Did you know the rose is America’s favorite flower? Four states claim it as their state flower (New York, Iowa, Georgia, South Dakota) and, over thirty years ago, June was dubbed National Rose Month. Today, there are over one hundred species of roses in the world, the majority of which are native to Asia.
Traditionally, the rose is known as the flower of love. In Greek and Roman mythology, the rose was used as a symbol of Venus and Aphrodite, the goddesses of love. In Christian iconography, the rose is associated with Christian martyrs. Its five petals are said to represent the five wounds of Christ. It was Shakespeare who penned the famous words, “A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.” Never mind the killjoy who altered the adage: “A rose by any other name would still get black spot.”
The history of growing roses goes back a long, long time—over five thousand years. In the eighteenth century, Europeans began experimenting with different varieties of roses and created several hundred new versions. And that’s where this story begins . . . with roses from the 1700s that have “gone missing” over the centuries.
Lost roses have a fascinating backstory. It’s believed to be highly possible that extinct roses are in people’s backyards, brought over from Europe by someone’s great-great grandmother. Old roses, prior to the first China tea hybrid in 1867, are durable, cold-hardy, and remarkably sturdy. Old cemeteries remain the best places to find old roses.
So . . . have you gone wandering around an old cemetery lately?
P.S. If you’re interested in reading more about Bess and Billy, get hold of a copy of The Search, winner of the 2012 Carol Award for Long Contemporary. The Search takes place in 1972, a few years prior to this story set in 1977. And if you want to follow up with Amos Lapp (hint: Maggie Zook has a significant role in his future), read the Stoney Ridge Seasons series, starting with The Keeper, The Haven, and wrapping up in The Lesson. Though, the stories of Stoney Ridge never really end. Life goes on and on . . .