Running long provides a lot of time for introspection.     I’ve composed countless stories in my head over the years while pounding the roads, but have rarely taken the time to capture my thoughts and organize them into anything readable.   The story of the little yellow rose was an exception.

The Heart of a Rose

I love roses.  Not terribly original, and a trifle clichéd, but nonetheless true.   One, they remind me of my Mom.   And two, the rose parallels so well this paradox that we call life; exquisite beauty, prickly thorns, fragility, and enduring resilience.

I have planted roses everywhere we have lived, with varying degrees of success.    I don’t possess the magical green thumb of my in-laws, but what I lack in skill, I make up for in enthusiasm and enjoyment.    Several years ago, I decided it was time to plant roses in Arizona – a true sign I had settled in.  I did a little research on the varieties that thrive best in the desert, and trundled down to Home Depot to pick them up.    An hour later, I had selected two large, beautiful English Tea Hybrid Roses.   Both had large blooms, one red and one pink, and the foliage was glistening and green.     As I headed to the checkout counter to purchase my beauties, I glimpsed a sale table off to the left that could best be described as a plant graveyard.  In the midst of the carnage, I spotted a small, scruffy-looking plant, which on closer inspection turned out to be a simple yellow landscape rose.   It had no flowers, just a few leaves, but appeared to be alive.   On impulse, I threw it in my cart.   It was one-tenth the price of the others, and I needed some yellow.

I took the roses home and planted them.   The English Tea Hybrids were planted with care in one of the best spots in the yard; full sun, plenty of drainage, and partial frost protection provided by a brick wall.   I plopped the little yellow rose in the corner, between the pineapple palm and the cholla cactus, and pretty much forgot about it.

I babied, fed, and nurtured my hybrids through the fall months and they seemed to thrive.   However, we had one of the coldest winters on record, and in March of the following year, I wasn’t sure they were still alive.   By April, however, they had put out a few cautious leaves, and even managed a bloom or two by the time we left in June.   I was hopeful.

We returned to the desert in September to find our roses had not survived.    Between a harsh winter and a blistering summer, my beautiful English Tea Hybrids had just curled up and died.   However, on closer observation, I noted that the little yellow rose off in the corner had not only survived, but had actually grown a little and sported a few small blossoms.   It didn’t look like much; scraggly was a nice name for it.   But it was alive.

Another winter came and went.   The little yellow rose never froze back, never lost its leaves, and just kept slowing growing.   I trimmed it back a little in the early spring, and watched in wonder as it exploded with healthy, new growth.   By March, it had a dozen buds, and by the time April rolled around, the rose bush was covered with small, vibrant yellow blossoms.     Sitting on my back patio, looking out across the yard, I’m now daily blessed by the color and fragrance of this little yellow rose.

There is a gold nugget in the story of the little yellow rose.   A lesson I am learning.   True beauty, strength and heart take time to be discovered.   Judging by appearance will limit your success in picking winners.   Water, feed, nurture, and give plenty of time to grow.   You’ll be blessed.