Today, I planted a rose.

On the joys of winter gardening

Today, I planted a rose. It is 20 December and I have spent all the daylight hours (few) in the garden.

The rose I planted is called ‘Desprez à Fleurs Jaunes’. I received a lovely, healthy, bare root specimen from Trevor White Roses (Peter Beales and David Austin both having already sold out) via the Royal Mail at 13:34 and it was planted 10 minutes later.

At the same time, I planted a Magnolia ‘Encore’ in front of her. A large, mature specimen that I bought a few weeks ago, already covered in buds. The pairing of ‘DFJ’ (as we’ll call her) and ‘Encore’ was not planned as such but, as so often in my garden, came about by happy accident after excessive plant purchasing. Nonetheless, it is a combination I am thrilled with.

‘DFJ’ has taken her place against the wall at the back of the garden, at absolutely the central-most point, where one’s eye naturally lands when looking out on this tiny, gem garden from the back door or from the window above the sink. Centre stage.

She has been planted in place of a prolific ‘Rambling Rosie’ who, being the only red flower in the garden for 18 months to date, provided an excellent off-setting to the whites and pinks that otherwise filled my beds. ‘Rosie’ has been great, but ‘DFJ’s arrival signals a broader change in palette.

[ Rose ‘Rambling Rosie’ and an apple tree, each now replaced, in my garden, 10 June 2024 ]

I learned about ‘DFJ’ here on Substack. Jo Thompson has been writing and posting a heavenly rose advent calendar. One rose for each day of advent. I have wanted to order every single one. But the photograph Ms Thompson posted of ‘DFJ’ was too much to resist. The flowers look to be sculpted out of layers of ombre tissue paper. Exquisitely delicate both in form and in colour. Well, colours really. As Ms Thompson wrote, it is “Apricoty-Peachy-Pinky-Creamy-Beige”.

I hesitated before clicking ‘pay now’. Peter Beales has her listed as “Rose Colour: Orange”. David Austin has her as “Colour: Warm Yellow”. Trevor White lists her as “Buff” but describes her as having “blooms of yellow, orange and buff”. My palette to date has been all purples and pinks. ‘DFJ ‘'represents a changing of the guard. Oranges and yellows have not appeared here before.

I also learned from Ms Thompson’s post that ‘DFJ’ is a near relation of ‘Blush Noisette’, which has been one of my favourite things in the garden. I think they will play very well together, as cousins often do.

[ Rose ‘Blush Noisette’ in my garden 10 June 2024, photograph by me ]

I have never known anything quite like the quiet excitement of planting a rose in December.

Since beginning my gardening journey in early May 2023, I have spent long summer mornings and evenings in the garden thinking ‘whoever is not spending their summer days this way is not living well’. But in fact - is it possible? - I think I love winter gardening even more.

I did nothing in the garden last winter. Oh, I mean, I planted a few tulip bulbs and hellebores, but once those were in I closed the back door and didn’t open it again until the spring.

This year, I have been clearing the beds, potting up and moving plants, have stood outside staring, planning, and plotting, planted (I think) about 2,000 spring-flowering bulbs - alliums, narcissus, muscari, tulips - in pots, making up pots of bulbs for Christmas gifts. Each of these finger-numbing activities has been deeply satisfying. Satisfying in a way that nothing else is.

[ Rose ‘Desprez à Fleur Jaune’, photograph via The English Garden ]

And then today, I planted a rose. I immediately wanted to fast forward to May and see it bloom, see how it rambles, see how it changes the atmosphere of the place. That’s the thing about gardening. It is an activity that can’t help but give you hope for the future, no matter how bleak the day.

Tomorrow is the shortest day. The Winter Solstice. I love the solstice (what is the plural of ‘solstice’? Solstices? ‘Solsti'?) and all of its magic, and symbolism, and witchery. I agree with Olivia Laing who says in ‘A Garden Against Time’ (which I am currently reading for the third time):

“I’ve always loved the winter solstice, just as I find the summer solstice weirdly disturbing. How can the light be diminishing, before summer’s even got into gear? It feels as if everything’s over before it’s even started. In December that lack of alignment between day length and season is much more cheering. No matter how cold it gets there’ll be a new infusion of light each day, inoculating against the damp bulk of winter”

I also spotted today that three new noses of tulips have sniffed out of their pots and into the cold air. Hard and dark, there is no denying this is growth. The signs are all there. Spring will come again.

I think I will make a tradition of planting a rose for Winter Solstice. Who’s with me?