Lambert Closse

'Lambert Closse'

Along with 'John Cabot', another new rose to my garden that will have to "grow" to gain my full favor is the pink shrub rose 'Lambert Closse', another of the Explorer Series roses from Ag Canada.  'Lambert Closse' was introduced in 1995 (or 1994 depending on where you read about it) at l'Assomption in Quebec.  He has been in my garden only 2 years, but is already a gangly lad with sparse canes sprawling almost to 5 feet tall.

ProfessorRoush said "sparse canes", but I really should have said "cane", as in the singular form.   My specimen had an odd first growth year, putting up several weak spindly canes, and then a single long thick cane that had me worried it was a sucker from a nearby 'Dr. Huey' plant.  This year, however 2-3 other healthy canes are sprouting from the base and starting to catch up to last year's prodigy.  

'Lambert Closse' (formerly Ottawa 'U33') was a cross of bright yellow Floribunda 'Arthur  Bell' (McGredy, 1959) with pink and the vigorous Canadian semi-climber 'John Davis', an odd match if ever there was one.  The result, against all odds, is a very double flower of the clearest medium pink, borne in loose clusters and a bush reportedly hardy to Zone 3 (I saw the rose lose about 6 inches on its canes this winter here in Kansas).  'Lambert Closse' has glossy, healthy foliage and bears nonremarkable hips in Fall and Winter.

Bred by Dr. Ian S. Ogilvie and Dr. Felicitas Svejda in 1983, 'Lambert Closse' is named for a French merchant, Raphaël Lambert Closse (1618-1662), who made a name for himself fighting the Iroquois and first met his wife, Elisabeth Moyen, while rescuing her from them in 1657.  He was ultimately killed by the Iroquois only 5 years later, so we will leave judgement of the true quality of his tactical military skills to the historians.  

'Lambert Closse' open

So how do I really feel about 'Lambert Closse', the rose?   Well, he grew bigger than I expected (it is officially listed to be 0.85m tall, so much shorter than it grows for me), and the bush is more like an ugly Modern Rose than an attractive vase-form or rounded shrub.  The initially chaste tea-form buds open too quickly for my taste, in a day, to a flat form with yellow stamens.  And I probably won't like the "occasional repeat" that is reported for this rose, although some sources say it blooms continually from June through September when it is mature.  But I love the color, which doesn't "blue" on wetter, colder days, and the foliage has no blackspot or mildew here.  So, it stays.  For now.  

Grow Gallicas!

'The Apothecary's Rose'

While ProfessorRoush is illustrating neglected roses and exposing his failure as an attentive gardener, he must take a moment to bring attention to a pair of true Old Garden Roses, the venerable 'Officinalis' and 'Charles de Mills', both of the ancient Gallica class.  I feel like I repeatedly overlook the beauty and bounty of both these old friends and horribly undercare for them.  Even roses that grow carefree and never seem to need care surely deserve some.

'Officinalis'

I grow both of these Old Garden roses, or, more properly, both roses grow in my garden, despite my poor efforts to support them.   I obtained both as suckers from plants in the K-State garden and they continue to spread in my beds as suckers.  Unchecked, unbounded, I merely stay out of their way and give them room, occasionally intervening to remove grass or native nuisances or self-seeded shrubs from their beds.  For instance, in the vicinity of 'Charles de Mills', or actually growing among a clump of 'Charles de Mills', I recently removed a clump of Roughleaf dogwood, a single Hackberry, and a self-seeded Purple Smoke Tree.

'Officinalis'

The Apothecary's Rose, or Rosa Gallica Officinalis, is a true ancient rose, known prior to 1160.  The "hot pink" color of this rose, without any blue tints in the just opened buds, is one of my favorite "wildling" roses.   Like many Gallica roses, 'Officinalis' is a low-growing, spreading by suckers, rose, and I refer to her as a wildling because she grows wherever she wants to, needing no help from me to proliferate and sometimes hiding and then popping up in unexpected places.  

She only displays these sparsely-petaled semidouble blooms once a year, but this is one of the few roses I can smell from 10 feet away when she blooms.  She's very hardy here, and somewhat shade tolerant, but, like many Gallicas, I have to watch her matte foliage for powdery mildew in most weather and skeletonizing rose slugs in the late Spring.

