top of page

A Rose by Any Name

by Erin Rose

The first time I remember receiving roses it was in the traditional dozen red bouquet. At the time I was touched, I loved the old-fashioned meaning behind the elegant flowers. I pointedly chose to ignore that the bouquet was an apology masked in love.

I didn’t like roses for a long while after that.

But I had no objection to the wild roses that appeared in the brambles, hardy and pink, with delicious rosehips in the fall. Over time I grew fond of these roses, their tenacious nature and their simplicity. The wild roses of the Pacific Northwest, where I live, are quite adaptable to their environment and are bold in their presence.

They don’t need much to be so much.

Years later I was proposed to in a Rose Garden, in the winter when everything was dormant yet full of potential. The name of the Rose was to be my own--mine and my husband’s. We are not elegant tea roses, that’s a fact! Rather I feel like this name change reflects my nature at heart, especially when I hear my sister comment; ‘You are roses, but remember, you are wild!”

Erin Rose lives in the Pacific Northwest and works in the woods, while Erin's husband works out in the eastern United States.


Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page