The cutting I took from my grandmother's rosebush is blooming now. It is at this time every year I think of her. She is likely the reason I have chickens in my backyard. I used to love to help her gather the eggs, because her chickens laid eggs all over the place; even under her house. It was at least 3 feet off the ground, so I could stoop and go get them. 4/9/2012
When I was growing up, my family lived on the same dirt road as my father's mother. I remember as a small child walking to Grandma Murphy's house and picking a bouquet of wild flowers along the way. This was a ritual that I engaged in several times a week. Grandma Murphy always smiled and received the handful of flowering weeds as though they were long stem roses. She had the familiar vase right within reach.
Grandma's appearance disguised the amount of strength she had. Her very petite, thin body would make one think she was frail. But this opinion could only be held by one who had no knowledge of her past or present life. Being widowed at about thirty-eight years old, Grandma had to raise 12 children by herself. Her youngest child, Aunt Cordie, was only six months old when her husband, my grandfather, died. My father was one of her 8 rowdy sons. Even as a child, I could imagine what a challenge that must have been. I had heard stories about how she had picked cotton to support her family. They always had a huge garden and raised chickens. She was a devout Christian and walked five miles with her children to attend Loche Arbor Baptist Church every Sunday. It probably made more of an impression on me that Grandma never talked about doing these things and having difficult times. She was always focused on the task at hand.
I used to crawl under her house and gather the eggs for her. I still smile when I remember her solution to chicken snakes getting her eggs. She put plastic eggs in the hens' nests. She said that the snakes would swallow the real and plastic eggs whole. Then climb up on a tree limb and fall to the ground to break them. But the plastic egg would not break, so it could not be digested and the snake would die.
My grandma died in 1983, a year after I moved to Shreveport. Ten years had passed, I don't recall even thinking about her during this time. She seemed like a very distant part of my life, both in miles and years. I was going through a very bad time in my life. My marriage of 15 years was ending. I was very depressed. I didn't know how I was going to get my life back on track. It amazed me that the answer came in a dream I had about my grandmother.
I was not conscious of what a role model of strength and courage Grandma had been to me, until I made one of those visits with her, as I often did as a child. But now I was dreaming. She and I were walking through her yard and she was showing me all her rosebushes. As I held the blossoms and inhaled their fragrance, she told me their names and where she had gotten them. One rosebush dominated the others. It was a huge bush in her backyard. No other bush had the heavily perfumed purple roses it had. As I walked through the yard with Grandma, I felt strength and confidence growing inside of me. I realized that because I was her grandchild, I had inherited much of her strength and resilience. That there was no adversity that I could not overcome. I awoke the next morning in a whole different frame of mind; ready to move on with my life. Through this dream Grandma Murphy had bequeathed her strength and courage to me.
I planted them in my yard in Shreveport. Several years later, when I married Don and we moved to a different house, I tried to transplant that rosebush. But it died. I returned to Grandma's rosebush and dug up some more roots. It is one of those very fragrant old roses that only blooms once a year. In spring I watch and wait for it to bloom. This is the15th year the bush has been in this yard. When it blooms, I inhale its strong fragrance and allow my grandma's strength to be reborn in me.
When I was growing up, my family lived on the same dirt road as my father's mother. I remember as a small child walking to Grandma Murphy's house and picking a bouquet of wild flowers along the way. This was a ritual that I engaged in several times a week. Grandma Murphy always smiled and received the handful of flowering weeds as though they were long stem roses. She had the familiar vase right within reach. 
Grandma's appearance disguised the amount of strength she had. Her very petite, thin body would make one think she was frail. But this opinion could only be held by one who had no knowledge of her past or present life. Being widowed at about thirty-eight years old, Grandma had to raise 12 children by herself. Her youngest child, Aunt Cordie, was only six months old when her husband, my grandfather, died. My father was one of her 8 rowdy sons. Even as a child, I could imagine what a challenge that must have been. I had heard stories about how she had picked cotton to support her family. They always had a huge garden and raised chickens. She was a devout Christian and walked five miles with her children to attend Loche Arbor Baptist Church every Sunday. It probably made more of an impression on me that Grandma never talked about doing these things and having difficult times. She was always focused on the task at hand. After her children were grown, she still raised a large garden and had a yard full of chickens. I would often find her out working in her garden or toting buckets of water to it; since it was quite a distance from her house.
I used to crawl under her house and gather the eggs for her. I still smile when I remember her solution to chicken snakes getting her eggs. She put plastic eggs in the hens' nests. She said that the snakes would swallow the real and plastic eggs whole. Then climb up on a tree limb and fall to the ground to break them. But the plastic egg would not break, so it could not be digested and the snake would die. As a small child I was highly amused by this story and envisioned a lumpy snake climbing a tree and jumping off a limb to break the eggs.
My grandma died in 1983, a year after I moved to Shreveport. Ten years had passed, I don't recall even thinking about her during this time. She seemed like a very distant part of my life, both in miles and years. I was going through a very bad time in my life. My marriage of 15 years was ending. I was very depressed. I didn't know how I was going to get my life back on track. It amazed me that the answer came in a dream I had about my grandmother.
I was not conscious of what a role model of strength and courage Grandma had been to me, until I made one of those visits with her, as I often did as a child. But now I was dreaming. She and I were walking through her yard and she was showing me all her rosebushes. As I held the blossoms and inhaled their fragrance, she told me their names and where she had gotten them. One rosebush dominated the others. It was a huge bush in her backyard. No other bush had the heavily perfumed purple roses it had. As I walked through the yard with Grandma, I felt strength and confidence growing inside of me. I realized that because I was her grandchild, I had inherited much of her strength and resilience. That there was no adversity that I could not overcome. I awoke the next morning in a whole different frame of mind; ready to move on with my life. Through this dream Grandma Murphy had bequeathed her strength and courage to me.Several months after that dream, I was visiting my brother, Frank, who at the time, was living on our old home place. In a vase on his dining table was a bouquet of fragrant purple roses. A chill went down my spine and I asked him where he had gotten the roses. Sure enough, they had come from Grandma's yard.
I responded to this discovery by asking Frank to get a shovel and take me to the bush so we could dig it up. It was challenging just wading through the thicket that now engulfed what had once been a well-tended yard. The rosebush was huge. After struggling with the thorns and underbrush, I had to be content with 6 pieces from the roots that looked like sticks.
I planted them in my yard in Shreveport. Several years later, when I married Don and we moved to a different house, I tried to transplant that rosebush. But it died. I returned to Grandma's rosebush and dug up some more roots. It is one of those very fragrant old roses that only blooms once a year. In spring I watch and wait for it to bloom. This is the15th year the bush has been in this yard. When it blooms, I inhale its strong fragrance and allow my grandma's strength to be reborn in me.
