My grandmother’s name was Anna. We called her Honey because as a small child I heard my grandfather calling her that, so I took it up. Sixty years ago, Honey was visiting her mother at the family home place in High Point, North Carolina. She took a cutting from a rose bush, brought it back to her home in Elizabeth City, and stuck it in the swampy ground at the edge of the back screen porch, next to the oil barrel.
The rose bush grew there for well over forty years. It could barely get sunlight as large trees grew up. Shingles were thrown on it when the house was re-roofed. Sometimes the two or three canes were tied with string because they got so long and leggy. Still, it lived and produced lovely and fragrant cabbage roses. I remember stepping out on the porch on a humid spring day and smelling the sweet flowery scent, that reminiscent of southern belles of bygone era.
When we moved my mother to Oklahoma to live near us, I dug that rosebush, plopped it in a five gallon bucket and hauled it along. I planted it in the Oklahoma ground in December and prayed over it until spring. Big surprise that it lived, but further surprise that it was not a climber at all, but an enormous shrub rose. It grew better than ever.
Those of you who follow the blog, recall I dug the rose last year when we moved to Alabama. That single rose bush ended up breaking into three bushes. Those three grew all last summer and winter in the pots. Finally last week, Bigstreetrod helped me make a bed for them. We have raised it slightly; this area gets the most rainfall of the entire country.
I remain hopeful to see the bushes take root. They are a reminders to me of my own journey that continues, to grow and bloom where planted, and that we can begin over again and again. Life is full of surprises.
I am delighted to be taking part in Outdoor Wednesday, hosted by A Southern Daydreamer. To see more postings about the doings in the outdoors all over the world, do pop over to her site!