The old green house stood overlooking the bay. It was small by modern standards but adequate for the time. The family survived on the hard work of both parents, the fisher/farmer father and the mother, who was involved in every part of life in rural Newfoundland, besides doing everything at home.
Outside the front door, which was rarely used, on either side of the steps, rose bushes grew untended over the years. Who had time for cosmetic gardening when there were fish to catch and process, animals to tend and vegetables to grow besides raising three children? The roses flourished on their own.
These were the flowers of my youth, buds like lipstick, rose-pink petals with yellow centers, scent in the air especially after the rain, petals covering the ground when blooms were spent.
Recently, another green house, on another island, took me back in time. At the beach house, the owners had planted rose bushes around the house.
Those bushes, a hub of activity for the insect population, were a source of fond memories of my grandparents’ home in Motion Bay, in the province of my birth.
On Prince Edward Island, the roses are visited by bees and other insects as they bloom untended around the house which faces the Northumberland Strait.
White roses are here too, just as pretty and inviting to the six legged creatures and enjoyable to the humans as the rose-pink ones.
From the hot tub on the screened-in deck, I can hear the buzz and smell the rose scent as my grandchildren and I relax in the hot water.
Every now and then, the past and the present merge as life comes full circle.