Finding My Past at Goodwill

Remember in the 80's and early 90's, when country crafts were king?  Shades of Wedgwood blue, mauve, seafoam green, and rusty red reigned in the design world.  Stenciling or wallpaper, flowery chintz upholstery, with ruffly curtains at the windows, completed the look.  

During this time, my husband was starting his own business.  Money was tight.  We were fine day-to-day, but the reality of finding the money necessary for Christmas presents for three daughters required some ingenuity.  We had power tools, I knew how to use them, wood and paint was cheap ... and a small business was born.  Very small.

For a few years, in summer I would cut and sand and paint little figures and country-style decor.  In fall, I rented space at craft fairs, setting up a booth and selling my wares.  One of my best sellers was this:

It was a custom item.  I had the large hearts like this at the booth, pre-made in mauve, blue, rust, or cream, and customers ordered small hearts to hang from the hooks underneath.  Husband, wife, children.  I sold a ton of them.  (I remember one special one: a family's four grown children chipped in together and ordered one for their parents, with themselves, their spouses, and all of the grandkids hanging from it.  It was huge.)

I was startled to see this one earlier today.  Somehow it ended up at Goodwill in Culpeper, minus its little name hearts.  It looks as good today as it did when I made it almost 30 years ago.  Goodwill's price:  $1.99. 

My label.  Hometown Designs was what I called my little enterprise.

I still have ours, the prototype, with our family on it ...  it's in a box somewhere.  

I hope this one goes to a good home.

Finding Myself ... As a Doll

I never know exactly what I'll find when doing an Internet search.  Earlier this summer, I was looking for a sweater pattern to knit ... and, in the search results, I found this image:

Blythe doll

It was like coming face-to-face with myself in doll form.  Long dark hair, big brown eyes ... she's even wearing an over-sized bulky sweater.  She looks an awful lot like Wednesday Addams, who was my second favorite character on The Addams Family.  (It will be no surprise to you that I adored her mother Morticia above all other characters.)

See what I mean?  Look at that resemblance.  (Forgive the grainy photo-of-a-photo.  I stole it from my mom's FB page.)

1964

(After I found the photo of the doll, I went hunting for more info on Blythe dolls.  One article that I read said that Blythe dolls were originally thought to be too scary-looking for children.  That would not have been the case with this girl when she was a child, I assure you.)  

Even though I got distracted during my search for a sweater pattern, I eventually did find one that I could work with ... a bulky, basic, knit-in-the-round-from-the-top-down turtleneck.  I improvised the seed stitch and cables to make it more interesting.  The yarn came from a yummy soft wool sweater that I bought at Goodwill.  (Original pattern is HERE.)

Here are instructions for unraveling a sweater to harvest the yarn.

Anyway ..... this post went completely off track ..... kind of like my original search for the elusive sweater pattern.  I will leave it this way, though, because it totally represents who I am.

So, let me ask ... Do you stay on track when you hunt for something, or do you veer off course, too?

Sunday Snapshot: His and Hers

I am sitting in our Family Room on this lovely Sunday morning, trying to get used to my new laptop.  (My former one is eight years old, the battery won't charge, I can't buy a new battery for it, and it ran out of disk space.)  

Anyway .... this morning, I was struck by how differently my husband and I keep our individual spaces.  He sits on the left end of the sofa, I'm either on the right end or in the far leather chair, where Ruby is in this photo.  (None of the photos in this post are staged.  They represent real life on display, and fortunately, the place is fairly tidy right now.)

This is how my husband's end table always looks.  It contains only what belongs there, no extraneous junk, no piles.

Mine, on the other hand, looks like a photo from an "I Spy" book ... with a heaping assortment of whatever I'm working on at the time.  

We see three pairs of reading glasses, knitting supplies (a cable needle, a counter, two pairs of scissors, and needle caps, because I'm making a sweater, which Instagram followers have seen, and I'm actively using these things most evenings), hair stuff (a clip, bobby pins, and an elastic hair tie), a pile of bracelets, a mechanical pencil, a pile of magazines and books topped by my iPad, an external hard drive, and a few other random things.  What you don't see is a pile of books on the floor beside the leather chair.

I try really hard to not pile things, but it feels like I'm fighting a losing battle.  From time to time, I go through the stuff and put away the things that I know I'm not using.  The table gets a bit tidier as a result, but it's only temporary.

