January 27, 2015 – Roses in Winter

The “harvest” from our rosebushes a few springs ago.

To listen to this post:

I love roses, I love to grow roses. When they are in bloom, I love to have cut roses all around the house – you know I love to paint them. I. Just. Love. Roses! I don’t care that they are thorny and need to be tended to.  What they bring to my life – their color, shape and scent are so worth it!  Every house I’ve lived in since I was 25, I’ve planted rosebushes – as many as I possibly could.  Scented are best, I love every shade of pink, orange, apricot, yellow and soft peach – those are my favorites.  The house that Joe and I lived in in Petaluma I planted more than 40 – and it didn’t have a huge yard!  I had roses everywhere! When we sold that house, I was bemoaning how hard it is to plant them and care for them and then have to keep leaving them behind – to which Joe said, “that’s what you do – you plant the world with roses.” He says the most insightful things to me!  The house we are in now has a garden that gets somewhat limited sun because of a big hill right behind us.  This has meant the roses don’t thrive like they would in a better growing situation, but I don’t care, I must have roses!

I know I’m not alone in my adoration of them.  They are probably the most beloved flower in the western world, if not everywhere. (I’m guessing the lotus and lily rival the rose in other parts of the world.) They touch us in a way that other flowers don’t. They are so elegant and complex, mostly not symmetrical which makes them so interesting to look into. And their symbolism is rich and deeply rooted in our psyche.

Like most plants they have their season – theirs is a long and generous one in Northern California.  Around here they start blooming in April, though last year, I went outside and was surprised to find one Peace rose and a bit of purple lavender in bloom right about Easter Sunday, in March – quite early, especially for our sun-challenged yard.  Here’s a  picture of them, which one day may become a painting.  They bloom on and off through October, maybe into November.  With the shift in our weather this year there were some (in other’s yards) that bloomed to Christmas!

In the middle of last week I was really restless. I had lots of things to do as well as telling myself that I really needed to be getting to that painting of the persimmons that I was hoping to have finished weeks ago, but all I wanted to do was go prune the rosebushes.  They hadn’t yet been given their winter trim and were all straggly and leggy.  We’re having a dry, mild January, so they’ve begun to send out their new shoots already.  They needed to be pruned and were so calling to me.

So, I put aside the computer, my paints and painting and spent not quite two hours in the softly warm sunshine pruning the roses.  It was the perfect thing for me to do.  At about the sixth plant, it hit me that pruning roses in the winter has a message for me.  Heading them back and trimming off the extraneous branches from last growing season, puts the plant into a dormancy, a rest. Then when it’s time, the new growth comes from strategically chosen branches, giving it room to flourish. Otherwise, there are too many small shoots out at the ends of too many small branches. It’s cleaner, clearer. The plant gets smaller at first, but in the end, it allows for more vigorous, “organized” growth, resulting in more full and beautiful blooms.

What occurred to me is that pruning can be an integral part of not just the cycle of the rosebush’s life, but of mine too.  I want to give myself the permission to prune my life in the winter – to give myself the time to see which branches of my life are the strongest, carrying the most vigorous life-force, and eliminate those that cross over, competing for resources.  Then, allow myself to be still a bit and store energy for sending new growth in just those directions.

I reflected back to the first several years of showing and selling my artwork, before I was teaching – leading others on their art journey.  I ended up not painting at all for two, three, even five months in the winter!  I imagine not painting again for five months and I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach! Could I really still do that?  What does being dormant for a time mean? Is a months-long break part of the rhythm I still need, or if have I grown my capacities for creating?

Nature is the quintessential example of the cycle of life, and since the insight landed on me as it did, I’m paying attention.  In my experience insight isn’t always clear and complete all at once – likely there’s more to be revealed.   What occurs to me most clearly today is that pruning means clearing space.  Today we had the carpets cleaned and everything is up off the floors in my studio.  A perfect opportunity to not put it all back!

With appreciation for you in my world –

Cara