In yoga, there’s this ongoing cultivation of awareness in order to learn how to stay present. Being present allows for clear perception. Clear perception is intended to give us true experience, not colored by our past, opinions, preferences, desires, etc. And being in this state, we can see what is, not what we imagine, but what’s really there.
There’s an interesting approach to growing roses here in southern California. There’s this idea that roses like full sun, that they need it, and so that’s how they’re grown here.
In Seattle, no one has this notion (for obvious reasons.) I’d never even heard of such a thing and I’ve been growing roses like my mother before me, and her mother before her, in the northwest, with great success, for years and years.
I guess it depends on what you mean by success. I guess that’s a word that deserves looking up. According to Dictionary.com:
suc-cess (suhk-ses) –noun: a favorable or prosperous termination of attempts or endeavors. Outcome.
Hmm. Maybe success isn’t the best word for what I’m talking about here. Because the outcome, the “termination of endeavor” would seem to be, in this case, the flowers, but, with roses, you’ve got all these factors. There’s the kind of plant, in terms of genus or species, and what’s expected there, i.e. the growing habit, foliage color, length of stems, single or clustered blooms, color, size, and fragrance of said blooms, thorniness, etc.
So, you wouldn’t just measure your success on the flowers themselves, but the overall healthiness of the plant, that is, is it growing the way it’s meant to, according to what it is.
And this is where perception comes in. My experience with these plants is apparently quite different from growers here. I’ve been to all the nearby, and not-so-nearby nurseries, and have found that they all seem to be operating under this same – what I can only describe as, not to be snotty, sorry, but – delusion. Because what I find, when I’ve visited their places, searching for old friends I used to grow, is plants that have been scorched.
It’s been hot. It’s been considerably hotter in the Valley than on the west side - 25 degrees hotter, on some days, which is the difference between a pleasant 75 and a far less-comfortable 100 degrees. In Seattle, there is that rare August day when the temperature hits 106, but that’s highly unusual. More likely, the extreme is somewhere in the high 80’s, low 90’s and the average for a summer day is somewhere between 66 and 72.
What you get there, in terms of rose issues, seems to be brought on by the much more temperate climate. There’s dew—something that, as far as I’ve noticed, doesn’t seem to exist here. There’s moisture in the air. Everything is just more lush, due to rainfall, and the state of constant flux. There’s a saying in the northwest, and it goes like this: You don’t like the weather? Wait 10 minutes. And it’s true.
Here, on the other hand, sunny is the norm, and since it’s a desert, it’s, well, dry. The soil is different too, more clay than sand (whatever sense that makes) much more dense, less natural drainage. There are fewer bugs, for sure, which is a blessing. And, at least from my early observations, just generally fewer problems, period. In Seattle, the roses can, and do, suffer from black spot, rust, white mites, aphids, powdery mildew, and God-only-knows-what-else, often at the same time! These things can strike in a night, and make progress. It’s pretty astounding. Keeps you on your toes.
Here, it’s much simpler. The bushes themselves, not subject to any of the aforementioned beasts, seem to grow large. They can put out a lot of buds. But:
1. the buds aren’t big and neither are the blooms themselves
2. they don’t last any length of time, once they open
3. the leaves get all crispy, much like potato chips and
This is what got me started on the whole thing. I grow roses because of their heavenly scent. And the thing is, it’s silly to call any essence or perfume “rose” because there are, literally, hundreds, if not thousands, of scents. Roses are as different from each other as they can be. They may resemble each other in terms of how they appear, but when it comes right down to it, they’re unique.
In fact, I used to collect petals and ferment them in vodka and sugar for a few weeks and make batches of rose liqueur. And it occurred to me that instead of putting them all together, although it was gorgeous because of the combination of colors, I should be separating them out and making individual liqueurs, each named for the rose it came from. That would have been cool. I don’t know if that’s possible here. One for down the road, I guess.
I can’t control the growing season and the fact that, unlike the northwest with its 4 very distinct seasons, there is no long dormant period for the roses to rest and then rev up for the coming summer and fall blooming…which is one theory about why they don’t smell like they ought to.
But in any case, what I’ve determined is that, despite the going perception- no, belief - about what’s necessary, I’ve got to grow roses the way I know works. And that’s with a little shade. They like it! They need it. And even given my limited garden space, and its location (mine are receiving afternoon, rather than morning, sun, which I’d prefer – and that means, they can get quite a beating, frankly, when it hits the high 90’s, as it’s been doing regularly) with the help of my little tree out front, what I’m hoping to cultivate are healthy productive rosebushes, that are happy, and green, with large buds AND blooms, and FRAGRANCE. The way they’re meant to be, giving, even beyond the beauty of their blossoms, their greatest gift.
Coda: Those that could manage to remain in awareness for extended periods, who then could see more, who were known as rishis. A rishi is one to whom holy things (such as the Vedas) were revealed, because being in these states of higher consciousness meant you could perceive the truth.
