As long as I can remember, there were pink and yellow roses blooming outside the front door of the house I grew up in. Their blooms signaled the end of school and the beginning of summer vacation. Their fragrance was intoxicating. Situated in full sun, they were impervious to pests and disease and were only prevented from taking over the lawn by my father's vigilant mowing. They formed the backdrop for many childhood photos, and memories.
My mother transplanted them from her mother's yard, as did her mother before her. We don't know how she - Great Grandma Adams - acquired them.
I transplanted a few slips shortly before my mother sold that house, in 1993.
Every morning they are in bloom I take time for a sniff or two.