A Few Firsts, Especially Quietness

Following a jerky spring of late frosts, a few roses are tentatively beginning to bloom in our garden.

I cannot enough express the pleasure Quietness affords. As the first blooms finally begin to open, I fall in love anew with this romantically exquisite beauty.

The pure, cool coloration of Quietness wanders softly among pale pinks and creamy apricots.

Her petals throw the sunlight back to me in a joyous celebration of the morning.

Quietness remains unmarred by the ravages of nature that target pale flowers. Thrips and grasshoppers seem to be kept at bay by a reverent awe of  her beauty. Even the blazing sun refuses to allow her delicate color to fade.

Our ancient Zepherine Drouhin seems surprised and glad to find herself alive for another summer.

Peace tests the summer hesitantly. This blossom reminds me of a shy over sized child wishing to be included in the fun.

The first of the climbing America blooms seeks the protection of foliage until certain that summer has arrived.

This mini has such classic form. It reminds me of my florist days, when  roses of this color and shape were sought by many a hopeful suitor. He'd carry it carefully out of  the shop, wrapped up in green paper with a piece of ribbon, nestled among a piece of leather leaf and a spring of baby's breath, to conquer the heart of some fair maiden.

(You may click to enlarge the above photos.)

Miniature and Mini-Flora Roses That I Love

Sunny miniature roses are bright spots in our garden.

An unnamed yellow Parade mini

The first to begin blooming and the last of the season to quit, minis delight us anew each year. The series of late spring frosts has slowed down all the other roses in the garden, but the minis surge ahead and reward us with clusters of happy blossoms.

Flawless

Flawless is our new miniflora from Heirloom this spring. Already it is displaying its long pointed buds and breaking into fragrant, beautifully formed flowers. I adore the color. It is planted in front of Dream Weaver, which produces ruffled clusters of salmon pink roses to create a harmonious blending with Flawless.

Rugged minis in the front rock garden 

Grocery store minis from a decade or more ago

The grocery store minis above are as tough as the petrified wood lining their bed.

A chance seedling

I love the red flares on the chance seedling's flowers. I hope it becomes a robust, floriferous rose bush.

I was happy to note that our chance seedling made it through the winter and is about to bloom. It produced one or two pale yellow blooms last year. We'll see what this year brings.

White rose from last year's cutting project

The above white mini was planted last spring from the previous winter's cuttings. It made it through our nasty winter and is blooming away in its permanent garden home.

The mother of the white mini cuttings

The original is a grocery store plant from more than a decade ago. It's still healthy and productive in the front bed.

Moonlight Scentsation

Moonlight Scentsation is not as robust as Flawless yet. It is from the same spring Heirloom order. It's trying very hard to please!

Overnight Scentsation is fragrant and lovely. The two I planted from Heirloom this spring are now blooming.

They are in small round beds that are next to each other, along with dianthus, some burgundy minis from Trader Joes, and Starlight Express Oriental lilies. The fragrance is divine!

You may click to enlarge the above photos

Peonies ~ Extravagant, Fleeting and Wonderful

A peony bud tightly holds her promise as long as she possibly can. It seems a long wait.

Finally deigning to begin breaking, she whispers lightly.

Now she senses the sunlight, deciding that perhaps it is a good thing.

 Still shy, but coming inexorably out of her awkward stage

Sarah Bernhardt has come into her own.

Old-fashioned, perhaps, but there is no time restraint on the fulfilling pleasure afforded by the classically lovely Sarah Bernhardt peony. She is as beautiful as her namesake.

 Bowl of Beauty is bright and happy.

A charming flower.

My young bush struggled to produce a few, fast-fading flowers for us this year.

You may click to enlarge the above photos.

Clematis Madame Julia Correvon

Clamatis viticella 'Madame Julia Correvon' is performing well in her first full season in our garden.

We purchased two at the end of the season last year on sale. 

Into the ground from their 3 gallon buckets, our Madames Julia must have settled right in last year, since they are blooming wonderfully this year after an early spring pruning of the entire plant.

They are planted at the long fence in the back yard, with Pink Lemonade honeysuckle and our 4 new Aloah roses. The fence has a south exposure, and is buffeted by the prevailing winds, so I was not sure how clematis would do. She must be one tough lady! I love the color; like the wine-red sea, and just as tempest-tossed.

Our second Madam Julia Correvon is growing at the end of the fence near the gate.

Flowers in the Spring Light

Helianthemum St. Mary

Clear sunlight penetrating the delicate tissue of all kinds of petals illuminates the garden.

Columbine

The humblest of flowers shine brilliantly in spring sunshine. Drawn from our winter habitats, we peer into these miracles of color and light with our eyes and camera lenses.

Clematis H.F. Young growing up through Jeanne laJoie

Clematis H.F.  Young on the brink of opening to embrace the sun and sky

The ever-changing patterns of color and light are an eternal source of fascination in every garden.

A Pink Lemonade Honeysuckle bud is generating its own energy

Bright, happy pansies are always welcome

The Sedona Rose

Sedona

I snapped this photo of the Sedona rose at a home center nursery in, appropriately, Sedona, Arizona last week. It is outstandingly bright orange, with a light scent. Sedona (the rose) was introduced by Jackson and Perkins last year. It was offered as a potted 2 gallon plant in the nursery through Weeks Roses. Sedona (the town) is famous for its red rocks.

From January, 2011, Sunset at Boynton Canyon area, Sedona, AZ

From January, 2011, Boynton Canyon area, Sedona, AZ, a mule deer is more indignant than surprised at our passing car.

The rocks in Sedona truly are RED, glowing in the sunset, brooding in the twilight, with changing variations throughout the day. Sedona is in Sunset zone 10, a dry climate with a fairly long growing season and enough winter chill for bulbs, stone fruits and lilacs. Sedona provides a very nice gardening climate for desert-lovers.

Grayback Mountain dominates the views in West Sedona, along with Italian cypress and the ubiquitous photina bushes .

I think that the Sedona rose is well named for this lovely, colorful place. 

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Until the Roses Begin to Bloom

The color of morning in our garden offers a soothing refreshment. 

It seems a long wait for the first of the roses to bloom. Many blogs I follow have displayed tantalizing photos of full, glorious flushes. In the meantime, I am trying to keep out of the wind and dust, and content myself with what is.

Creeping phlox and candytuft are doing their mightiest to bloom before they are upstaged by the roses

April 10, 2011, the last of  the rooted cuttings are bravely inuring themselves to our capricious spring weather.

The last of the rooted cuttings are now in the ground. The minis rooted well. A family emergency in the middle of potting up the rooted cuttings resulted in carelessness on my part, and several  labels got lost. I know there are white and pink minis, and a Double Delight or two. 

A pink mini from a rooted cutting keeping the Pink Lemonade honeysuckle company.

Mystery, perhaps Double Delight?

The roses are all planted, even the ones ordered from Chamblees and Heirloom. All have had frost-nip several times, but are carrying on with grim determination.

Seminole Wind from Chamblees

Moonlight Scentsation, a fragrant miniflora from Heirloom

One of 3 Peggy Martin roses, from Chamblees.

Overnight Scentsation, a fragrant miniflora from Heirloom.

The tiny new growth on all the new roses is encouraging. Roses are miracle workers; from the smallest little stick will grow a new blooming bush, holding its own by the season's end. Eden means pleasure, and there certainly is Edenic pleasure in the humblest of gardens.

You may click to enlarge the above photos