Hidden Rose

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Why did it take almost 5 years for me to discover this ancient beauty?

In these sweltering days of summer, I sit near the basin, in the shade of a tree, freshly picked roses and a home made cherry pie by my side. I contemplate how Lescure only lets me in slowly. Even when it comes to gardening. I think about the passions of gardeners, past and present. About nature’s wisdom. About how this estate will teach you if you ask.

In my book, there should always be roses, so I have planted some beautiful ones near the house, many a gift from friends with a garden – New Dawn’s blush pink blooms, refined Sombreuil, and creamy white Mme. Alfred Carrière. I’m training the roses to climb up the château walls to soften the symmetry and proportion dictated by the building. And this year, Lescure too gave me a rose. With all the magic of a secret being unveiled just for you.


A friend with a lovely garden in England complimented me on our roses near the driveway. I assumed she was talking about the wild rose bushes we have all over the estate, but on closer inspection her rose turned out to be a cultivar, a rambler entangled with nearby trees and bushes, after a seemingly endless dance for sunlight. She set to work to free it up and after just a couple of hours, there it was: a magnificent hidden rose garden with sturdy stems and fragrant blooms.

My imagination is running wild. Who has planted it at the turn of the 20th century? The lady of the house? A gardener? Whomever it was, I will do them proud. I’m dreaming of a canopy with a view of the valley. When the roses bloom we can sit here and remember our predecessors and a bit of their world that we are lucky enough to see and, in some way, preserve.

Here’s to friends with open minds that allow them to see the hidden and here’s to Lescure, for revealing itself at its own pace.



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