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Sunday Snapshots are posts devoted to moments in time that represent glimpses into everyday life in Hartwood, or wherever else I happen to be at the time. 

Life, on a Bracelet

My friend, Goth Gardener, did a post yesterday about National Jewelry Day.  This reminded me that I had my own jewelry post in mind, to use a photo that I've had queued up in my photo file for a while.  This photo:

Modern charm bracelets are a big trend now ... mine is old-school, with charms that represent things that are important to me, collected over the years.  Let's take a minute to get to know me better, via the charms on my bracelet, starting at the top and working our way counter-clockwise.

Watering Can ... for my love of gardening.  Gardening used to be my hobby, then it became a profession, and now it is my way of life.

US Capital ... because I live near there.

Four-poster Bed ... represents the love of my life ... married to him for 37 years, come July.  

Baby Carriage ... for our three now-grown daughters.

Squirrel ... my spirit animal.  Squirrels gather things, lose them, and are awfully cute.

Leaning Tower of Pisa ... I lived near Pisa when I was in elementary school.

Camera ... self explanatory.  For as long as I can remember, I have loved to take photographs.

Heidelberg Castle and Coat of Arms.  I consider Heidelberg to be my second adopted home town.  Lived there for three years in the late 1970s.  It holds a very special place in my heart.

Perkeo ... famous Heidelberg character.

Windmill ... souvenir from a trip to the Netherlands.

Beer stein ... another Heidelberg memento.

Computer.  Computers have been a part of my life since I was a child, because my dad was a computer guy, and so is my husband.  With the introduction of public access to the Internet, and all its opportunities to connect with people all over the world, the computer has made my life so much richer.

Glasses, Glasses

I almost always have a pair of glasses on top of my head (sunglasses for outdoors, reading glasses indoors), unless they're in use on my face.  I am so accustomed to it that I don't think about it, and yesterday, I realized that this had happened ...

There I was in the kitchen, needing to see something up close, and I grabbed a pair of readers from in front of me on the counter ... not realizing that there was already a pair on my head.  Not the first time that this has happened, I'm sorry to say.

On a side note, in addition to keeping my glasses nearby for whenever they're needed, wearing them on my head is useful for holding my hair out of my face.  I'm growing the pixie haircut out a bit ... and, yes, six months into this, I'm still LOVING the purple!  (Who knew that purple hair would make me so happy.)

When I am Old I Shall Wear Purple ...

Do you know this poem?  It's one of my favorites, and I was thinking about it this morning.  Why, you ask?

Because I am wearing purple, that's why!  (Not that I consider myself to be OLD ... just turned 56, and I feel pretty spunky most of the time.)

A little over a month ago, I saw this hair dye on the shelf at Walmart ... as I was cutting across the hair color aisle on my way to the pharmacy.  Something about this color spoke to me,  It's fun, it's sassy, and I love it.

Some people cover and hide their grays ... for now, I am making mine into a fashion statement.  

Warning!

by Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people’s gardens And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Say Cheese ... Or Maybe Not.

I will say this right up front ... the words "Let me take your picture" make me cringe.  I am working to change my attitude about pictures, but it's not easy.

As an exercise to help me get more comfortable with this, I am publicly posting the photos that were taken of me during Hollywood Cemetery's rose work day a few weeks ago.  Some are okay, some are not-so-okay, but all of them appear to be true representations of my expressions that day.

Me with Mabel, one of the Hollywood staffers that I adore, before we got started.

Giving instructions to the group.  I can see the frustration on my face, as things were a bit confused while I divided the group into teams.

Group photo.  Can you find me?  Notice that I am distracted by something ... I guess my mind was elsewhere.

Richmond Rose Society members.  I'm okay with this one.  At least I was paying attention.

Photo + talking = awkward.

Last week, after my program at the Chesapeake Bay Garden Club, one of the members wanted to take a photo of me with the club president for their newsletter .  I was dressed professionally, and my hair and make up were done, but I still panicked a little inside.  I did it anyway, without protest or hesitation ... I'm getting better.

Ready .... Get Set .... SPRING!

Spring is my busiest season.  This is to be expected, since it's the time when I work to get my garden cleaned up from winter and prepared for its big 'show' in early summer.  Hollywood Cemetery is my other garden, and last Saturday's volunteer day was a big success.  The roses at Hollywood are definitely ready for their close up!

