Softly Seen, A Heart in Shadow © 2010 Bo Mackison

I don’t photograph roses very often. Maybe because I’ve had entire years of gardening consumed with frustrating rose care. In out first home — a zillion and a half years ago and before children — I thought it would be lovely to plant some of the roses my grandfather had grown. I frequently gardened with him during my childhood, but I must have missed the parts of rose care that were the hard work.

I remember the good scents part. He would call, “Hey, Bo. Take a sniff of this yeller one. What do ya think? Ain’t she a grand one!”

I remember being allowed to carefully cut long stemmed roses with very sharp cutters. I brought them to my grandmother on the special days her Garden Club ladies visited our home. She would arrange them in exquisite bouquets of welcome for the admiring rose lovers.

I don’t, however, remember the clumpy, thick white clouds of rose dust or the aphids and black spot the rose dust was supposed to eradicate. And I certainly didn’t remember winter care. My grandfather’s roses grew in Zone 7. I planted my roses in Zone 4 which meant they required pruning and mulching and wrapping and covering. And even then, there was always winter kill that took a part of each plant.

I struggled with those roses the 7 years we lived in our first home, and when we moved I swore I would have no more roses.

So I have a rather tenuous relationship with roses. I love them; I hate them.

But then we were visiting Milwaukee today and stopped at the Boerner Botanical Gardens. While we were there, I decided to take a walk through their rose gardens. (The last time I walked those rose garden paths, I held the hand of our oldest child, while Sherpa pushed our middle child, a tiny infant, in a stroller.)

I took a few photographs before the mosquitoes won and I had to retreat to the safety of the car. I didn’t record the name of this rose. I was too busy slapping at biting insects and wondering what useful purpose mosquitoes have on this earth.

But I like this rose — its soft curves, the shadows playing with the lights, and the rose’s heart. A hidden heart.