The first rose of the year

Just to show you how weird the weather has been this year, when we were in the garden yesterday, I saw that the first rose had already bloomed:

Arthur Bell Rose
Arthur Bell in my garden

Once upon a day, I used to spend the first couple of weeks in May in North Carolina for a big three letter company, testing translations of computer programs. While there, one of the places I always visited was the Sarah P. Duke Gardens at Duke University. The roses there were invariably several weeks ahead of those in Germany:

Fair Bianca Rose in Duke Gardens
Fair Bianca at the Duke Gardens

By the time I got back from the Triangle, my own roses were just starting to bloom. This year, most of my rose bushes already have buds, and I’m sure several of those will be blooming by the end of April.

My progress is not quite as rosy. I continue to move forward on the translation, but not as quite as quickly as I would like, with all the socializing going on with my daughter here. I don’t see her every day anymore, though, so that’s important.

On the writing front, I’ve switched temporarily from editing Island of Glass to editing Recontact. Another Villa Diodati workshop is coming up beginning of May, and I want to hand in the first several chapters for critique. Before I do that, I need to address the comments I got from my lovely beta readers. Thanks again, you guys. 🙂

So while progress is slow, it’s there. I’m happy with that, given everything going on at the moment.

Hope everyone is getting off to a good start this round!

9 thoughts on “The first rose of the year”

  1. So lovely!

    When I was 8, my grandparents gave me a prize-winning 75 year old American Beauty rosebush. The flowers are hot pink. It’s well over 100, now, and still blooms every June. Each year, I want to take a bit to clone (I would not risk the original), and every year I forget. This may be the year….

    I would say your daughter is more important than that project. Enjoy her – the words will still be there, after.

    My daughter? Poison ivy or sumac on her scalp and over one eyelid was her rude awakening to spring, this year. Needless to say, she was my priority.

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