This is also the time when garden clubs want programs about roses ... did one last week, and I have another one to do in April.  These require at least a few hours of preparation.  I always spend an hour or two (or more) going over the PowerPoint portion of the talk, refining it and doing what I can to make it better.

In addition to garden things, I slave away at my sewing machine to stock the inventory of handmade collars for Greyhounds Rock.  Our first booth at an event will be during this coming weekend (March 28 and 29), at the Fredericksburg 'Rites of Spring' wine festival.

With all of this going on, it was particularly appropriate the other morning to see a sunbeam illuminating one of my favorite needlepoint pillows.

Believe it or not, this IS a more simplified life for me ... as I am working to strip down to pretty much only what I really WANT and NEED to do.  I'm not one to sit for very long ... you already know that I'm happiest when I'm active.  After being cooped up inside for most of the winter, it feels wonderful to be outside in the sunshine doing physical work.  This is a good thing, since there is a LOT of work around here to be done.

I have to try to remember ... 

One thing at a time.

Finish what I start.

It's a process ... directing my energy toward the completion of a project, instead of scattering my attention all over the place all the time.  I'm better at this than I was ... and I'm not as good at it as I will be in the future.  

A View From Long, Long Ago ....

I found this Polaroid photo in a box yesterday.

That's me, of course, (a much-younger version of me) and the dog is Murphy ... my first dog and best buddy during most of the 1990s.  The situation is typical.  Murphy was rarely out of my sight, and his favorite place to be was snuggling with me.  

Seems at times like this was almost yesterday, but it was more like a lifetime ago.  

Makes me smile.

Work Pants

You already know that work for me usually involves something outdoors, where I will need tools, and that I expect to get dirty.  Old camouflage military BDU pants (or 'fatigues' for those of us who are old-time military types) are wonderful for this!  I pick them up at thrift stores when I find them, and I have gathered quite a variety of patterns from different eras and branches of the military.

I just realized that my vintage Desert Storm era pants are missing from the pile.  

Those of you who volunteered at Hollywood Cemetery in March saw me like this:

photo courtesy of Hollywood Cemetery

These pants are comfortable, have lots of pockets to hold everything that I may use while I'm working, and they are practically indestructible.  They also have had the extra added benefit of providing an imposing impression when I have met at least one of our daughter's questionable prospective suitors years ago.  ("Why is your mom wearing camo?")  It got his attention and put him back on his heels from the start.  Not what I intended, but not necessarily a bad thing either.

Happy Feet

Life is too short to wear boring shoes, and these lovelies are the latest additions to my collection ...

These came from Journeys at the mall.  If you want a pair of your own and you can't find them in a store, order them online.  They run a little bit big ... size 10 shoes fit my size 11 feet perfectly.

Those of you who are planning to attend the Heritage Rose Foundation conference in New Orleans in November will get to see them in person.  (November 13-16, details and registration info to come soon.  Mark your calendars.)

My Happy Place ...

... that's what this blog is to me.  It's a place where I come to focus on whatever is happening around here, share a project or two, and spend time with other people whose company I enjoy ... some of whom have become almost like family.

I read something earlier this morning that got me thinking.  It was someone's list of things that we all supposedly must do if we want to grow our blogs.  The list included items that mandated that we must comment on other blogs to generate traffic on your own blog, must form alliances and mention and link to other blogs in exchange for reciprocal mentions and links, must promote our posts mercilessly on ALL of the various social media outlets, etc.  Seriously?  It sounds so calculating.

I guess I'm just a bit too naive about stuff like this ... I read blogs that I enjoy and I leave comments when I have something to say or when I want to offer encouragement or praise.

To be honest, I admit that I fell into the link trap early on.  I participated in various 'link parties', with the hope that more people would see what I was writing.  The only traffic I saw that those links generated was toward the hosting site, not mine.  I do see traffic on my old blog posts, mainly from Google searches and from Pinterest pins.  The posts of mine that get the most hits like this are ones that I wrote to put out something that I thought was important ... there's not a week that goes by without at least one hit from a search about how to make a dog throw up, how to install subway tile around an outside corner, or how to wax chalk-painted furniture.  (That wax tutorial is my most popular post.  It still gets hundreds of hits a week, even though it is more than two years old.)