'Officinalis'

I allow 'Officinalis' to spread as she will over a berm in one bed and beneath some viburnums in another area.  Right now, she's brightening both areas, taking over the stage from 'Harison's Yellow'.   Thankfully, those two roses bloom at different times, otherwise they would clash terribly on the berm site.

'Charles de Mills'

I have another similarly-spreading, low-growing Gallica in my beds, also fragrant and prone to mildew and rose slugs, but the similarity of 'Charles de Mills' to 'Officinalis' ends when they bloom.  The foliage is similar, 'CDM' perhaps having  slightly darker green leaves of a rougher texture, but it bears fully double blooms in a mauve-pink-purple-putrid color with petals that are lighter one the underside. Those unique blooms must be one reason for its nom de guerre 'Bizarre Triomphante', another ancient name for this rose.   Sometimes, those blooms appear like they were cut with a cleaver, they're so smooth and flat, and they darken with age rather than fade.    

'Bizarre Triomphante'

'Charles de Mills' is also an old rose, known prior to 1786, and it's 4 inch wide blooms are slightly larger than the 3-inch blooms of 'Officinalis' and larger than 'Cardinal de Richelieu' another Gallica in my garden.  'Charles de Mills' only reaches knee-high in my garden, but he is a stalwart lad, dependable even in wet weather.  He always looks a little rough to me in this bed, however, a gentleman and a scoundrel all at the same time. 

"Grow Gallicas!" should be a rallying cry of all rose-lovers who want to free themselves from the tyranny of tending to effete modern roses.  You heard it here, again, if not for the first time.

Secrets in Transition

ProfessorRoush has been harboring a secret for over a month now, but I'm too excited to keep it any longer.  If I pass it on, do you promise not to tell?  Swear? Pinky swear?  Cross your heart and hope to die? Stick a needle in....oh, whatever?   I just have to tell it anyway or I'll burst.

Recognize the rose pictured at the top right?   That's 'Lillian Gibson', in all her moods and phases from bud to petal fall.   I've written about her before here, and here, but as a mature lady this year, at 14 years old in my garden, she's still completely gorgeous.  And believe it or not, the weed-choked, neglected orphan  pictured on the left, as captured in a snapshot on 5/18/2025, one month after she started blooming, is the worst she has looked in 10 years!  If you only knew what she has survived in the last two years to get here: a random trimming this Spring to keep her from sprawling over the grass and an adjacent fire last year to burn out a pack rat nest in the clematis next to her.  Iron-clad, she has also been steadfast through winter ice storms and summer droughts, survived Japanese Beetles, and seems to be completely resistant to blackspot, mildew, and Rose Rosette Disease.

05/04/2025

Anyway, my secret is that while I was randomly hacking away at this vigorous but almost-thornless rose, I potted up some of the hardwood to try to propagate it.  I'm terrible at propagation, so I made eleven pots, some with three trimmings, hoping I could get at least one survivor.  At one week, on May 4th, in a sunny basement window, completely enclosed in a large clear tub to maintain humidity, the 11 pots looked promising to my eyes and in the photo to the right.   

To my eternal delight and astonishment, at 4 weeks post-potting, on May 22nd, they've all rooted and put out new growth!  The few yellow leaves are warning me they need sunshine and more fresh air if they're going to make it.    We've still got a long way to go, these little rose children and I, because I've tried and failed miserably before, with this exact rose, among others.  I started the transition to less humidity yesterday by slowly decreasing the lid coverage, and, if all goes well, next week I'll transplant them into large pots and move them outdoors under a tree with dappled shade.  

05/23/2025

'Lillian Gibson' 05/08/2025

If they survive to September, I'll provide one to the K-State Garden and others to friends, anyone in my sphere who has room for an 8 foot wide sprawling semi-climber, and I'll plant another one or two myself here for "insurance."  I'm helping preserve history here by prorogating this historic Hybrid Blanda rose, introduced in 1938 by Neils Ebbesen Hansen.  Besides, 'Lillian Gibson' has become my nearly favorite rose and I never want to chance losing her myself!   

