ramblings from an arkansas farm girl
Dear Sunday Letter friends,
Happy May! Even though we still have seven weeks of spring to enjoy, May always feels like the gateway to summer to me. As a kid I ranked summer—no school!—and winter—Christmas!—at the top of my favorites, but now spring and autumn win out.
Of course, we should all try to appreciate every day no matter the season. These days, they are dwindling for each of us. 😭Continue Reading
In our garden this spring, I’ve been training my climbing roses. They are still learning to follow directions, so technically that makes them trainees. So am I. Believe me, I am NOT a rose expert by any stretch of the imagination. But we are fast learners. Today I’m gonna show you our process.
Early last fall, we planted two climbing roses (their names are Rosie and Daphne) at separate ends of our rock wall. Other than planting them, we pretty much did nothing to them all winter, other than we made sure they had water. A few months later, before they began putting on spring growth, I started training them using a process called pegging. Pegging works rather well, especially in a small garden space. And the best thing about pegging your roses is that blooms will increase significantly.
Roses want to be good garden citizens. Some varieties need to be taught.Continue Reading
Dear all you mothers who make the world go ’round,
Yesterday as I cut roses from my garden, I was reminded of Mother’s Days past. How we, my little sister and I, wore a tiny red or pink rosebud to church that day. Momma wore red too, but because she was an adult in charge of things like money, she bought hers at the flower shop in town. Her corsage, a full grown rose, came in a clear plastic box with a long straight pin attached to the back for fastening to her dress. Nana wore a corsage of white gardenia, her favorite, each petal as soft as velvet, its perfume so strong and sweet that forty-five(!) years later, yesterday, when I walked past a gardenia bush at Westwood Gardens, the aroma pulled me over and vaulted me back to Brinkley Chapel. Just like that.
Nana wore a white flower because her Momma, my great-grandmother, died years before I was born. And even though I never met her, I’ve known her my whole life.Continue Reading
