Category Archives: Antique Roses

Review: The Butterfly Rose

A new review of my novel The Butterfly Rose by Tom Werzyn in the Oct. 3, issue of the online VVA Veteran Magazine:

Rarely these days are readers granted an opportunity to enjoy an offering so well constructed and presented as Dick Stanley’s novel, The Butterfly Rose(Cavalry Scout Books, 252 pp. $13.08, paper; $.99, Kindle), a three-generation story of an American and a Vietnamese family’s involvement with each in Vietnam.

Stanley, a former journalist who served in the infantry in the Vietnam War, wordsmiths the English language to an almost lyrical presentation.

One example: “It is a valley of flowers but none is more beautiful than the silken, five petal roses that turn many colors in their brief lives, as ephemeral as butterflies fluttering on a green bush.”

The Butterfly Rose centers on a young, Confederate Army officer, Sean Constantine, a large man with a glowing mane of red hair and a beard to match. After participating in The battle of Manassas, he joins the French Foreign Legion. Through a series of events involving his brother, father, black servant, and a stay in Paris, Constantine is posted to a colonial French garrison in the Central Highlands of Vietnam.

His love of roses, developed over the years of his Mississippi youth and his worldly travels, finds a like-minded individual in the 1860s in Vietnam: a village shaman, an old woman skilled in naturopathic and herbal medicines and remedies. She also is a conjurer who converses with the many gods and deities roaming the Vietnamese jungles.

Dick Stanley

Fast forward a century to a team of American advisers working with an [RF-PF] combat team in that same Central Highlands valley near Que Son. Neal Constantine, a red-headed grandson of Sean, is a member of that American team, working as a historian. He possesses his grandfathers’ 1860s diary and flower guide. And he meets the great granddaughter of the village healer, without knowing about the earlier family connection.

The story toggles back and forth between the centuries, chapter by chapter. Parallels are drawn, including the weather, expectations of higher commands, tactics, ideologies, as well as the relationship between the big, red-headed American and the old healer and their shared interest in the roses that populate the valley.

This novel artfully spans nations, generations, wars and people, and it ties all those strands together with a shared love of flowers and of the short gift we all share with each other—that of life.

Pruning the China roses

Unlike hybrid tea roses, which stand erect in a line like soldiers at inspection, antique roses are bushy. Even the climbers are pretty bushy. And when you prune them, as I did our three Chinas this afternoon, you don’t have to be finicky.

Lopping off a third of the bush is the rule. Now we’ll sit back and expect our antique rose bushes to start blooming like crazy in March. Earlier if we’re lucky. And continue, at intervals, the rest of the year. I’m tempted, however, to dig up Louis Phillipe whose red blooms have always been too sparse to satisfy me and replace it with the Bourbon antique Souvenir de la Malmaison.

Had a Souvenir back in ’07, I see in my archives, whose pictures unfortunately did not make the forced transition from Yahoo to WordPress in 2013. But in ’09 the neighbor on the other side of the fence laid down a bunch of herbicide to kill something and it leeched through the soil and wiped out Souvenir. Then a replacement got run over by the landscaper’s mower and finally the neighborhood deer (courtesy of the city council which refuses to do anything about them) got in the backyard and ate it down to nothing. They think roses are candy. The deer, not the politicians.

Karma, you say? It was, after all, to commemorate my Mississippi great, great grandmother who mentions her’s in her pocket diary of the 1850s. She was a slave owner. Well, we all have our faults. So I’m going to try again. Maybe.

At the very least, I could follow the lead of Austin gardener Pam Penick and erect a bottle tree. Since bottle trees supposedly were invented by Southern slaves, maybe there’d be some redemption there. Maybe even enough to spare a new rancho edition of Souvenir de la Malmaison from assorted catastrophes. Eh?

New roses at the rancho

knockouts

Not more of our usual antiques, but the new Knockouts which bloom year-round in Central Texas. We have seven eight red and yellow ones alternating along the back fence.

Butterfly Rose

Butterfly4

Springtime in the back forty at Rancho Roly Poly.

Our coming winter: colder than usual

I was thinking back on Labor Day when I cut back the Antique Roses in the Back Forty whether I should go the whole hog one-third trim, or do what I did which was just give them a haircut and plan to give them another one in January, instead of waiting to Valentine’s as is customary with this breed.

Now I wish I had gone the one-third, because January could be icy (probably not snowy, that’s hardly ever true here) according to WeatherBell meteorologist Joe Bastardi. His conclusion is terse: “Another colder, snowier than normal winter is on the way, in my opinion. I would prepare using a blend of 02-03, 09-10 as two-thirds, with 04-05, 06-07 as one-third…”

If the latter half of the statement is confusing, it refers to analogue winters which is Bastardi’s favorite method of forecasting because it frequently works. The winter of 2010, for instance, was so cold here that the green elephant ears in the front beds turned black and fell on the ground. They grew back, of course, from the roots. Go here for his not very technical, reasonably easy to understand explanation with lots of pretty graphics.

Racing clouds preceded twister

Was out in the back forty about noon Monday, checking to see if any new deer had jumped the privacy fence to get at the rancho’s roses. Had one Sunday, and an earlier one a week ago. Still trying to figure where they’re getting over.

Saw no deer but was struck by the clouds overhead. Coming out of the northwest and the southeast. They were just racing north. Wind was picking up, of course. Had to be a low out there somewhere, in the direction of Round Rock, probably. Hoped it would spawn a thunderstorm and bring us some rain.

Had no idea then that the low was as far north as Oklahoma or that about 3 p.m. CDT it would spawn a killer tornado that would wipe out two elementary schools south of Oklahoma City. G-d bless the dead and the injured and the devastated untouched, so to speak. Glad to see that CGHill at Dustbury, at the Bandwidth Wastage Station, survived this “last rite of spring” as he blogged it.

Heard some fool Democrat blaming global warming/climate change. The usual dreck. This is Tornado Alley, nitwit, beginning down here around Austin and stretching as far north as South Dakota. We get these bastards every year about this time. Wouldn’t have wished it on Oklahoma, especially not those dead kids and their devastated parents. But I’m sure thankful it didn’t spin up anywhere near us.

Waiting for the reviews

Finishing a novel and then waiting for the reviews, according to Keith Ridgeway, isn’t fun.

“It’s a little like crawling from a car crash to be greeted by a panel of strangers holding up score cards.”

Ain’t it the truth. So far I’ve been lucky, but with more than a hundred copies taken when the novel was on Amazon’s free promotion list, there’s bound to be some contrary ones out there just waiting to hold up their score cards. Stands to reason.