I know that there are blogs out there that have grown to the point where they have become the blogger's livelihood.  Many of these are ones that I used to read, but I now avoid them ... too hard to determine whether a post is intended to be genuine and helpful or if it is fueled by a sponsor (which makes it into paid advertising, in my book).  How many times can we read about the virtues and wonder of 'whatever' product that coincidentally happens to be featured on dozens of blogs at the same time?  There are blogs that I follow and enjoy that are very clearly meant to be an extension of someone's business ... with the blog serving to highlight the business's barn or antique sale, or market booth, or latest and greatest product.  I'm okay with this.  There's a difference between clearly marketing one's own business and what seems like a plot to produce content with keywords, back links, and the like, to drive traffic for pay-by-clicks to the animated advertising on one's header or sidebar.

I am a fairly transparent person ... what you see is pretty much what you get with me, and I try to be the same way here on the blog.  You never have to wonder where you stand with me.  If I like you, you know it.  If I'm upset with you, you're the first person I will tell.  I occasionally produce posts to promote things that I am selling, but this is clearly stated.  I try to include aspects of the project that can help others if they are working on something similar.  If I feature a product, you can be assured that it's one that I use and that I like and that I think will be helpful to someone ... I'm not doing it because the product was provided for me, because it wasn't.  (Have turned down all offers of this so far, and I will continue to do so.)

Let me conclude by saying that I am grateful for everyone who visits here and spends time reading what I write.  We are all given the same 24 hours per day, and I am humbled that you choose to spend some of yours here with me.  I am especially grateful for those of you who go beyond reading, by offering comments and participating in email exchanges that have served to ignite true friendships.  Even if you read and click away without speaking up, which I do while blog surfing most of the time myself, please know that I am glad to have you here.  I want to keep this as a positive place, one where I share life and projects and pets and whatever is on my mind ... I guess today's post is one of those that fits into that last category.

This blog is my happy place ... it's where my friends are.

(Images in this post were modified using the Waterlogue app on my iPad.  Thank you, Janet, for introducing me to this and to Karen for encouraging me to keep at it and to have fun.)

Another Artist's Process.

We spent most of the day yesterday in Maryland at our friends Jim and Dan's house.  (I have told you about them before ... Jim is a musician and garden guru, and Dan is a very talented photographer, artist, and architect.)  The object of our visit was for Dan to point his camera in my direction ... he and The Husband worked out a scheme where Dan would photograph me and see if we got anything that would be worthy of a portrait.  I had no choice in the matter, but I promised to be cooperative and try to have fun with it.

I was instructed to bring along a variety of clothes with me so Dan could choose what he wanted.  I live in turtlenecks and jeans, hoodies and flannel ... not exactly appropriate for a real portrait.  Dan's idea was that he wanted to capture ME, whatever that is.  I'm not formal or stuffy, what you see is pretty much what you get ... big personality, according to Dan.  Most of the clothes I brought didn't work, but two turtlenecks, one black and one grey, a black sweater, a black dress with a good neckline, and some scarves for color made the cut.  He was mostly concentrating on my face and shoulders, so it didn't matter what I had on below that.

I learned some things about myself during this process.  Mostly, I discovered for the first time that I am not particularly aware of myself.  In fact, I tend to concentrate on everyone BUT myself, which proved to be challenging for both the photographer AND model while we were working.

Dan and I had more than one exchange that went something like this:

Dan:  "Oh, that was perfect, do it again."

Me:  "Do what?"

Dan:  "That funny smirk just now ... it was perfect."  (you can also insert any number of other descriptions of expressions.)

Me:  "It must be involuntary, because I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dan:  heavy sigh

We did two photo sessions, with a delicious lunch in between.  Dan told me today that he ended up with over 400 photos, most of which are throwaways.  Some of them are fun, he said, and he sent over 55 that he thought may be suitable.  He also said that two of the ones in this group are his favorites, but he won't tell us which ones they are until we make our choices.  

After Dan finished photographing me, he turned his attention to setting up his lights and camera to capture a quality image of The Husband's portrait of Jim playing his harp.  (I told you about this painting in THIS post in January.)

The photos in this post were taken by The Husband with his iPhone.  He did mostly behind-the-scenes pics of Dan working and there are a few of me.  One of the photos that he took of me is superb.  It's a shame that the light was so low, and the photo is really grainy as a result, not suitable to be used for a portrait, but the composition and expression are wonderful.

