A DAUGHTER’S TRIBUTE AND A GARDEN FULL OF LOVE
Written by: Scarlett Redenius
As we grow older, our minds start drifting to the people who’ve meant the most and the memories that shaped us—whether from childhood or somewhere along the winding road of life. I find myself reflecting more these days, especially as I watch those I love grow older, too. Life slows down in the most meaningful ways, and you begin to truly see what matters. For me, one of those treasures has always been watching my mama in her rose garden, the place where her hands, heart, and soul have forever bloomed the brightest.
I’ve been blessed beyond words to still have both of my parents by my side, and as time ticks forward, I find myself holding tighter to the moments, the smells, the memories-especially the ones tied to my mama. She’s not just a rose gardener. She’s an artist. A woman who’s been painting our landscape in blooms and beauty for decades. She’s been buying roses from Nelson’s Florida Roses for more than 50 years, and now, I’ve started planting them too, not because I suddenly became a master gardener, (far from it), but because I needed to feel closer to her. To learn from her. To carry on a piece of her spirit.
From the porch of our childhood home, I remember watching her in the early mornings. Coffee in one hand, pruning shears in the other. She’d walk from one bush to the next, whispering to each as if it were its own person, because to her, they are. Every rose has its own personality, its own quirks. Some are dramatic. Some are soft. Some are stubborn. But all of them are deeply loved.
My mom doesn’t just cut the blooms; she lets their beautiful petals live out their final days setting the mood inside her home. Vases full of fading elegance sit on windowsills and countertops, turning every corner into a moment of peace and presence.
Now here I am, well into grown womanhood, finally planting roses for the very first time. Me, the girl who couldn’t keep a cactus alive. And yet? I’ve got eight rose bushes now. It started small, just one or two. But now it’s our tradition, my mom and I buy a new rose for each other every birthday and Christmas. It’s our way of giving each other time, beauty; and a living reminder of love.
My very first rose was a Don Juan, and Lord, if any rose reminds me of my mama, it’s that one. Bold, deep red, romantic—climbs with purpose and blooms with elegance. The scent is rich and nostalgic, like Sunday morning hugs and backyard summers. I loved it so much I bought two, because it’s the rose that stood out most in my childhood. I could never forget that smell. Then came Blue River, Julio Iglesias, the smoky lavender of Koko Loko, Brigadoon, Burlesque, and one of my newest favorites—Candy Cane Cocktail, which looks exactly how it sounds: striped, showy, and full of flair.
My collection tends to be a little more wild and whimsical than hers. I’m drawn to unusual colors and bold, fragrant blooms. She’s always preferred the classics, timeless reds and soft pinks, nothing too unexpected. But one day, my husband gave her an Abracadabra rose, yellow and red with streaks like magic. And wouldn’t you know it? She’s come to love its unusual beauty. I think she’s starting to see what I see in these unique varieties. They may not be traditional, but they’re striking in their own special way.
We talk roses now the way some folks talk football. She’s teaching me all the good stuff: the “five-leaf rule” for deadheading, recycling coffee grounds into the soil, and why you never, ever prune too much in summer. But I’ve picked up a few tips of my own along the way, like sprinkling plain cornmeal around the base to keep black spot at bay and making alfalfa tea to feed the soil naturally. I even play a little classical music when I’m out there tending to the garden. Maybe it helps. Maybe it just makes me feel like I’m doing something gentle and good. Either way, the roses bloom.
And we’re not just digging in any dirt, we’re digging in Florida dirt, which is its own beast. That’s why we trust Nelson’s Florida Roses. This family-run nursery has been growing roses in the Sunshine State since the 1950s, and
their roses are grafted onto Fortuniana rootstock, which was developed alongside the University of Florida to thrive in Florida’s sandy, humid soil. Fortuniana gives roses stronger roots, more blooms, and longer life—exactly what a Florida rose needs to stay strong.
According to UF/IFAS, choosing the right varieties and rootstock is key. They also recommend spacing for airflow,
using organic matter, avoiding heavy summer pruning, and applying natural fertilizers like fish emulsion or cow tea. And I’ll be honest—some of that sounds like science, but most of it just feels like love.
And when I miss my mama, when I really need her, I walk to my roses. That’s where the comfort comes. That’s where the quiet settles in. Even though I planted them with my own hands, I know every bloom, every leaf, every thorn came from her. She’s with me in the garden, always.
If you’ve ever met my mom, you’d know she’s the kind of woman who could pick a perfect flower just by looking at it, because she is one. Beautiful inside and out, strong in the sunshine and in the storm. But if you push her, don’t forget, those thorns are sharp. Just like a rose should be.
I plant roses because my mama taught me how to love something that blooms wild and beautiful, even in Florida
heat. She’s shown me that beauty isn’t effortless, but it’s always worth the work. Just like love. Just like legacy.
Love your roses. Talk to ’em. Smell them. Play a little classical music while you’re out there. They know. They feel
it. And somehow, they bloom even sweeter when they’re part of your rhythm. FCM
