The Rose-of-Sharon probably has some nifty history as to how it gets its common name. This is not the day that I’m going to look that up and share, however, because I’m tired. Simply surviving right now can be exhausting, and I’m just not up for a lesson. Google that shit and let me know what’s about. Instead, I’m taking a morning walk before diving into work, clearing the haze of the morning mind, and checking on this Rose-of-Sharon plant to see how many buds have opened.
Beneath a seven-sons flower, literally and figuratively overshadowed by its over-reaching branches, the Rose-of-Sharon was one of the later additions to our garden, one of those spur-of-the-moment, late-season purchases made out of sheer exhaustion, not unlike the state in which I find myself today. Like hosta or hydrangeas, they are so commonly-used that some of us lose sight of their beauty and performance, as if it’s a crime to be so durable and consistent.
Their leaves stay as pretty as they are seen here for the entire season, and the blooms begin in late July and early August, just when the garden lets out its first breath of summer fatigue. There is no discernible fragrance, but its upper-brother will supply that in a few weeks. (The buds of the seven sons flower are already forming.)
On this sunny morning, the new pink blooms are much appreciated – reinvigorating the senses and jump-starting the summer all over again. We need that this year.
