by Linda Boyden
illustrated by Amy Córdova
illustrated by Amy Córdova
Category
📚
LearningTranscript
00:00The Blue Roses by Linda Boyden. Illustrated by Amy Cordova.
00:17To my wondrous family, to the memory of my grandfathers John T. Simmons and Edward Louis
00:22Dargis. A special and forever thanks to J.B. and my editors Laura and Louise. L.B. To the
00:31sacred lives of children. May you grow and blossom in a safe and loving world. A.C. Mama
00:39said. On the day I was born my grandfather planted a rose bush under my bedroom window.
00:47He dug the hole deep through in a few chunks of dead fish then tapped down the soil. When
00:52I was five days old, my grandfather carried me out to see my rose bush though I was too
00:58little to see much. He turned my head and I spit up. Milk dribbled down his hand onto
01:05a leaf. My grandfather laughed and close my name. Rosalie, he called me his little rose.
01:14When I was three, I could not say grandfather. My mouth wouldn't stretch around that great
01:21big word so I named him Papa. He named me and I named him, but he never spit up on me.
01:29My mother Papa and I lived in a house on a street with seven other houses. Mama worked
01:34all week long at the fish cannery. All his life Papa fished on the white blue sea until
01:40the sea wind shivered his bones and made him cough. After I was born he stayed at home
01:46to tend me and his garden. Our house. Papa's garden made our house different from the others.
01:55Vegetables grew during the summer, corn and carrots, beans and peas in rows straight as
02:00pencils. Past them yellow squash and orange pumpkins huddled in mounds like sisters sharing
02:07secrets. Flowers bloomed in tiny rainbows along our fence, purple pansies, blue lupines,
02:15yellow marigolds, orange nasturtiums. Best of all the red, red blossoms on my rosebush
02:21danced with every breeze. A green thumb the neighbors called Papa. The little one too
02:28they said and smiled, but their words made me hide behind Papa's leg. I didn't want our
02:35thumbs to turn green. Every day I checked but we were lucky. Our thumbs stayed brown.
02:43Brown as ever. Every spring we planted. Papa hoed the rows. Behind him I dropped in seeds
02:51round and bumpy or straight and smooth. Tiny promises seeds Papa said. The promise of a
02:59future. Inside each row Papa placed chunks of dead fish he carried in an old bucket.
03:06I held my nose against the stink. Papa laughed. The bad smell goes away he said. Put in the
03:15fish and the plants will grow strong. He tickled the back of my neck. Rosalie, a garden is
03:22the closest place to heaven on this hard earth. I listened but secretly hoped heaven smelled
03:29better. On my ninth birthday, Papa planted three new rosebushes around my red bush,
03:36two pink and one yellow. To make a sunset. He said. He was right. The yellow and pink
03:45and red sky did shine in their petals, but I also liked the color of the day sky. Papa,
03:52did I get a blue rosebush too? He thought for a moment. Roses aren't blue Rosalie.
04:00I asked him why not, but Papa just shook his head. Then he showed me my other present,
04:07my own garden plot. As Papa watched me hoe my rows, I remembered to stop in the middle
04:13each time to be sure the row ran straight. Papa smiled then a white sparkling grin. A
04:20natural born gardener, that's my Rosa. A coughing spell stopped Papa. He coughed so
04:27hard he lost his words. I hurried and helped him to the ground. For the first time I saw
04:35Papa was old so old that lines zigzagged across his face and his thin silver braid quivered
04:40on his back with each cough. When Papa caught his breath, he looked in my eyes. Don't be
04:48afraid. He whispered. I told him I had to be, because he was so old. Papa laughed. Old's
04:57nothing to fear. I didn't believe him. I reached to touch one of his wrinkles. Wrinkles. They
05:06just tell the story of your life. What does this one say Papa? He closed his eyes. One
05:15day when I was at sea, the sky turned yellow black. The wind howled and wave after wave
05:21tossed my boat. I clutched the wheel squeezed my face tight. And then. Papa leaned on my
05:30shoulders to get up. Then. The storm stopped. I sailed home and when I looked in the mirror.
05:39It was my first wrinkle. Later I stared in the mirror hoping to find my own story at
05:46least the first line. Instead I found four new freckles. And in the morning I found two
05:53dead pea plants. Right in the middle of the row they drooped brown leaves curled in empty
05:59fists. I threw down my hoe. They died. I cried. Papa tugged one of my braids. Everything
06:09dies rosally. But they were new. They weren't supposed to. Everything has its time to die.
06:18New or old it doesn't matter. Pull up the dead ones. Tuck them under the others so they'll
06:25help like the fish. When I was done, Papa leaned on his hoe. See how a garden works.
06:34Peas grew, but some died. If you dig them into the soil something new will come we stood
06:39quiet for a minute. Then he said, that's what I like about gardens rosally. Nothing ever
06:47really leaves. That night under my star quilt, I thought about plants, animals and people
06:54having a time to die. I looked out my window. What about stars? