I would like my roses to meet you…

This is the bloom of a birthday girl rose, printed and overlaid with a handwritten beautiful quote I came across the other day. Roses as people, when I started to think about the concept, it seemed that plants as people or reminders of people was apt for my garden.

The rose in this image was a birthday present from my oldest friend. It blooms without fail in June around my birthday. I sit under a muscat grapevine in the summer that what bought for me by my neighbour of 20 years, June.

The twisted willow that now has a treehouse wrapped around it always reminds me of my florist friend who made my wedding bouquet incorporating clippings from it.

The only hostas I dare have in my garden, as I find it too sad when they are just too tempting for slugs and snails were given to me by a friend who moved away a couple of years ago. Each year when they spring anew, verdant and fresh, they remind me of her optimism, and mine, in that they may just survive the summer intact.

A montana clematis that each year looks dead to the world climbs along the trellis at the side of the house, brings to mind my neighbour, Sue, who gave me this clipping from her own, after I had told her how beautiful hers looked.

A fresh and limey green hop grows from a cutting from my mother-in-law’s garden, as does a flowering currant, two of the few cuttings I’ve ever managed to successfully keep alive!

I have a Queen Elizabeth rose in the front garden, planted in 1953 when the house was built to mark the Queen’s coronation, it blooms and blooms and blooms. It was planted by the first owner of this house, Ena, and has long survived her.

The mizuna salad currently growing in one of my gutter gardens makes me think of the damp and cold November early-morning when my son was eager to sow seeds. One look at the spiky salad leaves now growing reminds me of his boundless enthusiasm.

And then, of course, there’s me, as each garden is in its own way an autobiography.

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