Roses Out the Wazoo

A thorn jammed under the skin of my fingertip this morning as I was pruning back black-spotted canes left me rather grumpy. Aphids make me belligerent and Japanese Beetles leave me in despair. Sometimes I feel that life would be so much simpler if I stuck with sure-fire perennials like Russian Sage and Coneflower and Yarrow.

But then I slip roses into a vase on our supper table, or breathe deeply of an heirloom, and I change my mind.

I didn't get my fussier tea roses photographed for this entry (later?) but here are a few toughies elsewhere in our garden.

Chamomile, Evening Primrose, Roses in Background: Laundry Garden



The "Fairy," Laundry Garden


Back Pool Garden, With Lamb's Ears and Evening Primrose

A rambler on our back deck


Climbing "Blaze," Pump Garden

Blackberry and Assorted Landscape Roses, Thistle Hill

On our table at the moment. . .
David Austen, a favorite. . .what gorgeous, Peter-Rabbit-illustration shape and ruffled petal pattern

Heather Letter Six: In Which I Fudge Hans Christian Andersen

Dear Heather,

In the spirit of roses I thought I'd read "The Elf in the Rose" to Merry tonight. Also, it was one of the shorter tales in the bulky Hans Christian Andersen book. Merry is seduced by the PreRaphalite artwork and the excitement of a new cache of fairytales (she's given Laura I. Wilder a break--we always seem to peter out after the first two chapters of "The First Four Years").

Anyway, I should have known to read ahead and do a little detective work before plunging blindly into a Hans Christian Andersen with a six year old, right before bedtime. Here's a brief synopsis of the story, as told by the elf, who keeps flitting nervously from flower to leaf to counterpane, etc. I'll give you scene sketches:

Two lovers in a garden, passionately embracing.

The lover is murdered by the woman's brother. Evil fiend brother cuts off lover's head and buries man's body (head separately) under a linden tree. [I leave out decapitation part. Yuk.]

["I don't like this one very much," I say. "Go on, go on!" Merry says. "I LIKE it."]

Elf murmurs in sleeping woman's ear where to find her lover. Evil fiend brother enters and exits: very mean, very despicable.

Night falls: woman slips out, unearths body and head of lover. Wants to carry body home, but settles for the head. Plants head in pot and covers with jasmine plant.

[My version: Woman cuts off piece of lover's hair and buries that in the jasmine plant.]

Evil brother unsympathetic. [Big surprise there.]
Woman waters jasmine with her tears, grows ever paler; jasmine grows ever better; woman dies.
All elves and spirits jab evil brother to death with spears.

[My version: The woman cried and cried on the jasmine plant. The evil brother went away and was never heard from again. One day the jasmine plant sprouted the lover. They got married and lived happily ever after. The end." "That was short!" Merry protests. "Can we read another one?"]

I'm not usually a proponent of censorship, but REALLY. Before bedtime? I think not. I told Merry, happy to find a less gory alternative, that we would read "The Princess and the Pea" tomorrow. That and "Thumbelina" are more our speed, I think.

Wish you were here too--but be glad for the option of air-conditioning!

xoxoxoxo
Kimby