Tombstone Rose
A transplant from Scotland that is as tough as its namesake legends.
Decades ago, we toyed with moving to Tucson, AZ and visited to check out real estate. Eventually, we decided Tucson wasn't for us, but we did take the opportunity go to Tombstone, the location of Wyatt Earp and the OK Corral shootout.
Another legend that abides under Earp's shadow, however, is the “Shady Lady.” This side-street attraction has its own annual festival, the weekend of April 10th, to celebrate the Tombstone Rose, a hardy transplant to the Southwest. Seeing this example of immigrant persistence truly inspires awe.
If you miss the festival, not all is lost. The best time to gaze upon this stunning flora is when the madding crowds aren’t milling around. April is the time of year when the White Lady Banks Rose blossoms, its 8000 square-foot canopy spreading across several buildings. You can climb onto a platform overlooking the tree to see it all. Underneath it, though, is a shadowy, cool place to retreat from the Sonoran sunlight. What a treat in this dusty Wild West town.
In 1885, a young bride followed her husband to a rowdy mining town in the middle of a desert. Mind you, the Sonoran, with its huge saguaro, ocotillo and cholla, is a beautiful place. It's the iconic American West, but there are patches with little more that scrubby mesquite. Bedraggled, rangy, and depressing. Such is the landscape of Tombstone. I can well imagine our bride's dismay as she surveyed this hardscrabble environment. She probably wanted desperately to return to her lush and lovely Scotland, rugged in its own right, but GREEN!
As a gift of love, her Beloved imported rootstock from a Lady Banks Rose. This tiny piece of Scotland burrowed its roots into the hardpan and reached for the searing Arizona sky to become, 140 years later, this magnificent tree. The trunk is easily a meter or two in circumference.
After enjoying the Lady’s shelter from the afternoon sun, I spotted three cuttings for sale in gallon pots. One had three tiny white blossoms tempting me to buy it. I succumbed. It survived jostling in the back seat of the Jeep as we drove back to California. Then the Agricultural Station appeared in the distance. Oh nuts! We’re importing contraband!
I stuck the wee Lady deeper into the jumble of baggage and smiled broadly for the gentleman as we breezed through the gate. As Karma would have it, two of the blossoms fell from the rose, and the last one looked droopy and fragile.
Over the years, our Lady grew on our patio. Deer ate it down to the nubs twice. When we moved it into the house after the first snowfall, Snigglefritz, our rambunctious cat, assaulted it more times than can be counted. Despite that, it loved the indoor climate and climbed the walls, ringing the living room ceiling. It seemed to thrive on neglect. Like its namesake birthplace, it was the rose that would not die.
Alas, this beautiful piece of hope and persistence couldn't survive the first winter in Minden, NV. When we moved off the hill (6800 ft.), I failed to bring it into the house in autumn of 2012. Now it's a distant memory, but I'd love to drop by Tombstone again just to pick up another cutting from that magnificent tree. There is no doubt in my mind the "Shady Lady" still thrives under the Arizona sunshine.
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Wow. I have never heard of this AZ wonder. I would love to see it. But, you know, I think there may be one of these Lady Banks yellow rose vines here in our park. I am going out to take a picture of it today and send it to you, to see if you agree. Thank you, Sue, for always improving my education!
Guess it wasn't meant to be, but a good effort and lots of care and love don't always succeed. Still, the story of the Rose is, in ways, profound to me. I totally loved it. Being of Scottish descent, I, too, feel the rugged in me accompanied by the love of lakes and pathways across hills. I especially enjoyed the details in this piece, the desert, Tombstone, places I've not been. Arizona. I've traveled the world but less so the USA, minus fast drives from shore to shore. Brought to Manhattan as a child, abandoned, and in ways free to grow in every which way, and to suffer, too, I related to the transplant, that dared to live and take up more than space, to be worthwhile. Thanks always, Sue, for your fine writing. Constance