I am thankful for the promise of wild roses. Driving along dreary deserted western New York roads yesterday, Eli looked at a slightly crumpled road sign and asked, ‘Have you ever driven down that road?’ A thousand winding roads upstate never taken; but there is one hidden back road I did travel one summer day with my Mother. A last minute lark; a deviation from the plan of groceries and heading home and we landed upon a rutted and dusty lane. It curved behind plowed fields and streams and we watched sleepy farms and we lost our way suddenly and completely.
The road on both sides was lined with towering, overflowing and unkempt bushes of wild roses. I was close to five years old with bare feet and braids. Dust flowed through the open windows of the car and a bushel of un-shucked corn rested heavily on the front seat. We did not wear seat belts. We were surrounded by pink gems everywhere; hanging in sweet summer air.
We made it back home before dark but I will never find that road again; lying amongst miles of back paths and ruined hunter cabins; bumpy and lost amid rural wilderness. But I know certainly that somewhere out there lies a million rose bushes, waiting for me…requiring only a turn of the wheels and no plans…
690 Saint Paul 