Final Words 

Too many roses are being put on the market.  Some hybridizers introduce every new rose they develop, regardless of its promise.  I made a pledge when I began hybridizing:  I will never introduce a rose unless it has a unique color or more vigor, fragrance, or prolific blooming habits than those already in commerce.  Why burden the market with your rose if it's indistinguishable from or not as good as those already available?

I'd like any rose I introduce to have fragrant large blooms in abundance.  I really don't care what color it is, though I'd prefer something other than orange or mauve.

Alain Meilland of the famous French hybridizing family has declared that he is out to create the world's first blue rose.  I don't think I'd like a blue rose.  The color seems all wrong (maybe that's because I've not yet seen one).  But whether I like blue roses or not, I'd love to hybridize one.  Just about every breeder would like to, whether he or she admits it or not.  I've got some secret ideas of how it might be done.  So, Monsieur Meilland, the race is on.

The most beautiful rose I've ever seen came from my garden in San Francisco.  It was a bloom of Chicago Peace, a fine rose that is nonetheless overrated by the ARS.  It's too stingy with its blooms to suit me.  Chicago Peach is a sport of Peace that has done a color reversal on its mother.  It also is yellow and pink, but there's more pink; the yellow forms the edgings.  The color combination alone might win your heart.  If not, the ruffled petals surely will.

This particular bloom came from a new cane that I had snapped some six to eight weeks earlier.  Even cutting for the bush, I came away with something longer than a two-foot stem heavily clothed in foliage.  This was an exhibition bloom that would have set new standards for most judges coming across it in a show, particularly for its considerable size and balanced proportions.  I was going to a dinner party that evening and knew that the hostess liked flowers, so I plunked it in a milk carton and took it along.

My friend truly appreciated the gesture, but she's one of those people to whom roses are roses.  She likes them, mind you, but doesn't need star quality.  She put it in a lovely crystal bud vase, but couldn't decide where to place it.  Her mind was on the stroganoff simmering on the stove.  Finally, she set it on a low side table with a tall lamp over it and went on with the dinner party as if nothing extraordinary had occurred.  I happened to be seated kitty-corner from this miraculous flower.  As I stole quick glances at it between snatches of conversation with the other guests, I noticed that the lighting not only showed the bloom to perfection, but that it was giving off just enough heat to coax my prize into classic exhibition form.  I couldn't keep my eyes off it.  When I left, I seriously debated whether to ask the hostess if I could take it with me and send her two dozen regular roses the next day.  I restrained myself, barely.

If someone doesn't appreciate the fruits of your labors, don't be disappointed.  You can't project your standards on others.  We all do what we can to teach our friends to recognize magnificent roses when they see them, but educating the public takes a lot of time.  Until those around you give you the praise you deserve, you might consider exhibiting; judges will recognize Queen material, and you can take comfort in your blue ribbons.  Or send a snapshot to me; I'll be very proud of you.

And if you find a way to grow Color Magic without dieback, please let me know.