After all the experimentation that we did with expressions and posing and lighting for most of the day, what seems to have captured me best was this tiny moment in time where I looked over and smiled at my husband.  

As I Was

When most photos of me are taken, I am usually standing (or sitting) with family/friends/etc., with a cheesy smile on my face, or I'm laughing inappropriately, talking, or blinking.  Some people are naturally photogenic, I haven't found this to be the case with me.  It's not that I don't like having my picture taken ... what am I saying, yes it is.  I guess it's the idea of a staged photo that I object to.  Ones where I (or other people) are naturally DOING something, or are in a situation that tells a story, are much more interesting.

I recently found this photo of me ... it was probably taken in the late 1980s.  The Husband snapped it with my then-state-of-the-art Polaroid camera.  I was finishing the drywall in the basement room that would become his home office.

This photo clearly shows that I make a complete mess of myself when I'm drywalling.  As I work, I scrape my knife on the edge of the tray (that yellow thing in my hand), and then I wipe the knife clean on my pant leg.  If I had turned around, you would see that my left leg was probably fairly clean.  I must have just started the second coat of mud, because I'm working on the vertical seam ... my habit is to do ceiling, inside corners, vertical seams, then the long horizontal seams.  Can't get this much of a story from a posed, 'Say Cheese' type of pic.

The family who bought this house from us in 2000 is still there.  I wonder if this room is still painted green?

(Thanks to Jane at Small But Charming for dreaming up the idea of "As You Were".)

Are You a Morning Person?

I'm a morning person ... I know this admission doesn't come as a surprise to most of you.  I like to get up early, when the house is dark and quiet, to have an hour or two all to myself.

This morning's sunrise, as seen from my front porch.

It's time that I use to sit and answer email, read blogs, surf Pinterest, snuggle with Ruby and/or the cats, and get myself centered and mentally prepped for the day ahead.  

How about you?  Do you do best in the morning, or are you a night owl?

Hello, Pixie.

Eagle-eyed readers noticed something different about me in the photos I published in THIS post from two weeks ago.  (In that post, I shared photos of The Husband and me wading in the Arctic Ocean on our anniversary.)  A few of you mentioned my new 'do'.

This is The Husband and me, dressed up for one of the formal nights on our Alaska cruise, with Glacier Bay in the background.

Bye-bye, long hair.

(The first photo in THIS post about Daniel is a good photo of me with the ponytail)

So long, layered bob ... transitional cut that you were.

(I showed you the bob in THIS post.)

and HELLO to fantastic, wash-and-wear hair!

I love this new cut! 

(It's spunky and sassy, just like me.)

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I can't leave today without expressing my gratitude to each of you for your kind comments, FB messages, and emails in response to my last post about closing the rose sales portion of Hartwood Roses.  To be honest, I made this decision a while ago ... I was just finally able to find my muse and could put my feelings into words yesterday to make the announcement. 

Thank you, thank you for your support and encouragement!

Bye bye, Ponytail.

One day in April, a stranger asked me if I was growing my hair out so I could donate it.  This got me thinking, and I realized I had to confront the fact that the Rapunzel look probably wasn't working for me anymore.  I don't like to fuss with my hair  (or much of anything else, for that matter), so long hair has been easier for me.  Get up in the morning, run a brush through it, put it up into a ponytail, and call it a day.  No bedhead, no fuss, no muss.

Last week, I had one of those mornings when I looked in the mirror and I almost didn't recognize the person I saw there.  She had frizzy long hair, greying in streaks (which is okay with me, BTW), and I didn't really notice her lovely brown eyes.  THAT was my 'ah ha' moment ... and I made an appointment to take care of the problem.

Donate my hair?  Of course I did!  I had more than enough to spare.

I tried to convince my hairdresser (who has seen me through long and short and everything in between in the many years we have known each other) to razor cut it pixie short, but she protested.  We compromised on a chin-length layer cut with short bangs ... which makes my grey streaks look pretty cool, if I do say so myself.

We didn't take any dramatic 'After' photos at the salon.  Here's one I just snapped just now ... not the best, but you get the idea.

Notice Ruby snoozing in her usual spot.

