We've had some really hot weather. It burns the roses, as you can see to the left in this photo, and so I went out early to pick a few.
I often think of Carole when I cut these roses. I still think of them as hers, and that we are only caring for them somehow even after fifteen years.
She was the previous owner of the house and planted beautiful tea roses in the yard. We only met her two or three times while we were making the purchase, but I'm thankful every spring for the legacy she left behind.
It's always good to take pause and be mindful of all we enjoy because of the work and sacrifice of others.
Memorial Day especially reminds me of roses. We had profuse climbers along the walls of our yard when I was a girl. We never bought flowers to take to the small village graveyard at the foot of the mountain where my Father's family is all buried. We would place them in tin cans full of water at the many handmade markers in the dusty New Mexico landscape of the burial ground all surrounded by cedar posts and barbed wire. Family members were the only caretakers then.
We often picnicked after, near the mountain streams. A tradition we kept while the family was young.
It was Shakespeare's Ophelia that pronounced that rosemary is for remembrance as she handed Hamlet the sprig. But for many of us, it's roses that are for remembrance too. . . .
Congratulations to Beverly on five years of
Wishing you a lovely weekend!
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