I am not a rose person.

There are two large, old, climbing roses that grow up against my house that I am constantly cursing and threatening to rip up (even though I never would – I respect a plant that is at least 50 years old). I have absolutely no interest in taking care of roses, or of even cutting them and bringing them in my home.

But wild roses are a different story.

I love wild roses because they seem untameable, with there legions of thorns bidding you away. I also love them because they’re simple; devoid of the big showy blooms that most most people have growing in their yards. If I had it my way I’d rip up those two climbing roses I have, and instead plant some wild roses.

Wild roses hold a special place in my heart. They’re my home-province’s official flower, and as one may expect, they grow everywhere there. In the house I grew up at we had a big old wild rose with a swath of lily of the valley that grew underneath it, right up against an old white fence. Wild roses make me think of home, and of family, and of old memories.

When I was a teenager I couldn’t wait to get out of Alberta, and move to the seemingly-so-exciting west coast of BC. I don’t regret the move, BC is nice (and a lot less colder, which is my main problem with Alberta), but what I do miss are the sights and sounds of Alberta. Big open sky, huge fields of mustard and wheat and canola. Bison and muskegs and pigeon hawks. The way Alberta seems to radiate yellow and orange and gold. The night sky that is so big, it can feel oppressive to somebody who didn’t grow up there. Northern lights of pink and green and white.

It’s funny how sometimes you don’t recognize beauty until after you’ve been away from it for so long.

This entry was posted on Saturday, June 26th, 2010 at 1:08 pm and is filed under Green Thoughts, Ornamental Varieties, Plants. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.