First rose of summer. This beauty appeared on one of my tree roses last Tuesday morning (May 26), the earliest I can ever recall having a rose, any rose, bloom here in my garden. I wintered the tree roses, in pots, in my garage, worrying every time I went past them that they would not make it. The garage is unheated, except that it is attached to the house and partially in-ground, so does not suffer the temperature extremes that a winter outdoors would bring. The roses held their green leaves until Christmas, making me wonder if I should water them or what--but I opted for leaving them alone so that they could go dormant. In January the leaves began to crisp and by March I hit the doldrums of worry that I had managed to kill off these three new beauties. On the first warm days in April I set them outside for a few hours each day and almost immediately buds began to show. They have made steady progress ever since, although two of them suffered dieback on one side. In early May I repotted them and gave them a little fertilizer. In mid-May I gave them a bigger boost of fertilizer. Last week I added some well-rotted "barn dirt" aka "composted manure" from my neighbor, who grows the most amazing tree roses I have ever seen and who swears by the barn dirt recipe. Hers, planted in the ground, will grow bigger and flower more, but one of mine flowered first and has already offered enough delight to last me the whole summer. Thank you, neighbor. Thank you, rose.


First Rose of Summer

Ruffled ball gown,
layer upon pink layer,
dances in the breeze,
perfume waltzing.
Lover kisses her neck,
arms,
hands,
lighting her soul,
the opaque
is now translucent.
Skirt swirls wider,
crinolines rollercoastering.
She rests in the gleam of his smile
like tea in the finest cup,
secure in his warm embrace
as the music slows
and fades.
Wallflowers watch,
breathless,
until the dance is done,
then take their place
in the sun
and do not dance
alone.