The lilacs are fading. That means it is time to talk about roses. You have been very patient. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. A garden column without rose-writing is like a garden without a rose. Roses are the very metonym of gardens, of flowers. Roses are a vast subject, an ocean, and there are lots of waters that I have never sailed upon and know nothing about. But I know my little inlet; the roses that are tough enough to survive our southern Quebec winters and which line up with my aesthetic sensibility.
There is one person who contributed enormously to being able to grow roses, as we think of them, in Canada. Dr. Felicitas Svejda. She came to Canada from Austria after the Second World War and worked at the Experimental Garden run by Agriculture Canada in Ottawa. In 1961 the government of Canada decided that growing beautiful things in our climate was a worthy investment, so that’s what she did for the next 40 years. There were already roses growing in lots of places in southern Canada, but most of them bloomed in a single flush and were not what are called ‘repeat bloomers,’ that is plants that produce flowers throughout the summer.
Samuel de Champlain rose
Photo: helpmefind.com
I feel a Canadian hybrid of nostalgia and shock that there was a time when the government paid a senior scientist to spend decades developing better Canadian roses. Dr. Svejda planted likely roses next to each other, pollinated them, planted the resulting seeds, and sent the seedlings across Canada and around the world for study in various climates to see which had the right combination of toughness and enduring beauty. This was a long, painstaking process. It took eight years before the first of the Explorer series of roses was announced. Today it seems like a one-woman, steam-powered, Victorian moonshot — if the moon had roses and you wanted them.
The moonshot worked. Whatever the process, my delight in my Explorer roses is unalloyed. The first one I planted was Henry Hudson, which grows about three feet high, is as tough as an old boot, and is the very picture of a very light pink rose. I have had it perhaps 12 years and it remains the pride and joy of my summer garden. My mother — of blessed memory — said that a rose without a scent is like kissing a man without a moustache.
John Cabot rose.
Photo: prettypetals.ca
I do not know whether Henry Hudson was a moustachioed gentleman but I can report the rose that carries his name has the full Tom Sellek. Many summer evenings I have gotten half-drunk just off sniffing it. True to Svejda’s mission, it flowers throughout the course of the summer, though less after the first flowering. Mine is in part sun and does pretty well. Green sawfly caterpillars eat it, but they are easily picked off and squashed before they cause too much damage.
Last year I got a Samuel de Champlain, and it is on the verge of flowering, so I will report back. I have a John Cabot as well, which needs more sun than I can give it but produces a lovely few deep pink-red flowers every year. It took quite a beating a few years ago, but I moved it and it is rebounding nicely. Beautiful and tough.
I have particular tastes that go beyond scent when it comes to roses. I do not like a gaudy rose, generally those in coral shades. I acknowledge this is purely a personal preference. I am more adamant that roses that stand on single stalks with few leaves are an overall aesthetic washout. No matter how pretty the flower that bobbles at its top, a rose bush should look good without a flower on it.
Knock Out Double Pink roses
Photo: knockoutroses.com
A favourite small rose in my garden I privately call “the rose of Fatima” but that is a story for another time. It is more widely known as “Fairy.” It has tightly bunched, small, light pink flowers. The classic bride’s bouquet rose. It lacks moustache, but it is low to the ground – perhaps 30 cm high – making it far from nose height and therefore an exception to my mother’s rule. My redoubtable correspondent, Allan, loves his Knock Out Double Pink roses.
If you are considering setting out on the great sea of roses, you cannot go far wrong with one of the Canadian Explorers in a colour and a shape that speaks to your heart and your garden’s specifications. Plant it in the sunniest spot you have and enjoy. Felicitas Svejda never married. She is reputed to have said that her roses were her children. So plant one of hers and celebrate the legacy of a great Canadian explorer.
What roses do you love? What roses are blooming where you are? I love getting your emails at jeremywexler9@gmail.com
Jeremy Wexler is an avid amateur Montreal gardener and reader of garden writing. His regular columns for The Suburban.com speak to dedicated home gardeners, interested beginners, and people who are happy to simply read and never get their hands dirty. If you have a question, a tale of woe or a favourite plant, Jeremy will read everything you send to jeremywexler9@gmail.com
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