Canadian John Cabot

I do have a few "new" roses to share this year; roses that have survived a couple of winter seasons and seem to be reaching their mature growth.   I placed the "new" in quotes because they are new roses to me, but, of course, have been commercially available for some time.

It is my pleasure to introduce you to 'John Cabot', introduced by Ag Canada in 1977 according to helpmefind/roses, although other sources say its introduction was in 1978).  Bred by Dr. Felicitas Svejda in 1969, this rose was named after an Italian navigator and explorer (his English name was John Cabot, but he was known as Giovanni Caboto in Italy), who, in 1497, crossed the formidable Atlantic Ocean to the New World and was the first European to reach Newfoundland since the Vikings.

The 'John Cabot' of my acquaintance is a gangly, thorny, sprawling mass of a rose, with some disheveled pink-red blossoms that open quickly to their 3-inch diameter forms in clusters on short stems.  Many petals have a central white streak and, in that way, the rose reminds me of a smaller 'William Baffin'.   Although described to have "mild fragrance" in the entry by helpmefind/roses, I detect no hint of fragrance in the flowers of my specimen.  My 'John Cabot' only bloomed once last year, in June, although it is said to have sporadic rebloom in late summer.  

A Hybrid Kordesii, 'John Cabot' ((Rosa kordesii Wulff x (Masquerade x Rosa laxa)) is said to be hardy to Zone 2B.   He certainly is solidly cane-hardy in winter here in Zone 5, with absolutely no dieback in the past two seasons. and has suffered no blackspot or mildew on his light green, matte foliage. He is also growing in a site where I lost the rambler 'America' to Rose Rosette Disease, but shows no signs of that monstrous disease yet.  At three years of age in my garden, the arching canes top out around 5 feet tall, and the rose has a tendency to grab whatever is passing by. 

In Hardy Roses, Robert Osborne stated that 'John Cabot' is "one of the most important new roses for northern gardens" and that he first saw it labeled as "seedling L07."  Released as a climber, I will prune and grow it as a shrub and try my best to keep it looking less "wild."  

If, as you read this blog entry, you feel that I'm not that fond of 'John Cabot', you are correct.  While I don't despise the rose, it has few exceptional qualities for me to favor.   It IS hardy, healthy, and needs little nurturing to provide a bounty of color in its season, however, so it has earned my attention in the garden, and, as you can see on the right photo taken just after sunrise last Friday, its jarring bright pink color makes it a standout even on a cloudy day.  

Yellow World Domination

This week is the peak bloom of Hybrid Rosa spinosissima 'Harison's Yellow' on my "rose berm", the latter a slightly-raised (domed to about 2 feet high) area of transplanted soil that was a birthday gift from my mother in the early days of my garden.  According to my notes, it was planted there in 2003 from a sucker of another earlier transplant from my first garden in town.  'Harison's Yellow' is easy to root from suckers, at least if you treat it right, although my early attempts to gain "wild" suckers of this rose were failures.  I'm trying not to wonder if those previous failures reflect on my talents as a gardener.

Honestly, who could want, or even dream, of a sunnier or more vibrant yellow rose, bright in the shadows and brilliant, nearly eye-searing, in full sunlight?  The blossoms are nearly perfect, never fading until the petals fall to the ground,  unblemished by rain earlier this week, and each with fragrance to rival the finest efforts of professional perfumers.  In case you're wondering, "perfumer" is the correct English term for such experts in fragrances, and it is so much more appealing than the French term, "Nez" (nose).  

If 'Harison's Yellow' has a flaw, a snag in its character, it is its quest for garden, or perhaps even world domination.   Although I found it difficult to transplant in my first few attempts, it suckers and spreads just fine if left to its own merits, crowding out less vigorous plants to form a vast impenetrable hedge if you allow it.  In this bed, it has, over time, smothered a 'Souvenir de Philémon Cochet' and, more recently, an 'Adelaide Hoodless', and currently it has a young 'Roseraie de l'Haÿ' surrounded and threatened.

This, a view from the other side of the berm, better shows its unchecked spread, the mass of the previous photo extending out of the picture to the right.  Four feet high, thorny and straggly and sparsely-leafed this early in the summer, at times it seems that only a true rose-aficionado could really love it.  The bush is crude and its manners are rude, but then it blooms and all is forgiven.

