Grown by Confucius and Cleopatra, roses are one of the oldest flowers in the fossil record, and to look around Seattle today, our obsession with them is thriving.
There’s something of pure abundance in the way they share their luscious blooms. One look at an arbor dripping with roses or, better yet — a sniff of a really fragrant rose — is all it takes to send me to the nursery or plant catalog.
That longevity in the fossil record is no accident. Roses are propagated vegetatively, meaning from the stem of the plant, rather than a seed, which means if you are growing Rosa gallica, it’s a clone to its ancestor grown in Empress Josephine’s garden in Versailles. In addition, the plants themselves are tough as nails. They persist. Some roses can live for decades untended on abandoned homesteads.
I’ve been trying to eradicate a lifer in my front yard since we moved in 10 years ago. To me it was just unremarkable — a dark red, scentless tea rose, and not worth the babying I thought it would need in our moist climate. I prefer the loose character of shrub roses to the stiff v-shapes of hybrid tea roses. I think those look great in formal gardens, ideally with fluffy skirts of perennial geranium or astrantia. I’ve tried pulling, digging, cutting, and yet she persists. I’ll probably keep digging, but I’ve grown to admire her grit.
On the other hand, looking at the blowsy, romantic, sensual forms of “old” roses, and the newer versions of these from English breeder David Austin, especially the special few with a fragrance that makes me weak in the knees, now we’re talking.
My mom introduced me to roses. She favored the tea roses popular at the time, but some, like “Mister Lincoln” had a scent of tea that piqued my appetite. Where was the scent that inspired lovers in Shakespeare, that financed the perfumeries of France?
I decided to make her an “old rose” garden at her mom’s home where we spent summers. As I’ve mentioned, I’m a history lover, so since these came with such stories and provenance, I was a goner almost before I started. Rosa alba, for example, is the white rose of the House of York from the British War of the Roses. When I first inhaled her sweet and heady perfume, I was hooked.
Side note: I grew another version of R. alba, white with pale pink, just to tell people this: the English name is the chaste “Maiden’s Blush.” The French name, “Cuisse de Nymphe Emué,” translates to “thigh of an aroused nymph.”
Roses have a rep for being fragile divas who need an entourage to feed, fertilize and tend them constantly, and that can be true of the hybrid teas that you’re likely to see in Valentine’s Day bouquets.
Modern rose hybrids offer the gift of repeat bloom, which most “old” and species roses don’t. Seattle rose buyers need to choose varieties with slick, shiny leaves that are more likely to shrug off fungal disease and humidity issues — or tough customers like Rugosa roses, which thrive in Magnuson Park, and Rosa glauca, which I would grow for the pewter foliage and persimmon hips alone. I’ve had great luck with the ones I’ve tried. Some are a little too successful.
Those David Austin roses I mentioned? They are hybrids offering heirloom shape and scents on resilient garden-worthy shrubs and climbers. My “Graham Austin” loved my front hillside so much I gave it to my friend.
I probably ought to do the same with my climbing rose, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It was an impulse buy at the Arboretum’s spring plant sale. It looked so cute in its 4-inch pot. I recognized the name from garden writers I have loved, so I snapped it up. Googling, upon reaching home, I found “Lady Banks’ rose: the world’s largest rose.” The record-holding rose is in Tombstone, Arizona. The trunk spans 12 feet. The plant covers 9,000 square feet. Did I plant it? Yup. Do we need to prune it two to three times a year as it reaches across the driveway for the house? Yup.
But I love it. Despite having no fragrance, it blooms extravagantly and super early, even before allium. Lady Banks smothers my arbor with tiny butter-yellow blooms. It is nearly thornless, and the canes are pliable, so pruning is much less of a cursing matter than most.
My friend who adopted “Graham Thomas” already has a Lady Banks, and is doing a cool thing — she has it on a doorway trellis and prunes it to those edges, making it looking like a slice of roses. It is abundant and neat at the same time. What a concept!
Another winner is a so-called “groundcover rose.” Flower Carpet “Amber” is flourishing despite being drawing the “short straw” location of my south-facing parking strip, which, in full disclosure, is mulched but rarely watered. It’s about 3 feet tall and wide. The buds are cherry red, and the flowers open to buff and apricot. Again, no fragrance, but it asks little from me in terms of care and blooms a very long time. I pruned and fertilized this spring and it has exploded in thanks. The leaves go all the way to the ground and look good about 80 percent of the year. Nearby lime heuchera and dark purple sedum, which retain their leaves in the winter, keep the color going.
Then there’s the one I bought purely for love last year — a floribunda (meaning blooming in clusters) type named “Cinco de Mayo.”
It is an almost unnatural color — the breeder calls it a blend of “rust-red and lavender-smoke” — packaged in a ruffled, loosely double-petaled flower. It’s in the same parking strip, and I’ve driven over it already.
Despite being bisected this spring, it’s rebounded with blooms by May 21.
If you are looking for inspiration to add to your garden, Heirloom Roses nursery has compiled recommendations for the Pacific Northwest from local experts: https://www.heirloomroses.com/info/care/roses/best-roses-for-the-pacific-northwest/.