We ripped a good portion of the wild rose hedge out when we
first moved in, much to the dismay of this house’s former owner. The Rosa
rugosa had hugged the inside curve of the driveway before arcing around the
back of the garden wall in a tangle of thorns and flowers, separating a
cultivated perennial bed from the wilder field beyond. But we were transforming
part of that front field to mown grass, the better to hold the venue tent for
our upcoming wedding.
We spent countless hours that spring and summer reconfiguring
the garden, and anytime we got within a foot of the slate wall we’d find roots
from the rugosa, looking to spread if we’d only let it. Thirteen years later it
seems to have settled in to the space we’ve allowed it – a wide swath remaining
along that bend of the driveway, stretching for about 30 yards before stopping
to leave room for the lawnmower to pass between its thorny branches and the
garden wall.
From the side window of my childhood bedroom, I could look
out at other roses: a mostly tidy jumble of antique rose bushes at the edge of
the yard. In my mind, they are a mix of bright and more subdued hues and smell
heavenly – like summer embodied: sweet, hot, ephemeral.
The roses in our yard now are not so refined, but just as
lovely. The wide hedge is its own little wilderness, and within its realm are
all sorts of wonders.
In Fall, the leaves of the Rosa rugosa are the last to drop.
Long after the bright maple and yellow birch leaves have sifted to the ground,
when even the tamaracks have dropped their needles, the rose hedge’s rusty
leaves finally drift downward.
The naked brambles reveal birds’ nests tucked deep within. Through
spring and summer and into fall, the birds maneuver deftly through the twiggy
branches, disappearing within to build nests of sticks and grass – or,
sometimes, just to take shelter – wisely beyond the reach of potential
predators.
Even now, as we wait for the rose hedge to rebound from the
weight of winter snow piled onto it for many long, cold weeks – before the
green leaves unfurl, before the time for laying eggs – the birds take shelter
there, darting within the still-brown brambles when a car comes past or a dog
runs near or children yell to each other in the yard, a bit too close for the
birds’ comfort.
They flit from bare lilac branches to rose hedge to serviceberry
tree and highbush cranberry. The chickadees, year-round residents here, have shifted
to their spring song now. Goldfinches – waiting, like the leaves and flowers,
to show their summer colors – call “potato-chip, potato-chip” as they fly
about. Song sparrows alight on different perches, their bright melody seeming
to welcome spring, even on mornings when the temperature dips below freezing.
Soon, we will begin peering beneath the garden-side edge of
the rugosa hedge, looking for the curled over spathes of Jack-in-the-pulpit.
Several of the quirky plants poke up through the sheltered soil there each late
spring, first just pointy leaves reaching skyward, then growing tall and taller
and curving protectively over the spadix.
As summer bursts into color – a thought that seems distant
with the memory of snow still so fresh – the rugosa’s swath of green leaves becomes
peppered with yellow-centered pink blossoms, their scent permeating the yard
and floating up to bedroom windows. A couple of wild raspberry canes mingle
with the rose thorns, their juicy berries worth the scratches it takes to reach
them.
Bees, earlier fed by the apple blossoms of the old orchard
out back and a multitude of flowers growing wild through the yard and fields,
buzz from rose bloom to rose bloom. The bees – and late summer butterflies –
come to the rugosa even after its flowers have faded, to feast on the asters whose
tall stalks twine up through the hedge. The bees cling tiredly, during these
last warm days, to the asters’ fringed purple blooms as summer declines into
chilly nights and shorter days.
But all that is in the seasonal distance. Spring has been
late in coming this year, April serving up a slow thaw and lingering show
showers. May, on the horizon, offers hope of greening leaves and a landscape
slowly changing, from the tired brown left by winter’s cold and melted snow to
colors, subtle at first, gradually blossoming into a spectrum of hues.
In the hottest, brightest days, the Rosa rugosa, with its
labyrinth of flora and fauna within and around it, will bloom bright pink and
divinely scented. Fleeting as summer, yes, but a sweet something to look
forward to during the still whispering days of spring.