But, I ask, why not (love it)?  It's extremely winter hardy, drought-resistant, and the hailstorm, just 6 days ago, pictured at left, didn't seem to damage it at all.   'Harison's Yellow' was first blooming on April 23rd this year and now, over 10 days later, it is the eye-catching focal point of my garden.  Really, who cares if it takes over the world and drapes the hills with yellow?  Not me, not at this moment.   There's no room in my world for any other rose than 'Harison's Yellow', at least for now, and it can grow anywhere it chooses.  I can move the 'Roseraie de l'Hay' if it isn't up to the fight!  

Red Roses and PinCushions

'Red Cascade'

 This week's lawn scalping, while always a chore and most especially during our "rainy season" when ProfessorRoush feels obligated to mow the entire yard at weekly intervals, had its pleasantries still as the rose are fading and other flowers come on to fill the borders with color.   Two of the "reds", vivid red roses, caught my eye particularly, one by itself ('Emily Carr') and one by contrast ('Red Cascade') with a neighboring perennial.  I use the word "contrast" lightly here because a color expert would almost certainly say that the vivid red of 'Red Cascade' and the burgundy of my Knautia macedonica 'Mars Midget' are complimentary hues, not contrasting. 

Knautia macedonica 'Mars Midget'

I apologize for the informality of their impromptu picture here, poised above some yet-to-be-opened bags of mulch, the latter keeping 'Red Cascade' from showing you its cascading river of red down the stone, but I was racing against the sun and heat and not inclined to stop the lawnmower, get off, move the bags, and rearrange 'Red Cascade' to capture it at its best.   A broader picture here also wouldn't show you any more rose, but it would reveal that the Knautia cultivar dominates my front landscape and is trying to escape by self-seeding into the buffalograss.   Sometimes the message is aided by the framing.

I've had this specimen of 'Red Cascade' since 1999, and have written of her before, but in fact she's a transplant from a previous house.  This 1976 introduction by the breeder, Ralph Moore, and his Sequoia Nursery has had ups and downs in my garden, but if I pay it only a little attention, it's an ironclad rose in my Kansas climate, cane-hardy in winter and disease-free in summer.  While the individual blooms are small and unremarkable, the overall effect is one of bounty and beauty, especially when she's at her peak.

I've also written before about 'Emily Carr',

'Emily Carr'

 but I felt I should update you on her survival and presence in my garden.  I obtained 'Emily Carr' in 2019, and she struggled for a couple of years, but now in her 5th season I can affirm her health and winter hardiness with some confidence.  She has always surprised me with her height (canes reaching 5 feet here in a summer) and with the vivid and almost non-fading scarlet of her barely semidouble blooms.  Opening to show golden stamens, the photo at the left shows those blooms in all stages, from unopened to petals falling, beautiful in all phases of her brief showiness.

'Emily Carr'

As a bush, 'Emily Carr' is lanky, and upright, healthy and robust, sending gangly canes up in a solid clump.   She requires no spraying and might exhibit a little blackspot on lower leaves in the most moist of summers.  Right now, fresh from bi-weekly two-inch rains for the past month, you can see she gets a little too much moisture in the clay cauldron of soggy soil at her feet, but she still shows only minimal damage and is returning the welcome rain in a burst of red happiness.  She's a Canadian of late introduction (2007) but a keeper in my garden.

Still Life w/Surprises

There are so many ways to read that title, eh?  "Still Life w/Surprises" merely as the title of a captured moment in art, an assembly of natural things that aren't moving?  Or do we have a "still life" photograph that also has elements that don't belong? Or is the photographer (i.e. ProfessorRoush) trying to say that life still has surprises? Today, it is all of the above.

Take for example the photograph above, a simple iPhone capture last weekend of my back garden bed ringing the house.  In among the debris, the observer can pick out the dried remains of Morning Glory vines, the multiple seed pod remnants from a Baptisia that grows nearby, the rotting pieces of last year's hardwood bulk mulch, and some dried daylily leaves.   All the leftovers of last year's growth desiccated and done, beyond regrowth, it's stored sugars and starches and energy transferred back into root or invested in seed.  And yet, if one looks closely enough, among the shades of brown, gray, black and tan is the green of next year's daffodils, the first sprouts pushing up from the soil in the first week of February, 2023.   Life's promise to go on.

