A Rose By Any Other Name.
Late May along the trail always offers aromatic delights, so when I sniffed something that smelled sweet like a rose I wondered what it could possibly be. Even I, an avid non-gardener, know that roses don’t grow in the woods or along the sides of trails. They need to be babied, pruned, mulched, tipped, and covered by cones in the winter.
But whattya know? I was wrong. Improbably, growing here among the nettles is a rose. Not just any rose, but a “Rosa Nearly Wild”. No kidding - that’s what it’s called.
“Wild roses are fairest, and nature a better gardener than art.”
Louisa May Alcott
This hardy, rangy, fragrant flower-making machine starts blooming in May and just keeps on blooming its head off all the way into fall. Butterflies love the simple, single blooms because they’re so easy to land on, then the spent blooms will develop into red-orange rose hips the songbirds will be grateful for.
Wild! Or nearly.
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