Timid and Demure

On Saturday last, I discovered this tiny retiring flower hidden deep within my climbing 'Jeanne Lajoie'.  Nestled and covered by the new foliage, visible only from inside the pergola on which the climber rests, she is the first blossom from 'Jeanne Lajoie' for the new season.  What a metaphor for the year we're having, this coy little pink jewel hiding and protected within a green-leafed cave.

I've wondered if the climate is ever going to settle down this year; warm, then cool, warmer, then back to freezing.  Yesterday it was 90ºF in Kansas, but there was snow on my son's lawn in the Colorado foothills.  I finally purchased tomato plants on Sunday and then found that I couldn't plant them yet, learning this morning that the lows of the next five nights are all in the low 40's, a temperature that will stunt the tomatoes.   I have full sympathy for the reticence of this quiet pink blossom to cast caution aside and declare that rose time has really arrived. 

My Saturday chores included an effort to finish trimming the roses near the house for the second time this year.  I had pruned most of them minimally near the end of March, but late freezes in April had blasted the canes of many down to near ground level.  'Jeanne Lajoie' survived at her six foot height, but the canes of her arbor neighbor, 'Zephirine Drouhin', were blackened and dead, similar to several other roses in that border.  Separating and removing dead canes from within foot-high new basal growth is a delicate task, requiring concentration worthy of a jigsaw puzzle enthusiast.  One should always, however, pause respectfully from one's labors in order to admire great beauty.  The lure of a beautiful woman or a perfect flower both similarly affect an aging gardener. 

 My Merriam-Webster dictionary defines "coy" as having a shy or sweetly innocent quality that is often intended to be attractive or to get attention.  I doubt that a better description exists of this early flower of 'Jeanne Lajoie'.  It playfully caught my eye as I was quickly examining the bush looking for dead canes, quietly whispering from within the shaded interior in an effort to be noticed, to be appreciated for the gift of its mere presence.  This is not the first of my roses to bloom.  'Marie Bugnet' led off the parade a few days prior and 'Harrison's Yellow' and 'Therese Bugnet' have since joined the queue. This flower is the first to remind me, however, that full summer is just around the corner, just a few days or weeks farther down the path.   I paused in quiet homage to the demure gem and then moved on, secure in my new knowledge that at least one rose believes that the world is due for another summer.

Joy for Lajoie

Of climbing roses, I think my favorite is a diminutive little fille named 'Jeanne Lajoie'.  Those who grow it know that I'm referring to the popular miniature pink climber of perfect form that, at times, has been the highest rose rated by the ARS.  Although my aging memory is suspect, I think she at one time had an overall rating of 9.3.

I have two 'Jeanne Lajoie' specimens, a mature bush that grows on a south facing limestone wall to around 6 feet tall, and a younger specimen planted two years back that is currently at about 4 feet on one side of a copper pergola.  Both are on their own roots and doing well at this time.  Her pink double buds are a perfect pink shade for matching with other plants and they come in continuous clusters to cover her supporting trellises most of the spring and summer. The blooms are a darling miniature hybrid tea form, sufficient to win exhibiting awards, and the dark green leaves do not require spray in my Zone 5B arid climate, although I think she gets a little rose scale against my wall.  She seems to be very winter hardy in Zone 5, and I've seen no dieback at all, although I probably should admit that my south-facing limestone wall is probably more a Zone 6 microclimate.  I would classify her scent as mild, but sweet.

'Jeanne Lajoie' was a 1975 introduction from breeder E. P. Sima.  When I first posted this, in 2011, I was working from Internet and printed sources from which I wrote the following:  "There seems to be some controversy about whether she was named by Ed Sima after the daughter of one of his wife's friends, or named by the introducer, Ernest Williams of Mini Roses in Dallas Texas, for a daughter of a Texas friend (who legend says exhibited the rose as a young girl and is supposedly now a middle-aged dental hygienist), or whether she was named after a famous French prostitute named Jeanne LaJoie."  If you read the comments on this blog post, you'll see below that in 2017, the son-in-law of Dave Lajoie, who worked with Mr. Williams in hybridizing, has corrected the record and it was indeed Mr. Williams and Mr. Lajoie who named the rose after Dave's daughter.  I'll take such first hand experience as the gospel, and we can consider the matter closed.

The "LaJoie," by the way, translates from the original French to "La Joy" and is pronounced "La Jhwhaaa," but I'll stick with "La Joy" to pronounce.  Regardless of the name's origin, the rose 'Jeanne Lajoie' was a beauty pageant winner right out of the gate, winning an America Rose Society Award of Excellence in 1977.  'Jeanne Lajoie's parentage is a hybrid seeding of 'Casa Blanca' (a white climber) and 'Independence' (an orange-red floribunda) that was crossed with 'Midget' (a red miniature) but somewhere in there, there must have been some pink genes.  I understand she makes a beautiful free-forming shrub as well, but for right now, I'll keep her up against a warm wall until I see how my second specimen fairs in the free flowing air of the open trellis.