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The Month of Love: Rose Geraniums
Feb. 1st, 2009 08:39 pmI have two rose-scented geraniums. One I've had for years; it's the last survivor of a handful given to me by a co-worker about umm, 5-8 years ago. (This is not, I note, the oldest plant in my collection; that honor goes to a geranium that dates from my grad school days, though I think the older spider plant might be almost as old. But I digress.)
The other I bought last summer in a fit of frivolousness when the grocery store across the street had its nursery stock on clearance. It was labeled as a citrus-scented geranium, but when I brushed my hand across the leaves what I got was a rich rose smell. There is a variety of scented geranium whose scent combines lemon and rose (and someday I will own one!) but the little plastic stake in the pot stubbornly insisted that this was a citrus-scented geranium that would terrorize any bug that ventured too close to my porch. I ignored the plastic stake, put down my money, and hauled an armful of rose-scented goodness home on the bus. I can only hope that my fellow passengers enjoyed that trip as much as I did.
When I moved into my new apartment I put them, along with all of my other cold-tolerant plants, in the unheated sun porch. They would get lots of sun there, and though they can't take a freeze being chilly doesn't bother them much. But I started the first batch of seedlings for my garden today, and I started to think about where I was going to put things when they started growing and got bigger.
I had an unused south-facing window in my bedroom, so I carried them in there and arranged some improvised plant stands to make sure they got all their leaves up into the light. In the process, the leaves got bumped around a bit and first my bedroom, and then most of my apartment, started smelling of fresh-cut roses. I enjoyed it a bit, and then forgot about it.
Later I went out to the grocery store to get some light bulbs. The kitchen fixture had one of its two bulbs go out, and rather than wait for the second to fail I decided to replace them both with some of those energy-efficient florescent bulbs. When I came out of the store it was snowing flurries: the clouds that had been creeping in from the west had finally arrived. I walked home in the speckled dark, cold wind nipping at my coat. I unlocked my door, walked in, and--
Roses, said the air in my apartment. I stood there with winter three steps away and let the summer memory wash over me.
The other I bought last summer in a fit of frivolousness when the grocery store across the street had its nursery stock on clearance. It was labeled as a citrus-scented geranium, but when I brushed my hand across the leaves what I got was a rich rose smell. There is a variety of scented geranium whose scent combines lemon and rose (and someday I will own one!) but the little plastic stake in the pot stubbornly insisted that this was a citrus-scented geranium that would terrorize any bug that ventured too close to my porch. I ignored the plastic stake, put down my money, and hauled an armful of rose-scented goodness home on the bus. I can only hope that my fellow passengers enjoyed that trip as much as I did.
When I moved into my new apartment I put them, along with all of my other cold-tolerant plants, in the unheated sun porch. They would get lots of sun there, and though they can't take a freeze being chilly doesn't bother them much. But I started the first batch of seedlings for my garden today, and I started to think about where I was going to put things when they started growing and got bigger.
I had an unused south-facing window in my bedroom, so I carried them in there and arranged some improvised plant stands to make sure they got all their leaves up into the light. In the process, the leaves got bumped around a bit and first my bedroom, and then most of my apartment, started smelling of fresh-cut roses. I enjoyed it a bit, and then forgot about it.
Later I went out to the grocery store to get some light bulbs. The kitchen fixture had one of its two bulbs go out, and rather than wait for the second to fail I decided to replace them both with some of those energy-efficient florescent bulbs. When I came out of the store it was snowing flurries: the clouds that had been creeping in from the west had finally arrived. I walked home in the speckled dark, cold wind nipping at my coat. I unlocked my door, walked in, and--
Roses, said the air in my apartment. I stood there with winter three steps away and let the summer memory wash over me.
