She felt vaguely upset and unsettled. She was suddenly tired of outworn dreams. And in the garden the petals of the last red rose were scattered by a sudden little wind. Summer was over — it was Autumn.
“She felt vaguely upset and unsettled. She was suddenly tired of outworn dreams. And in the garden the petals of the last red rose were scattered by a sudden little wind. Summer was over — it was Autumn.” L.M. Montgomery
Rainbow Valley is the seventh book in the chronology of the Anne of Green Gables series of novels by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Photos by Enchanted Seashells.
This is an update to a previous post about transplanting this awesome Peppermint Party Climbing Rose. It’s been a couple years and she’s really blossoming and super spicy!
I don’t give her too much attention except for a hard prune every January, and cross my fingers that she’ll grow back healthy and happy.
I took this photo when it was sunny. I woke up to rain which was totally, unexpectedly, but absolutely welcome, especially since we haven’t had any sky water is quite a while. Any little bit helps.
This was one of my most successful transplanting of a mature plant. I moved this Peppermint Party Climbing Rose from one arbor to another and it’s been thriving ever since.
Late afternoon sun on these stripey petals caught my eye:
The Angels love to look through the photos on my phone, especially all the ones I’ve taken of them, of course.
When we clicked on this rose, I told them it was a selfie of ME cos I’m Princess Rosebud. They thought that was funny but being their dad’s kids, they just HAD to disagree…
“Grandma, you are so annoying! You aren’t a REAL princess!”
“Yes, I am.” I replied. “And you are Princess Charlotte and Prince Theodore.”
“Dad, Grandma’s being annoying again!”
OMG did they just tattle about me to my original Angel Boy? That’s too funny.
From the other room, I hear him say, “Mom, stop being annoying.”
I guess that’s going to be my legacy…however, we’re all royalty around here, so I thought I’d share this little joke to start the week.
This particular rose smells as good as she looks. Spicy and sweet, just like me.
I think a backstory needed to explain the origin of being called “annoying”, thanks to my new friend, wonderfully talented author Debbie Russell. I should have explained it in more detail and to be fair to the Angels.
I first began to reference myself that way when I bothered them as they were busy doing things (just to be funny) like standing in front of the TV during a show they were watching and I’d say, “Aren’t I the most annoying Grandma?” and they’d say “Yes, you are! Stop it!” And I’d stop, of course. Also for example, when I’d read a book to them, a book I’d literally read a thousand times before, to make it more interesting for ME, I’d change the names or spice up the story a bit differently, mainly to see if they were paying attention (which they were) and then they’d say, “Read the exact words, Grandma!” which I thought was pretty cute. And then I’d say, “Do you find it annoying when I do that?” The answer was always yes.
The Angels weren’t being disrespectful. Grandma was!
This one’s a hardy garden rose that does well in drought conditions.
Cistus is a genus of flowering plants in the rockrose family Cistaceae, of which there are about twenty varieties.
It’s a perennial shrub found on dry or rocky soils throughout the Mediterranean region, from Morocco and Portugal through to the Middle East, and also on the Canary Islands; they do really well in my SoCal garden.
I’ve had really good success propagating them, too. Here’s how I do it:
Snip 6-inch cuttings off stems that have not yet flowered.
Remove lower pairs of leaves, keeping only the topmost one or two pairs at the crest.
Dipping the cuttings in powdered rooting hormones spurs root growth.
Perfect for a hot summer garden with no rain in sight.
During this Covid-19 pandemic, I seem to be living in an alternate universe of poetry and literature. Pretty soon, my brain will start to spontaneously remember all my years of French, and I’ll be ready for my trip to France to pay homage to the one and only Coco Chanel.
Once upon a time, in another lifetime, I memorized Juliet’s lines, Act 2, Scene 2, for an audition.
Nope, I didn’t win the role that time, but the words have never left me.
It’s a bit of a cliche considering my name, but a rose is a rose is a rose, according to Gertrude Stein.
I’ve been posting a lot about the beautiful flowers in my garden because I know how short lived it al is and I want to enjoy it while I can…soon the hot sun and blistering Santa Ana winds will dry up all the lush blooms. We had so much rain this season that it really looks like a floral fairyland at Casa de Enchanted Seashells.
Another day, another rose, a very red one, not yet open.
A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns
O my luve’s like a red, red rose, That’s newly sprung in June; O my luve’s like the melodie That’s sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun: O I will love thee still, my dear, While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve, And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my luve, Though it were ten thousand mile.
And almost completely gone but still drunk with a dancer’s graceful elegance:
All the rain we had in SoCal a couple weeks ago caused my roses to grow like crazy.
Planted at least six feet apart in order to comply with all social distancing orders, here’s a couple of little bouquets displayed in a Waterford crystal sugar and creamer, just because…
…and my magical secret garden with a working windmill…
…as well as an afternoon visit for snacks from Mr. and Mrs. Bunny, also complying with social distancing directives!
Not about ME, haha, but check out this most delicate ballet pink rose I’ve ever grown in the garden here at Casa de Enchanted Seashells.
The life cycle up to this point has been about a week long journey.
Just picked. The fragrance is so light and delicate. The very essence of a rose.
The petals are starting to open a tiny bit more in response to the sun and being indoors.
See the outer petals beginning to turn color? Still beautiful, though.
This morning, in her full glory at five inches across. More discolored, faded, and less pink petals.
Sweet rose. Almost at the end of her life, she selflessly shared all the joy and beauty she had to give. Soon, her petals will fall to the table and she’ll be gone.
How did this all get so depressing? Just like The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. Sheesh. I need to lighten up!
And now this, the finality and death of a once beautiful and vibrant rose.
Shaking off THAT doomed train of thought, here are more roses that I left unpicked in the garden.
Buds. Babies.
I love the peach and red dual tone of these roses.
Peppermint striped climbing roses. Very spicy fragrance.
Finally, a rock rose, California native.
All the rain we had in SoCal made a joyful garden.
Lush, sumptuous, sensuous roses courtesy of my good RN friend whose visit included books on tape (I was unable to read anything for three days thanks to a torn retina and hellish laser surgery).
In full bloom from her garden, their fragrance is delicate and strong, as every rose should be.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 