roses, but I do not remember seeing rosebushes in the yard until we moved to the second house we lived in – and where my father still lives – in the early 1960s. Then many rosebushes began appearing in the flowerbeds as the years passed. One of the few presents that I actually remember giving my mother was a rosebush with lavender-colored blooms for her birthday or maybe Mother's Day.

When we moved here, I did not attempt to plant a rosebush at our house, but I didn’t need to.

A previous owner had planted a climbing rose – an old fashioned “heirloom” type, on the wooden fence that used to separate the “yard” from the “pasture.”

It has come back year after year after year, even though the fence, and the trellis we later put up, disintegrated years ago. Now it climbs up into the sumac bushes.

I had totally forgotten about this old faithful friend until I happened to read Cathy’s blog, and so I thought I would check to see if it was blooming this year.

And indeed it is.

It is not big and bold and brassy, it has a very small,

unassuming flower...

but it is sweet and I love it.