Or, beside this paragraph, the reigning clump of Calamagrostis 'Eldorado', the nicest green and gold form of Feather Reed Grass I can grow.  In a four season climate, every season has its place and value, whether it is the promise of rain with the coming of spring or the sunshine of high summer to provide the energy for food production.   Even winter, at least to a gardener, has value as it exposes the bones of a garden, the structure of a branch or a shrub, yes, but also the interlopers of the garden, vigorous natives and non-natives hell-bent on taking over the space and serenity.   Here, it's the short Eastern Red Cedar, Juniperus virginiana, that grew stealthily last season in front of the grass and right before my eyes, but is de-camouflaged and exposed by the cruel fingers of winter.  I've marked it now, marked it for destruction when I make a first secateur pass during Spring cleanup.

The most exciting display of hidden surprises in my garden, however, is seen in the photograph at the left, a full view of my almost-Jelena Witch Hazel backed up by the massive leavings of a white Crepe Myrtle.  Can you look closely and find it, the surprise jewel among the worn branches?  Look very carefully, look at the base of the Witch Hazel for the surprise here.  Look for red among the brown in the picture at the right and the one below.

Somewhere, somehow, a volunteer rose has sprung up near the Witch Hazel, standing over 7 feet tall and like no other rose in my garden.   This one has the appearance of a short climber at present, nearly thornless, and with delightful red stems.  In my garden, only a few roses, mostly Canadians, have red thorns in winter, foremost among those my multiple bushes of 'Therese Bugnet' but Trashy Therese, who is admittedly prone to sucker, is nowhere near this bed and would have many more thorns.  The canes of Griffith Buck rose 'Iobelle' resemble these in color at the moment, but 'Iobelle' is 40 feet away, only reaches 3 feet tall, and never suckers. 

So, I think I have a seed-derived new rose, planted here by birds as a gift to the gardener, and the excitement is rising in my deep rosarian soul.  Will it survive the remainder of winter, proving its hardiness in this harsh dry and cold climate.  Will it flower this season, white or pink, single or double?   Will it continue to grow, a new climbing rose of my very own?  Will the canes turn red again next season and will it stay nearly thornless or become more thorn-covered as it ages?

These and other questions are why I garden, for the calm of a good life lived with the soil, for the gifts of nature that grow my soul, and for all the surprises out there, in the garden, that keep life interesting.

Please Don't Eat the Pretty Things

Sorry everyone, ProfessorRoush has been absent from the blog a couple of weeks.  I was deserted by Mrs. ProfessorRoush for the first week after she made some weak excuse about needing to hold grandchildren and then promptly left Bella and I to fend for ourselves.  Last week, missing both her cooking and mere presence, and tired of Bella moping around the house, I tracked Mrs. PR down in the wilds of Alaska, spent a few brief days myself holding the grandchildren while being sick alongside everyone else in the family, and then I dragged her back to Kansas.   

No, we didn't get COVID during 19 hours of travel getting there and another 23 hours returning (and yes, all of us tested negative for the virus), but we did catch what seemed to be a plain old common cold from our germ-growing grandchildren, the traditional route to pneumonia and demise for old folks.  Such is the cycle of life, but my little microbe-factory descendants didn't count on grandpa having a robust immune system bolstered by plenty of sunlight and clean living and I survived to garden again.  

'Scabrosa'

Unfortunately, we spent most of our time in the Alaskan territory either in airplanes or cuddling indoors, my journeys outside limited to one short hike, during which we came across the showy specimen of Amanita muscaria pictured at top, delicious in appearance and full of hallucinogens and toxins too numerous to name.   Potentially deadly but beautiful, the internet tells me that this species is likely safe to nibble on if I wanted a different type of trip, but I'm not tempted in the slightest.  Near the Amanita, I was able to capture the more typical Alaskan lakeshore scene above, just to prove to naysayers that I was certainly out of Kansas.   I was, in fact, hiking in the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge, on a short trail near the visitor's center. 

