The Last Rose of Summer
Published on November 4, 2024 at 11:16am CST
View From a Prairie Home
by Hege Hernfindahl, Columnist
The prairie winds are howling around our old farm house, shaking the last leaves from the many trees in our grove. I sit on our warm porch which now sports many of the summer plants I couldn’t bear to part with; the two mandevilla plants that stood by the garage and still look majestic with their trumpet-shaped brilliantly red blooms. I can’t let them die, even though I know their blossoms will fall off and they will not start to bloom until I put them outside again on a balmy late spring day. They also take a lot of room and practically cover the south windows on our porch, but I love them. The sight of their living, vibrant green leaves and the afore-mentioned flowers relieves the stress and fear I feel these days for the outcome and aftermath of the upcoming election. I also have tons of red begonias in front of various windows in my house. I love to fuss with them, taking each plant to the kitchen sink to thoroughly remove all dead blossoms and leaves from each tiny plant thus getting some of the joy I feel from handling part of God’s nature while sheltered from the brutal winter winds.
But winter is not yet here and we have lots to do outside to get ready. There are the leaves, of course; the oak leaves in particular are so thick and cover so much of the lawn that they might kill the grass if they are not removed or at least mulched. Then, on the multiple patios we have outside there is furniture that should be hauled inside. The vegetable garden has not been properly cleaned up. I did finally get the garlic plants I had ordered and last weekend my grandson, Aaron, who was visiting for a late birthday celebration, helped me plant them. We covered the planted rows with straw and dead leaves. Despite our garden’s location to the north of our grove, exposed to the winter winds, I have had great success with garlic, which I harvest usually in July.
But now, the tedious tasks remain; cutting the long, bare cucumber and pumpkin vines. Throwing out all the rotten tomatoes and worst of all, trying to get the sturdy, homemade tomato cages out of the ground. Since it is so dry, I actually have to water the fence posts that hold the cages up to be able to pull them out. It takes all my strength and I go inside to rest. I can’t help myself and again peek at one of the digital newspapers we get, but the news are again scary and I know I have to go outside to try to run away from my panic. Where did all this hate come from? Are we enemies now? I thought we were to follow in Jesus’ footsteps and love our neighbor, not hate them.
So, this time I walk over to my rose garden. Roses. The king of flowers. Symbols of love and harmony, not hate and division. I have many varieties that have proven to survive our harsh climate. What I find special with my roses is that they will bloom from late spring to late fall. I also love their color and how the petals form around a core. One of my rosebushes is light pink and white. I have already covered my whole rose garden with leaves. The small thorns on the stems of the roses seem to hold the leaves in place and protect the plants. But through the leaves, a tiny, bright pink rose bud peeks. It still smells faintly of summer. Of the days of the explosion of roses in multiple colors. Of gentle summer winds and bright blue skies. But tonight there will be an unforgiving hard frost, so I carefully snip the rose with enough step to fit in the tiny vase I have on my kitchen table. I bring it inside. Brew myself a cup of herbal tea. Start my Pandora station to play calm music and take up my knitting. This too is a day that the Lord has made.