My Grandmother’s Garden
Winner of the Weekly Writing Prompt (Rose)
My first memory of a rose are the petals of a rose in a green and white enamel bowl, on the vanity in my grandmother’s bathroom. The petals were left in the bucket overnight, creating rosewater for the final rinse. I recall the brush strokes and the scent in my hair, sitting on the porch and watching the sunset over the garden. I spent every summer here. My grandmother’s garden was a perfectly organized chaos, filled with a wealth of flowers in all colours. Roses, lilies, peonies strawberries and vegetables, attracting myriads of bees and butterflies. I loved the butterflies as they, but it always made me sad to think that they couldn’t see the colour nor the beauty of their own wings.
I had my own plastic watering can at my grandmothers. It had a nozzle in the shape of a sunflower. We used to water the garden together, my grandmother and me. She told me about all the names of the roses. Oh, how I loved the pretty names. Queen Elizabeth, Duchess de Brabant, Grande Amore, they all sounded so royal and so elegant. Then there were the funny ones, First Love and Candy Stripe but my favourite rose was Guardian Angel, a pearl white rose with a fresh fragrance. Grandmother was my best friend and my confidant. I never wanted these summers to end. “When my time has come, I will continue walking by your side,” my grandmother told me. “Like an angel?” I asked. “Your guardian angel” grandmother replied.
Rose has stayed my signature scent ever since my childhood. Sure, I did experiment with sweeter and less pleasant perfumes in my teenage years, however, the scent of roses has stayed with me both in my pretty perfume bottles and as a fragrance of my core memories.
Plenty of time has passed since the days when I watered the garden with grandmother. Since then, she too has passed. I thought about her often, if not daily.
My wedding day had arrived. The rehearsals and months planning had paid off I thought to myself while closing the zipper to the dustbag of my wedding dress. It wasn’t until in the car, on my way to get ready at the wedding venue that I realised that I had left out one small, but vital part.
“Stop!” I told my father who was driving. “I do not have a wedding bouquet”. Calling all the closest florists, we thankfully found one open and willing to create miracles.
When I said, “I do”, I had my grandmother with me. I had never been more certain of a decision in my life than marrying my husband. Passing the bouquet of roses to my bridesmaid while he placed the ring on my finger, I looked at my beautiful wedding bouquet of Guardian Angels.
Guardian Angels were the only roses the shop had available that day.
Kate Gawi is a lifestyle writer and author of "Tea with the Duchess: How to do Anything With Style". She is interior designer for some of Australia's most prominent homes, loves the "old world" , Earl Grey and believes that she is born in the wrong era.