William Baffin once made quite a splash on the arbor. I cut him back two years ago when he seemed hopelessly riddled with fungus and disease, and I do believe he is trying to make a comeback this year.
Too many to count, I remember most fondly a pale pink Moss Rose with a fragrance like sweet clove that once rested against the white fence , and of course Constance Spry, the very first David Austin rose, that I saw climbing robustly in nearly every garden on a trip through England.
My "Constance" embraced the post of a dovecote in my garden for years, but finally decided she was done living with me abut 3 years ago. A very vigorous Honeysuckle has since taken her place.
Missing Constance, I ordered a new one last spring, and she is settling in a little reluctantly I think. We shall see . . .
Roses before Peonies?
The star Rose in my garden today is this Rosa Rugosa "Belle Poitevine". She is blooming as never before, and in April ! She is said to be from Bruant , France, 1894, and of unknown parentage - how romantic is that?
Speaking of unknown parentage - this white rose has been with me for about 20 years and continues to thrive, growing to over 8 feet tall if I let it . I have forgotten the name, and while most years it resembles a very large bush sporting hundreds of wads of limp wet white tissues, this year it looks like it has real roses! Hooray !
I'm harvesting petals every day for potpourri , the most deliciously fragrant chore you can imagine.
It started out as a way to keep ahead of the soon to emerge Japanese beetles, clipping the open blossoms each morning, when I realized that the more flowers I clipped, the more bloomed the next day.
I did get a bit of a scolding yesterday from a very busy little bee - one of many that are every bit as happy as I am with these voluptous pink blooms.
The petals are drying in the loft, filling the old barn with their perfume. When dry, they will join a sweet symphony
of other herbs and spices in a Potpourri to enjoy for years to come.
A perfect way to make the Roses of Yesterday remain The Roses of Today.