A budding gift

My mother never forgot my birthday and she adored roses. Handmade cards with personally chosen words would arrive in the post on time for each special occasion. On her birthday, I always sent a bouquet of flowers and there would invariably be a rose among the blooms.

Last year, in May, I planted a standard rose-bush in a pot for Mother’s Day in her honour as she sadly passed away in April. I thought the hybrid tea rose ‘Peace’, with four large pale yellow mature roses flushed with pink was a perfect choice. The pot had a black and white lacy design on its rim that I knew she would have admired and the assembled plant with its crown of roses looked almost regal on the sunny back deck overlooking the garden.

The following month, two rosebuds appeared and developed into beautiful scented young flowers on international Father’s Day. I smiled at the thought that Mum probably had a hand in it since Dad had preceded her to the pearly gates by three months.

After that, I liked to imagine her directing rose buds to the bush from above on special occasions. I saw her choosing the precise shade of the petals, the length of the stem and the subtle fragrance of each rose with the same care that she decorated her handmade cards.

A rash of black spots on the leaves had me hurrying to the nursery for advice and a severe pruning I gave it in winter left me feeling a bit anxious about its survival. The bush soon bounced back with some healthy foliage and I eagerly awaited its new blooms.

Mum didn’t disappoint at Christmas time when we got a flurry of flowers for the table. For my birthday in January there were two blooms just the right size for vase cuttings on my dressing table. A small sprout appeared a day later and I quickly checked the extended family birthday calendar. Her granddaughter’s twenty-first birthday was approaching in February.

I watched the soft branch with unfurling leaves stretch a little towards the sky each day.  I waited eagerly for the tiny bud to appear and viewed its progress in anticipation, willing it to make the date.

I thought it might be late but, right on cue, on my niece Ange’s birthday, a perfectly formed bud peeled back its green sheath to reveal a pink and yellow hue. I presented it to her that afternoon saying it was from her late grandparents and she smiled at the thought.

This week two new shoots have started their journey upwards and I am sure that Mum meant them for our wedding anniversary and know that a beautiful rose or two will open on time.