My sister Jean got married last week. The wedding took place on a big cruise boat on Lake Champlain in Vermont. The whole family was there…my brother and my four other sisters along with their families, it was a good time.
Jean’s wedding dress was pale peach and she had asked us if we could bring roses from our garden for her bridal bouquet. Could we match roses to the wedding dress? Hmmm, I thought, a tall order, but maybe. We told her that the last weekend in June is the very end of our June bloom cycle and we didn’t know what would be left in the garden. Ok, said she, I’ll work with whatever you bring.
Since the wedding was the first leg of an eight day motor trip through Canada, I planned on cutting Thursday evening and again early Friday morning before we left on the 6-hour drive to Burlington. However, the rains arrived on Thursday afternoon and it poured all night. Murphy’s Law.
No matter…neither rain nor snow nor sleet, nor dark of night kept this noble rosarian from cutting all the stems he could. What I thought would be very slim pickins turned out to be three vases full of a very eclectic mix of colors, sizes, and shapes…all fresh and very well hydrated.
There were sprays of Hot Cocoa, White Cap, New Dawn, Julia Child, Centennial, Easy Does It, Golden Arctic, Rhode Island Red, Tuscan Sun, Pearl, Teneke, and Passionate Kisses. I shook the water out of the blooms like I’d shake a can of ready-whip and packed them snuggly in vases of fresh water then tucked them into a nest that Angie created out of towels on the floor of the back seat. Off we went.
Jean delivered the roses to the florist the next morning and we didn’t see them again until the bride walked down the aisle that night. I have to admit that even I, who knew of the perils that the roses went through, was impressed with the bouquet.
Beautiful bride, beautiful roses.