The Thanksgiving Rose

  Back when I was a youngster on the farm, things were a lot different than today.  It feels strange that I say that since I always conjured up visions of antiquity when Pop or Granddad would start a sentence with those very words.  It never occurred to me that some day I might be the "older generation" and be giving sage advice to lads and lasses of another generation (or two) but here I am, being nostalgic about the way things used to be.  

  Along about mid-November, Pop would start noticing what was happening with the rose bushes.  He wanted to make sure that he did not miss a very special event.  Invariably, a single rose would bloom on Thanksgiving Day.  If he had anything to do with the timing or whether it was pure coincidence, I shall never know.  The rose was dubbed the "Thanksgiving Rose" by Mom.  I never remember a Thanksgiving Day go by that Pop did not pick the rose for Mom.  It was just a special thing between the two of them.  It never dawned on me at the time just how special this ritual was until I became an adult with my own gardens.  It is difficult to have roses blooming in November much less on a certain day.  Perhaps there was some divine intervention in this occurrence.

  This past week among all of the hubbub of the holidays, I sort of lost contact with what was going on with the gardens.  They were more or less left to their own doings and hopefully would survive my absence. On the actual day of Thanksgiving, Darling Daughter and I ventured out to take a bit of a stroll.  It always seems that we are left alone after preparing the massive meal.  The guys were either busy among themselves or napping.  While we meandered about the gardens, she pointed out that a single, long-stemmed rose was blooming.  Aww, the Thanksgiving Rose!  The bit of curious tradition had passed to another generation.  Not that I had anything to do with the bush blooming but I was sure happy to see the red rose.  It brought back a rush of memories that I should share with my daughter.  It is little things like this that somehow make life worth living....or perhaps I really am just being nostalgic here as I grow older.  Back when I was youngster on the farm.....