In another brief venture outside the plague house, I was quite happy to find a neglected Rugosa growing by the front steps, pictured above, here, and below, undoubtedly 'Scabrosa' and if it wasn't that variety, it's surely a Rugosa worthy of cultivation.  Those deep magenta single blooms are nearly the size of my hand and look at all the healthy deep-green foliage!  Here near a coastline, in cool temperatures, nearly daily rain, and partial shade and a USDA 4A climate, this rose is completely defiant to the elements.   Hardy is as hardy does, or so an Alaskan Forest Gump might say.

Not even the weird insects crawling all over this bloom seem to disturb it, merely, seemingly, just present to carry pollen from flower to flower.  Drawn here, certainly, by the heavy scent of this rugosa or by the enticing color, they are a bit disturbing at first encounter, somewhat revolting to find amid the golden stamens, but they are likely harmless sycophants of the glorious flower.   Heck, I don't blame them a bit for I'm a Rugosa syncophant as well and one that could, shrunk down to the right size, easily get lost in the majesty of a cluster of these blooms.

We returned yesterday, my reluctant empty-armed bride and I, transported from the 60's of Alaska to a 101ºF day of early August in Kansas and, arriving home, were immediately greeted by this spectacular clump of Naked Ladies Surprise Lilies right out front in their full bare-stemmed glory.   It was so hot that I was afraid that Mrs. ProfessorRoush might want to join in their carefree display so I ushered her into the house before she created any kind of neighborhood gossip.  Anyway, now you know what I've been doing these past two weeks, busy from sunup to sundown, from sneezes and sniffles to nose-wipes to naked ladies.   It's been a good two weeks here in my world.

Beatles Out, Bumbles In

'Snow Pavement'

As ProfessorRoush toured the garden this morning, in the cool beginning of another scorching day, his heart was lightened and his spirits were raised, for the Japanese Beetles were gone.  Gone entirely, without a remnant beetle or frass pile to be found.  I wish that I could claim victory was due to my spraying efforts two weeks back, but even one day post-spray the beetles were everywhere, bulbous and fornicating among the flowers.  I suspect that it's simply the cycle of seasons, the vile creatures have bred and laid eggs and are now gone until July of next year.  

'Foxi Pavement'

In their place, in seeming celebration of their lack of competitors, were bumblebees, healthy and fat and carrying loaded pollen sacks everywhere I looked.   Some of the rugosas, relieved of their beetle battles, were beginning to bloom again, scruffy, crinkled Rugosa blooms to be sure, but beetle-less blooms none-the-less.

'Foxi Pavement'

The bumblebees were on nearly every blossom of  'Snow Pavement' (above, right) and 'Foxi Pavement', above (left) and 'Dwarf Pavement' (below left).   Sometimes they frenetically fought over the blossoms, two or even three bumblebees colliding in their corybantic search for pollen (right).  

'Dwarf Pavement'

This moment, this smidgeon of summer, is why you need to grow the Pavement series rugosas.  Never mind that 'Dwarf Pavement' spreads like it is hellbent on world domination.   Never mind that the blooms of many Rugosa Hybrids wrinkle and fade quickly in the hot sun.   Pavement roses are here now, blooming now while little else dares, present in the moment, while even the daylilies are waning in their defiance of summer's peak.   They're providing food and color and fragrance as the rest of the world wilts without moisture.  Three bumblebee's in the photo at the left all give a "thumb's up" to Rugosas in summer!

'Snow Pavement'

Look at that healthy foliage around the delicate blooms of 'Snow Pavement' (right).  I don't spray for rust or blackspot or mildew, but those rough leaves are spotless and eternal.  They're not chewed to shreds, and the rose slugs and leaf cutters leave them alone.   They just sit out there in the garden, in the middle of 100ºF temps and without moisture for the past month, blooming away for the bees and for me.  They may not be fussy Hybrid Teas, shy and elusive in endless virginal glory, and they may not be Bourbons, spilling over with exquisite fragrance and grace, but they are perfect and beautiful and I welcome their languid lascivious display and their 2nd and 3rd and 4th bloom cycles each and every summer.  Don't you feel the same?

