Day 16

Who is this, all jolly in August? She is the reason why we can’t see out of any of our windows here in this cottage.

Here’s Meg, Rosa ‘Meg’, who sounds like she should be the subject of a poem. By whom, though? I remember learning by heart ‘Meg Merrilies’ by John Keats (Learning poems by heart - there’s another conversation we really could have. For another time?)

Her habit is full-on poetic, I feel - all floppy and laid-back romantic, not really caring how her few but beautiful petals arrange themselves. The same goes for her colour: one day pink, the next day anything but. 

I first saw Rose Meg on a wall at Sissinghurst Castle, truly owning her spot. I figured that if a rose can have that attitude, she’d work anywhere, and sure enough she states very clearly that the front of my cottage, so much smaller than the castle round the corner, is hers. All hers, even though ‘Blush Noisette’ dots happily in the background. This is a good illustration of our constant family discussions on windows vs. roses. As you can see here, roses win in this neck of the woods, and she is truly loved by all including the visiting pollinators who go mad for her open embrace.

And she has great hips too. What’s not to like?