Bartlebibi

David Austin English rose 'Bibi Maizoon', October 2005.

While we're waiting for winter to come crashing down on us, I see that Bibi Maizoon is extending another diffident, single, onion-domed bud. It'll be freeze-dried before it gets the chance to bloom, of course, although if this metereological miracle were to be extended for even a fortnight we could have been treated to the astounding sight of blooming Bibi, next to reblooming lavender, as we made out our Thanksgiving dinner grocery lists.

For a shrub rose, Bibi is pert (or, perhaps, stunted by the winterkill encouraged by her borderline hardiness for this zone, compounded by her misfortune of being situated not too far from the dryer vent). There's a blush to her fresh green foliage, which was untouched by blackspot and the beetles this year. Buds from Bibi emerge sparsely but continuously throughout the growing season, yet when it comes time to open into full-faced flower, Bibi mostly prefers not to. Most of the blooms this year have been either half-open peek-a-boos, or open blooms that loll on weak stems in a crestfallen sulk. No, I suppose I don't pamper her enough. Bibi gets the same scoop of worm castings as every other flowering shrub, when maybe she's looking to have her back stroked with warm perfumed unguents and to be plied with trays stacked high with Turkish Delight. So I'll never know why Bibi decided to get with the program last month, but I'm grateful for the one perfect rose that she offered up, with petals notched like brackets from postmodern punctuation, as full and layered as a peony, and an intense heady scent. Ah, Bibi, you are beautiful; all is forgiven.

Comments

[Kathy]

She is beautiful.

[Patricia Tryon]

But still! ONE rose. I'm afraid that I'm terribly unsentimental about roses. If they don't perform with minimal coaching (i.e., care) on my part, they get shovel pruned pretty quickly. Oh, I'm a hard hearted one, all right, but on our tiny patch, it's a necessary approach.

[Molly]

I have a rosa bartleby too, although most people would call it souvenir de malmaison. The slightest touch of damp is enough to keep buds from opening, I figured out that if I gently pulled the outer layer of petals away, sometimes it would open. Ah, but when one does open! She's of the House of Bourbon, so she's not only beautiful, she's wonderfully fragrant so I continue to humor her.