Mary-my wife

character write on her personality..

Mary-my wife

She loves roses.The old style that resemble a posie and smell so delicious ,I believe they are referred to as Antique for their lineage.

They are the result of gathering the bushes and stems from abandoned structures and their gardens where they once grew in profusion.now the edifice is long gone, perhaps a board or foundation stone may linger, but not much else marks the place.

But the roses and smells are,  as you close your eyes and imagine, still there in that bygone world and linger as the ghosts of the time long ago when they were the center of a township or homestead.

I'm preparing a rose garden for Mary,  around the east end of the side porch.

I scoop the handfuls of rich earth into the stone edged bed and layer in the peat mulch and bone meal and cows blood,  dried…for these will be the rich red roses of her desire.

I reach over and take the newspaper wrapped cuttings and clip them freshly ‘neath the leaf buds and strip the leaves from the stalks and press them deeply into the soil to crowd each other for the moisture in order to root them all.

Ah spring and the cool nights and the warm approaching suns vagabond summer days...ideal to coax the root nodes to growing.

 

Needing something else to do besides weeding…I stand to straighten my aching back and unwind the kinks. Now for the remainder of the bed I believe that some baby’s breath,  clematis  are appropriate and something leafy and green like chicks and hen  or wandering -jew  even.

Time to water in the plantings the morning glories and vines, star jasmine and even a succulent or two. I would love to return here later but for now, I have water-pouring duties at several other locations. Upon the earth around the well in order for the saturated soil to begin to hold the springs, I was endeavoring to start and maintain. Walking from the well by the spring with liter cup in hand I journey over to the squash beds and drip the roots with their daily rooting sprinkle, adding to the few rooting vegetable beds and ensuring starters to transplant a little while along begin to weed the beds from zuchinnni to tomatoes and beans.

Reviews

[Robert Guttersohn]

Also I enjoy your prose. I forgot to add that.

[Robert Guttersohn]

This, to me, was the most enjoyable to read. I guess there is no greater sign of love from a provider than to plant a garden for his lover. It reads like a post-apocalyptic Grapes of Wrath almost.

[Tate Morgan]

So nice to see that you water the seeds of memory I liked this It took me there and for that I commend you

[Chris]

Of course I started here and am reading in... silly me.

Chris

[Morrigan Nicole]

sweet. my mother used to plant rosebushes. we had many surrounding our house. They were yellow, and gold, red, orange, pink, and white. they grew to the heavens almost, very beautiful. though i never liked roses, when we moved from our old house a while back, and visited a few months age, all the bushes were dead. dried up and crumpled. shockingly, the sight brough tears to my eyes, because those roses grew from my mother's love and care. when they started to wilt, my mother got sick. she was sick before, but now it is really bad. :( .....
i looked close upon the ground, and under all the brown grass, i saw the beginning of a rose bush, sprouting amidst the all that death and sorrow.
since then. i have always loved roses. this chapter reminds me strongly of mom working in her garden, humming or smiling.
something that is rarely seen these days. and strangely it gives me hope. :)
keep writing, my friend!
-Morrigan Nicole

[An Ordinary Woman]

Aw that's very sweet and thoughtful. Your a wonderful husband, very thoughtful and caring. Myself, I haven't had luck with roses. Not one single rose planted by yours truly made it through. I'm a passionflower woman...Those, I have luck with. :)

[Marie Harrison]

Such labor for your true love.
Dedicated husband.