When I walked outside last night after coming home from work/gym, I kissed Cameron "hello". He was talking to his mother on the phone. I fed the fish and turned to Doris who was collecting her Frisbee so she could show me she wanted to play but never let me have it without a fight. As I approached the middle of the deck I was overwhelmed with the scent of roses.
This has never happened. Our roses have had a roller-coaster ride of good and bad health for the eleven years we've lived here. Some were planted when we first bought the house. Some were already here. They've been moved, some twice, some three times. They've been pretty much where they are for roughly five years, though. And, for each of the last two years, though, they are looking better.
But, with the late frost we had a little more than a week ago, some of the promise of beautful blooms was in jeopardy. I figured that this was the best I'd get this year since the buds had already begun to open.
But, with the exception of the few buds that were frostbitten, the roses look better than they ever have. There are hundreds of blooms and twice as many buds. The two Thomas Liptons that flank the arbor probably have one hundred or more between them.
The Oklahomas' blossoms are huge (except for the ones frostbitten in our late frost).
The Tropicanas are vibrant and smell lovely. The Don Juan that Cleo gave us many years ago was finally taken off of the climing trellis it refused to grow on and is now filled with over 20 blooms (and early signs of black spot).
Queen Elizabeth is a vivid shade of pink.
The red and white striped blooms of the Scentimental rose that Don Morgan gave us eight years ago that has been moved at least three times has a couple of handfuls of blooms open and has a bumper crop of buds waiting to burst.
I am thankful today for this beauty.