This new cut is super easy to take care of.  All of that curl and wave is my own, free to be fun and fluffy since it's been released from the weight of an extra foot of length.  All it takes is a tiny bit of gel and a couple of minutes with the hairdryer, and I'm good to go. 

I still think I may want to go shorter, but I'll live with this for a month or so to see if I change my mind.

When I got up this morning, I had a technicolor case of bed head ... and I didn't mind at all.

One Picture Can Say So Much

This is the view from my kitchen window.  It says a lot about me.

Front and center is our barn, which we worked so hard to restore.  If you haven't read about it, click on the 'Our Barn' photo on the sidebar.

The green garage is one of my better designs.  I wanted it to look like a country carriage house that had been added onto over the years.  It serves us well, and it fits into the landscape really nicely.  (one day, I'll have to tell you about how and why I designed it.)

There's my pick-up truck ... my trusty truck.  I haul all sorts of treasures in that truck.  The Husband's truck is behind mine.

The Arcade holds nine climbing roses ... it's that thing in the sunshine beyond the garage that looks like a line of columns.  It is beautiful when the roses are blooming, and it leads visitors to the Rose Field beyond the gate.

Framing the view, is our pecan tree ... the tree that arches over our entire back yard, that our daughter was married under last summer, and that I practically guard with my life.  It is the best element of our property, in my humble opinion.

The window sill is deep, so it's hard to not pile stuff there.  From left to right I see:  two paintbrushes in a jar, a turquoise glass insulator, an African Violet, a Blue Pea plant that I brought back from Key West, and two tiny pomegranate trees.  There's other stuff that you can't see in the photo ... like a 3-inch Saguaro cactus, another paintbrush, and the receiving unit for the remote thermometer in my greenhouse.

This view is only here during winter while the trees are bare.  When spring comes, the barn gradually disappears and everything else is masked by leafy branches ... but there's always too much stuff on the window sill.

Roses Are More Than Just Roses To Me

When I was invited to speak at the Northern Neck Rose Society's Christmas luncheon back in December, I struggled a bit as I tried to think of a topic.  A luncheon isn't really the place to lecture and teach like I usually do, and I wasn't sure what I could talk about that would be appropriate and interesting.  I decided to 'introduce' myself and tell the folks about how roses have been a theme that has followed me, and how roses are more than just 'roses' to me. 

The beautiful 'Honorine du Brabant'

I spoke mostly off-the-cuff, as I am most comfortable doing, with only a few notes to keep me on track.  The Society members listened, smiled, snickered, nodded, and genuinely seemed to enjoy themselves. I'm going to see what I could do to put my thoughts and stories into this post ... so you can all get a better sense of why I grow roses and what they mean to me.  (This post is L-O-N-G ... so grab a snack or something to drink and get comfortable.  I guarantee that you will have a much better understanding of who I am by the time you reach the end.)

My Grandmother grew roses.  She grew Hybrid Tea roses with Hall of Fame names ... 'Peace', Mr. Lincoln', and 'Mirandy' were some of her favorites that come to mind.  Her southern California garden was an ideal place to grow these roses to perfection.   When I was a newlywed in our first house in the early 1980's, I wanted to grow roses ... my Grandmother's kind of roses.  That first spring, I went to a nursery and bought roses, and I planted them proudly in a blazing, south-facing bed against one wall of our house.  Those poor roses suffered from the heat, the poor soil, and my complete ignorance of even basic rose care.  My Grandmother did what she could to help, but she couldn't be of any real help since she was 3000 miles away and in a completely different climate than mine.  For example, she called me in January that first year to remind me that it was pruning time.  I tried to make her understand that roses in Virginia are often under snow in January, and we have to wait until March or April to prune.

My grandmother, c. 1930

My husband and I lived in that house for four years and the roses survived, though they were never beautiful.  At our second house, a new, larger house with a similar south-facing wall, I again planted another row of Hybrid Tea roses in the blazing sun in unimproved, back-fill soil ... having obviously not learned anything from the suffering of my original roses.  These roses (Angel Face, Peace, Tropicana, Chrysler Imperial ... or was it Mr. Lincoln ... and others) suffered even more than my first ones did.  I dubbed them "The Mangy Roses", a name that stuck and it accurately describes their pathetic appearance and unhealthy condition.

Mr. Lincoln, growing beautifully in a friend's garden.

