"Rose Night" is our favorite members' event at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. An evening of endless setting sun...gin cocktails and a vaguely Gatsby vibe...and a dreamscape of roses.
There was a band playing Bertie Woosterish tunes...
...and folks making efforts at roseate style statements.
Fancy hats were a theme. Some came from out of the closet...
...while others were concocted on the spot. Father's Day hint: It's a good dad indeed who wears the hat.
My friend's grandmother used to say: There's a thin line between an outfit and a get-up. But in the Cranford Rose Garden, with flowers gotten up everywhere, you can get away with a lot.
Let's face it, the roses are the stars of this show. Anyone who knows only the sad, cold, fragrance-free missiles of an FTD bouquet should be prepared to faint with ecstasy upon meeting the Old Roses...heady perfume bombs with petals so lush they look like a kid drew their finger through whipped cream. (Rosarians call this "quartering," I believe.)
Lavender...one of the most elusive rose colors.
How many shades of cream and gold can you imagine? Not enough.
This lascivious chamber of secrets is named, for some reason, "Jude the Obscure."
Climbers on chains!
These gardeners paint with flowers.
We left as the sun sank behind the climbers. Twenty years ago, a week from my due date at the cusp of summer, I knew I'd always associate the longest days and the roses with the coming of beautiful new life. I still do.