With an ongoing global climate crisis, due to humanity’s addiction to fossil fuels, our weather swings from one extreme to the next. Heat domes. Prolonged drought. Rain bombs. Epic floods. We’re not the only ones impacted. So are the trees and plants. Unlike those of us who can find shelter, they must face the elements head-on. Some are resilient and adaptive. Others are not so fortunate.

I’ve observed that the rosebushes in our communal garden are more sensitive to these extremes than my succulent plants. Over the years, we have lost 50 percent of our rosebushes, leaving only eight survivors. The two most recent losses, of the white Hedgerow variety, occurred after the Winter 2022-2023 heavy rains. Grown in an area fully exposed to the elements, their roots sat for three months underwater.

The photo on the left below shows one of them. I haven’t asked the gardener to uproot it in the hope that there may still be some lingering life. The photo on the right is also a white Hedgerow rosebush that stands at the other end of the same exposed plot. After standing for three months in the Winter 2023-2024 floodwater, it’s not doing well. In spring, it’s usually filled with lots of sprawling leaf-laden branches and roses. During our “gray May,” it produced only one tiny rose. I fear that it will not survive another wet winter.

About seven years ago, I undertook to clean up the garden plot of a former neighbor and friend, a food stylist, who had moved back to her home state when her husband Benny took ill with lung cancer. He died months later in January 2016. In March the following year, my best friend and poet also died of lung cancer. Taking care of this plot became part of my grieving process.

After clearing the dense overgrowth of cactus plants, I uncovered the stunted dead trunk and branches of what appeared to be a rosebush. The six-inch tall (15 cm) plant had been smothered by more aggressive plants. For two years I watered it without any sign of life. Then, wonders of wonders, a new branch appeared with tender baby leaves. My care and attention had paid off. The first and single stunning pink rose appeared a year later. Then in 2022, it thanked me with five roses (see photo on the left below). My Miracle Rosebush, as I call it, continued to produce up to six flowers each spring, but I’ve noticed a change in the color and shape, as shown in the photo on the right below. Resilience has its limits as we age.

My former food stylist neighbor planted the captioned fragrant red rosebush. Then just a small potted plant used in one of her photo shoots, it has grown into the hardiest and most luxurious of our rosebushes that keeps on giving. It reminds me of our neighbor Benny who is no longer with us. Healing after loss can come in unexpected ways.

Three other rosebushes also brighten my days with their unique beauty and vibrancy, as pictured below. The two remaining rosebushes are not yet in bloom. Hopefully, with the “gray May” and early “June gloom” now behind us, they will awaken to the summer heat.

The photos below were taken by a neighbor and dear friend who, sad to say, has recently moved out-of-state. In the early spring, I also lost my young gardening enthusiast and companion who moved to another neighborhood, trading her garden space for a dog park and ocean-view. Our lives, like the weather and climate, are continually in motion. I adapt as best as I can and, like the rosebushes, bloom in due season. 

Happy Independence Day!