Rosa Emily Carr

'Emily Carr'

Please allow me, in the midst of the late May flush of roses, to begin in the next blog entry or three to introduce you to a few "new" friends.   New, at least, to me, nearly new to my garden, survivors of at least one winter without protection and survivors of my general lack of proper garden attention.

This week, I bring you 'Emily Carr', a refined Canadian lady that I was introduced to in 2019.  She was, at that time, only 12 years past her debutante ball, for 'Emily Carr' was debuted to the world in 2007 (another less-reliable source says 2005) as one of the later introductions of AgCanada.  Bred by Lynn Callicott in 1982, she is a member of the AgCanada 'Canadian Artist Series', the only member of that series that I believe I grow.   Her namesake (12/13/1871 -3/2/1945) was a Canadian Post-Impressionist artist and writer of British Columbia who was inspired by the Northwest Indigenous peoples and the British Columbia landscape.

'Emily Carr', as you can easily see, is a semi-double, bright red bloomer of medium stature and glossy, healthy foliage.   At maturity, she is supposed to become 4 foot tall, although my 3 year old specimen is only 3 feet at present and a pair of posts on Houzz suggest that she goes over 5 1/2 feet in some instances.   She struggled her first two years in my garden, an uncertain survivor of the triple plagues of cold, drought, and deer, but this year she popped up strong and solid, a striking arterial-blood-red scream against the pale pink tones of 'Blush Alba' behind her.   According to helpmefindroses, she is a direct descendant of 'Morden Cardinette' and 'Cuthbert Grant'.   I tried and lost the former, but 'Cuthbert' is a solid, healthy rose for me, slowly ending his own first bloom flush in his 22nd year.  Father to daughter, those deep red genes held strong.

'Emily Carr' is supposed to repeat reliably in flushes, but as she didn't have much of a bloom over her struggling years, I'll have to see what she can do for me this year.   At least she seems to be rose rosette immune, having survived the onslaught of virus in my garden even during her struggles.   I sadly can't detect much in the way of fragrance from her, a disappointment since I've always thought 'Cuthbert Grant' had a decent fragrance here in my garden and he, himself, was a descendant of fragrance legend 'Crimson Glory.'   It's a pity that fragrance can be lost in so few generations if breeders don't pay attention.

One never knows where research on a given subject will lead in these days of Internet bounty.   In this case, my searches for 'Emily Carr' led me down a rabbit hole to the Vineland Research and Innovation Centre and it's "49th Parallel Collection of Roses."   And now I'm left wondering what 'Chinook Sunrise' would look like and how it would perform in Kansas.  A little late to obtain this year, but maybe next year I can find her.

Applejack

Applejack w/ bumblebee

I'm going to describe a rose today, one that has always left me with mixed feelings.  The bumblebee sitting deep in this blossom, however, does not seem to share my ambivalence, so perhaps it is time to give this rose its proper credit and decide that it has a place in my garden.

'Applejack' was one of the first releases of Dr. Griffith Buck, bred before 1962 and introduced by the Iowa Agricultural Experiment Station in 1973.  Although Heirloom Roses nursery describes it as one of Dr. Buck's most popular roses, I fail to understand why.  It is also disconcerting that Heirloom's current online photo of Applejack is not Applejack. 

Applejack grows in my garden as a large, lax bush, with 6-8 foot long canes that drape over neighboring plants, so I can't recommend it in a small garden.  In fact, I've moved it several times myself, although I now actually have two large specimens, the second formed by regrowth from roots left behind at the last move.  And common descriptions of its blossoms, as "large 4-inch semidouble rose-pink blooms with crimson streaks" doesn't really match what I see here in Kansas.  Yes, the first blooms of the season are semi-double and have some mild streaks, but later blooms are 5-petaled and lose their streaks to the summer sun.     