One afternoon, fed up with the struggle I went through to try to grow decent roses, I decided that they looked awful because I COULDN'T grow roses.  In a fit of frustration, I dug them all up and tossed them into the back of The Husband's truck, and he drove them to the dump for me.  While he was waiting for his turn to dispose of his load, a woman came over and asked if he was throwing those roses away ... if so, could she have them.  He agreed, of course.  The Mangy Roses were transferred from his truck to hers, and I have often consoled myself with the thought they undoubtedly had a better life with her than they ever could have had with me.

'Chicago Peace' in my current garden -- not mangy at all, now that I know how to make it happy.

Most of the yard at that house, in its wooded neighborhood with mature trees, was quite shady.  My urge to garden was strong, so I learned which plants thrived in that shade and I created a shade garden that I was very proud of.  The rest of the yard developed beautifully, but I never could get anything to survive in the spot were the roses had been.

House #2.  I took this photo the day the For Sale sign went into the yard.

Our next house was also in a wooded neighborhood, with sunny conditions only in the front yard and the driveway.  I made a lovely shade garden in the backyard for my own enjoyment, and put traditional landscaping in the front, as dictated by the over-zealous homeowner's association.  By this time, I was educated in gardening enough to realize that I couldn't force roses to grow where they wouldn't be happy ... a lesson that I have since passed on to others many, many times.  I worked three roses into the design, with 'Blaze', a red climber, on an arch by the front door, Knock Out beside Blaze (a hideous combination, by the way) and 'Verdun', a dark pink Polyantha (my first OLD ROSE) at the end of the sidewalk by the garage.

Verdun

In 2002, I went back to school to study Horticulture.  During the first class, the instructor asked us to introduce ourselves and to describe why we were there and why we were interested in horticulture.  One of the other students introduced herself, explaining that she was a Master Gardener and that she coordinated volunteers at the James Monroe Library in downtown Fredericksburg, and that she was a member of the Fredericksburg Rose Society.  This woman seemed like my kind of person, and I introduced myself during the break.

She and I became friends, and I volunteered many hours at the James Monroe Library, manicuring its small garden and planting ROSES.  One day while we were working, I told her that I liked working with her, but that I COULDN'T grow roses inmy garden.  She laughed at me and said something that I will always remember ... she told me, "If you think you can't grow roses, you are probably trying to grow the wrong ones."  This was all the encouragement I needed.  Under her guidance, the rose garden I have now started that day.

She introduced me to Old Garden Roses, and patiently answered my questions.  We made trips to Sherando Roses (an old-garden rose nursery that was about an hour from here.)  Sherando was a wonderful place, run by a retired teacher who shared his huge love of roses.  I would go see him with a well-researched list of roses which I thought would be perfect for my garden.  He would take my list, nod and concur with some of the choices, and he would poo-poo other choices, saying, "You don't want this one.  Let me show you ...".  He would lead me to the garden to show me his alternative to my choice, which always turned out to be better than what I thought I originally wanted.

Sherando's gazebo -- where I spent many hours talking roses.

By this time, we owned this old house we live now, but we didn't live here ... I was working full-time on the renovation.  This house is my dream house, and its property has fertile soil with nine acres of sunshine that is perfect for growing roses.  I didn't have time for much gardening then ... I had more pressing things to do, like paint stripping, masonry, plaster, roofing, and a full kitchen remodel to deal with. 

This is me sanding the family room mantel.  The hose comiing from the sander is attached to my shop vacuum to collect the dust, so I don't spread the dust around the house ... or into my lungs.  Notice the heat gun and the carbide scraper in the background.

While I was working on this house, and still living in the house with the shady yard, the roses I was buying from Sherando lived in pots in our driveway ... waiting for the day that I could plant them in gardens at my dream house.  The driveway had great sun, and easy access to the hose.  By the end of 2003, I had a virtual hedge of large pots of roses in a double row that stretched most of the way down the driveway, forming a hedge between our property and that of our neighbor.  Our neighbor loved the view from her side, because she had the sunny south side of the 'hedge' where the most flowers always were.

My fascination with roses grew at a lighting pace as work on the renovation progressed, and my roses-in-pots garden numbered about 60 inhabitants by the end of 2004.  Our renovation was supposed to be finished enough for us to move by summer 2005, and it seemed perfectly within our ability to move this many roses, continue to care for them in their pots, and plant them in gardens that were yet to be designed.  As is common with renovations, this one encountered obstacles and took longer than planned.  We were finally able to leave our former house and move into this one in October 2007 ... and, according to my database, I had 138 roses in pots in the driveway at the time.

