I adore roses. Roses on their stalks and heady smell. Taller than me when I was young. I stood in Grandma’s and Great-Grandma’s respective yards (next door to each other) and had my first internal lesson of aromatherapy. Nature teaching me early.
I have grown roses in pots, roses in the gardens, and have a granddaughter named Maryjane Rose. The tall, cut stalks in the store ready for Valentine’s Day are not my favorite flower to receive (I do love tulips), but in the garden and cut from an old varietal, roses are so powerfully beautiful.
Medicinally, roses are a mild nervine. That means they are a supporting actor in medicines for sleep, stress, and pain. Particularly stress. All one has to do is feel the effect of smelling a rose to note its healing properties for calming. Spiritually, it is love medicine and we use it in our teas to help create more love for oneself. It is a lovely tonic to drink and a beautiful water or oil to apply to skin. It is, of course, the flower of romance and beauty.
Yesterday, I had a few moments to actually walk around our property. There are many stumps along the fence line because Siberian Elm is insistent upon taking over the world. (I will use it for medicine.) Among the stumps I found new stalks. New stalks of rose! Many of the stumps are ROSES! I wonder how old they are. Perhaps planted by the mistress that first built this home. Some are feeding off of the elms. Some are their own masses made up of smaller stumps, some two feet in diameter, and life shooting out of them here in this milder climate. Seventeen rose bushes from what I could see. They have been fiercely neglected, but they waited for me.
I have five in pots that I brought with me that are ready to be added to the garden. Perhaps one day my grandchildren will walk through my gardens and remember fondly the towering rose bushes and how they made them feel.