Planting Roses

This morning, I planted three rose bushes--three double knockout reds--behind our new house in State College.  I've been looking forward to this for some time, but was excited to actually get planting, even if it was the hottest day of the summer (so far).  I always like to have roses in my yard.  When I was a boy, growing up in my grandparents home, I was surrounded by roses.  My grandmother's mother's name was Rose.  My mother's name was Rose, and Grandma and Grandpa had huge rose bushes lining the long drive up to the house--red, pink and white roses with huge blooms.  Two other bushes, at right angles to the others, defined our front lawn.  At the corners were lilacs (my aunt's name was Lillian).

Roses remind me of what was good about my childhood.  They help me stay in contact with Grandma (whose love of these particular flowers extended even to her talcum powder, which was named "Lilacs and Roses") and Grandpa (who did the hard work of planting and very occasional trimming) and, of course, my mother and aunt (whose names always conjure up the image of "the Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley"). 

They help make our house home.