Applejack individual blossoms

Another discrepancy between what I see and what some sources describe is the bloom period of this rose.  Helpmefind/rose.com describes this rose as "blooming in flushes throughout the season," and Peter Beales says it is "very free-flowering."  Iowa State, presumably from Dr. Buck himself, described the rose as "intermittent flowering from late May to killing frost." I find that Applejack has an extremely long first bloom season (now going over 6 weeks), but I rarely have seen bloom later in the season.  And, in fact, many of the member comments about this rose on Helpmefind.com also suggest that they don't see any rebloom.  Is this rose just that variable in bloom depending on its climate or is the great, late Mr. Beales wrong about this one?  I believe that Rogue Valley Roses has it right, describing it as a first bloom of a month or more, "sometimes followed by autumn flowers."  (07/04/2017 addendum;  Well, I was wrong.  My two specimens are fully grown and both have had blooms almost continuously since early May, albeit sparse at best, but they're still there.  I guess this rose does bloom throughout the season, at least once it reaches a mature span.  The photo at the bottom is a photo of one of the bushes on 7/04/2017).

Given my current RRD issues, and the extremes of Kansas weather, I really should make myself focus on the positives of this rose.  It does indeed have a really long first bloom season, and it is extremely hardy here in Kansas and drought-resistant as well. A tough rose, I've never seen blackspot affect it, and so far, the Rose Rosette Disease has left both of my specimens unscathed.  The offspring of 'Goldbusch' and a cross of 'Josef Rothmund' X Rosa laxa, its genes are now spread throughout several lines of roses, chosen for procreation because of its extreme hardiness and disease resistance.  And, really, if the bees like it, so should I.  

And, of course, I haven't touched on the most redeeming feature of Applejack.  'Goldbusch' and 'Josef Rothmund' are both sweetbrier hybrids (R. rubiginosa), and they have passed on the sweetbrier-scented foliage to Applejack.  Walk around this rose on a rainy day, and if you don't melt from the rain yourself, you'll find the scent of green apples everywhere in its vicinity.  Despite this, however, Applejack is always planted on shaky ground in my garden.  Perhaps if I quit moving it, it will settle in and bloom more to its billing.  Or perhaps it would repeat bloom if I was mentally disturbed enough to actually want to deadhead this rose as it blooms.  I should give it more of a chance.

2017-07-04 bloom

Spanish Rhapsody

'Spanish Rhapsody'

About time for a new rose, I think. I've written about this one before, but I've got some better pictures now and she's a survivor.  Allow me to reintroduce you to 'Spanish Rhapsody', a Griffith Buck rose bred in 1976 and introduced in 1984.   I planted her late last summer, and she seems to have survived at least one very dry winter without protection here on the Kansas prairie.  She's blooming her head off now, her first season in my garden, and I'm in love with those delicately colored blooms.

'Spanish Rhapsody' is a shrub rose, officially labeled as a pink blend, although the blend is actually pink, yellow, and something stippled that approaches deep rose.  The medium size bloom starts out with hybrid-tea-form and then opens over a day or two into a semi-cupped double blossom with yellow stamens.   The blooms primarily are one-to-a-stem, but there are some clusters as well.   I'm convinced that the petals darken the first day or two, and then start to lighten as they age. There is a medium fragrance, raspberry-like as advertised by others.  Take a look at the photo on the left, which shows several phases that the blooms pass through.  Try to ignore the two copulating Melyridae on the bloom at the top right of the photo.  Seems like I'm not the only one stimulated by those blooms.


My 'Spanish Rhapsody' bush is nothing to be excited about yet, only about a foot tall and several months old, but at least she's growing. Leaves are light green with a matte finish.  She's got a little blackspot, maybe about 15-20% of her leaves at present, but I'm not going to hold that against her because we're having an unusually bad blackspot year.  Even 'Carefree Beauty' was having some lower leaf blackspot by early June.   I'm not going to spray 'Spanish Rhapsody' so I can judge how she'll carry through a long summer.

'Spanish Rhapsody' is listed as a cross of 'Gingersnap' and 'Sevilliana'.   According to helpmefind/rose, she is a full sister to 'Gee Whiz', and 'Incredible'.  I've grown both those roses and they do resemble 'Spanish Rhapsody' with their stippling.   Neither of the former survived their third winter here, so I'm hoping 'Spanish Rhapsody' does better in the long run.  She's certainly the prettiest of the sisters in my opinion, the Spanish Cinderella, if you will, of the group.