It took three trips with The Husband's truck to move all the roses from our old house to this house.

It was during this time that I discovered online rose discussion forums, and it was very rewarding to 'converse' with folks with similar interests from all over the world.  This is how I found my friend Robert.  He and I 'met' on GardenWeb's Antique Roses Forum.  We corresponded and we realized that we lived only about an hour away from one another.  Another Forum friend (who I also had never met in person) mentioned that she was planning to visit Robert and his garden.  I sent her a message, asking if she'd like company for the trip.  Picture this ... two women, who had never met each other in person before, driving to spend the day with a man neither of them had ever seen.  Before you get all excited about this seemingly dangerous situation, let me tell you that Robert's name is unique enough that I checked him out pretty thoroughly online, and I satisfied myself that he wouldn't turn out to be an axe murderer.

The Rose Tunnel in Robert's garden, in full bloom in May.

Robert and I liked each other instantly (he calls it love at first sight), and our friendship has grown to be something that I treasure ... as trite as that sounds.  It's about a LOT more than just roses, but it all began by sharing our love of roses that afternoon in his garden.

'Leontine Gervais', my favorite rambler, in Robert's garden.

In 2008, Sherando Roses closed.  This hit me hard, because it meant the loss of the only Old Rose nursery within hundreds of miles of here.  Robert and I were talking one day afterward, wondering what we would do without Sherando.  Robert encouraged me to follow my dream, and open my OWN nursery.  He said that this wild-hare idea of mine wasn't nearly as crazy as it seemed.  He assured me that I would be good at it, and he told me he would help in any way he could.  He is my Number One hole digger, a great listener, and a dangerous person to go to a nursery with ... I wish I had a picture of what it looked like one afternoon when we stuffed his BMW completely full of plants.

Once I committed to starting the nursery, I threw myself into collecting roses at a dizzying pace.  I hadn't planned to add so many roses to my collection so quickly, but circumstances presented themselves and it seemed like I had little choice but to roll with the opportunities as they came.  Three of my favorite mail-order nurseries closed in 2008 and 2009, potentially taking with them the commercial availability of the rare and unusual roses in their inventories.  I felt that I couldn't let this happen, so I went on a HUGE rose buying streak to collect any of the roses these nurseries sold that I wanted to have here.  According to my database, in the two year period between January 2008 and December 2009, I added more than 650 different roses to my collection! 

Roses waiting for spots in the garden, living in pots in the driveway, in August 2008.  Forgive the blurry, through the window screen view.

This is what it looked like at ground level.

Opening this nursery has brought many friends into my life.  Some have come as customers, visiting the gardens here in season and sharing their love of roses.  Others were online Forum friends that have become real, flesh-and-blood friends ... much like the blog friends that I now cherish.

Blurry photo of Jim and Robert and me.

I cannot separate my relationship with roses from my membership in Rose Societies.  I attended my first Rose Society meeting in 2002, with my friend from Horticulture class, and I discovered that Rose Societies aren't at all what I thought they would be.  I imagined a group of straight-laced, white-glove-wearing, tea party ladies ... no men allowed.  Things USED to be like this long ago, I am told, but it is not at all like this today.  Rose Societies are full of generous rose growers, who want to do whatever they can to help members (and anyone else) GROW BETTER ROSES.  Monthly meetings are important because personal IN PERSON contact is the best way I have found to learn.  Experienced members mentor beginners, often sparking lifelong friendships.

Frenzied preparation in the staging area at the 2009 Colonial District Rose Show.

My dear rose friend, Rick, came into my life as a fellow Rose Society member.  He and I see eye to eye on a lot of things, and I can always count on his advice when I need it.  (I introduced you to Rick's garden in THIS post.) 

That's Rick, second from the left, judging the rose show.

As I delivered my talk at the Christmas Luncheon, and I told of my experience, I think I got my point accross.  Roses mean a lot more to me than their role as flowers in the garden.  Roses have followed me in one way or another for my entire adult life.  Sometimes I was struggling with them, or longing for them, or (now) thoroughly immersed in them.  Roses have taken me to places I didn't know about, and have brought me friends I can't imagine being without.