I remember Mam-Maw Sarah's beautiful garden with yellow roses that grew on a fence just around the corner from her hydrangeas. Her hydrangeas were deep purple and blue when all the neighbors' hydrangeas were pink. I remember how striking the yellow roses were when placed in bouquets with the hydrangeas. Each bouquet was carefully cut for special placement in the country church for Sunday worship. She loved the outdoors, and we often talked about gardening. She explained that the rose loved the sun, but the hydrangea preferred the semi-shade provided by the white clap-board house. Even today I remember and use this valuable gardening advice.

My earliest memories of gardening and roses started on the courthouse steps in a small East Tennessee town. Always dressed in a dark blue suit with a crisp, white shirt and dark red tie with strong hands that belied his profession, my grandfather sometimes included me in his visits to the country courthouse where he visited with his fellow attorney friends on the courthouse steps. Most of the talk revolved around gardening, not law. I must have been an odd companion, trailing along listening for bits of wisdom.

I often heard my grandfather remark, "She's been gardening with me since she was knee-high to a grasshopper." Then he would trail off on some yarn about how just this morning I had insisted that he prepare a peanut butter sandwich for a bawling calf just weaned from its mother. It's funny you remember things like that and how memories influence you in your life. I must have been two to four then. I still have a soft spot for animals and peanut butter sandwiches, and I have been gardening ever since.

My mother's garden was filled with beautiful flowers, often towering over my head: hollyhocks, sunflowers and a fragrant red climbing rose that ran across the carport. A large pink rosebush brightened a sunny corner of our yard with single blooms that reminded me of butterflies. In summer, the garden was filled with birds, bees and small woodland animals. We often had visitors who left with a bit of our garden, and most brought bits of their garden to share with us.

One of my startling childhood memories of roses involved another visit to the country on Mother's Day. On this special day, it was customary to wear a red flower if your mother were living and a white flower if your mother were deceased. I remember the day well. My homemade red and white checked dress, with just a touch of white rick rack, was perfectly pressed, and carefully pinned on the yoke was a fragrant red rose. I remember being so proud of the dress but even more so of the beautiful red rose. Arriving at the country church, I found myself seated next to a small, blonde girl with a slightly wrinkled dress. Pinned on her dress was a white rosebud. Since I had never really seen a white rose before, I remarked to the little girl on how pretty the rose was. The sadness in her eyes touched me as she related that she had recently lost her mother. I will never forget the beautiful white rose and still think of that day when in my garden I see a beautiful white rosebud.

Helping with the family garden, my first love was always the flowers. My favorites were the roses and hydrangeas. Soon with a home of my own and a husband who enjoyed a beautiful garden, my dream of a beautiful garden was within reach, but family and career often left little time for gardening. At every opportunity, I was outside thinking and planning the next wave of color. I started with perennials as I knew they would come back with little effort. My mother and grandmother gave me many pass-along plants including primroses, hollyhocks, fragrant four o'clocks, forget-me-nots, touch-me-nots, Black-eyed Susans and clippings of their roses. Soon, there were bees and butterflies just like the gardens I remembered from my childhood.

When my husband and I took the opportunity to travel and work overseas on a seasonal basis, we would return home with dreams of making our garden like the ones we had visited in New Zealand. These travels started our continuing love affair with roses. In Christchurch, New Zealand, it seemed that every house had a beautiful garden, and nearly all included roses. We were determined to add more roses to our garden. We joined the American Rose Society and started slowly adding roses to the garden.

After becoming successful growing climbing and shrub roses, my interest in growing roses grew, and I accepted an invitation to attend a Tennessee Rose Society meeting. This was the missing link to growing good roses. Their advice and support on a local level was invaluable. I became a member, and each meeting attended brought more and more knowledge. By incorporating better garden care and practices, our garden was rewarded with an even better display of flowers. Amending the soil with organics, our beds were soon filled with fertile, well drained soil. We were beginning to grow good roses, and the rose culture made me an even better gardener.

Becoming brave enough to enter a rose show, my husband and I attended the Tenarky District Competition and Rose Show in Chattanooga. We had clipped our best roses and were very proud of them. Each danced in its own Coke bottle, carefully filled with water and placed back into the Coke cartons for safe carriage.

As we started preparing our entries, I was surprised at how quickly the time had passed. When I noticed the lost look on my husband's face, I smiled and said, "Pick any rose and enter it," as I placed the show schedule in his hands, "We can figure this out," I continued. I watched as he selected a beautiful 'Veterans' Honor' and proceeded to place it in a frame. His large hands fumbled with the beautiful rose. As I continued with the entries, I noticed that Jeff Garrett of Chattanooga and Jim Preston of Louisville had become aware of his plight and casually offered framing advice. We won our first Blue Ribbon that day for Best in a Frame, made new friends and my husband now enjoys the competition offered by rose shows.

I also remember clerking that day for a group of judges that included a distinguished man who reminded me of my grandfather — same dark blue suit, crisp white shirt and dark red tie, but this time the tie featured roses. The strong hands were the same — those of a gardener.

Upon introduction, I learned his name was Ted Mills. Was this Ted Mills, founder of Mills Magic Mix or Ted Mills who writes for the American Rose? My curiosity got the better of me, and I whispered an inquiry to my fellow clerk. "Both," she replied as she smiled.

I wanted to tell him that I had been reading his column in the American Rose for years. I always flip to the back to read his article first because I know there will be valuable information that I can use in our rose garden. I wanted to tell him how my roses loved the Mills Magic Mix and how there were a lot more earthworms now. I wanted to tell him how his words of wisdom often just pop into my head as I work in my rose garden such as:

  • "Keep your rosebeds hospital clean."
  • "Work to improve your soil by adding organics."
  • "Never leave watering to chance."
  • "Roses are ravenous eaters. Provide a steady diet of nutritious food."
  • "Spray regularly."
  • "Organize your rose growing operations."
  • "Be serious about your hobby."
  • "Try, try again."
  • "Involve others in your wonderful hobby."

But this was not the time for these discussions. Judging was beginning. Again I found myself trailing behind a distinguished man, listening for bits of wisdom. Suddenly, I was a young child again and all those childhood memories came flooding back.

It seems that roses have always been with us in our gardens and our art, and it's only fitting that they invoke such strong memories. Roses are indeed special and have a remarkable ability to create memories, especially when shared with others.