By Maryanna Gabriel
I'm not sure what people thought when I displayed the variety of roses from the garden that I had for my Christmas table. They go kind of quiet. So the other day when I saw him, I didn't hesitate as I hung from the balcony and called out his name. I'm not sure what I said next, but he strode up the drive. I organized and rushed down to meet him.
This was the master architect - a gardener of true greatness. The man who plants mere sticks and blossoms flourish. He is the Rose Whisper with extraordinary talent, not just for the plantings, but also for the architecture as to how they are placed, given what blooms with each season. And lucky for me we both share a deep love of peonies...
My greatest worry was how to prune. What was his opinion of what I had managed thus far? I got a nod of approval as he strolled and listed off the latin names as though he mumbles them in his sleep. We talked about the heat, the water, and the soil conditions, and I could tell he was astonished that the daffodils were inches up. As is the garlic. While many in the country are under snow, it feels like spring on the Gulf Islands.
He was missing the garden, he told me. I was fortunate enough to have purchased it when I did. I'm not sure the visit helped him. But it did me. And now I am pressed to finish the pruning. So many roses.... so little time.
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The Rose Whisper's crowning glory in the center of things. |