The roses are already starting to wither, only days after they bloomed; life
is short. I am no gardener, though I do like flowers just fine. It's that
these roses are kind of special to me, in that they date back well over a
century. They originally belonged to my great-grandmother in Gainesville, GA,
going back to the late 19th century (whether they actually predated her, I do
not know). When my great-grandmother died in 1967, my grandmother—my mom's
mom—transplanted them to her place, also in Gainesville, where they thrived
for the duration of my grandparents' lifetimes. After my grandmother died in
1988, my mom transplanted them to our house here in Virginia, where they have
lived ever since. And after Mom left us in 2020, these roses have bloomed
every year. I rather hope they will thrive even after I am gone.
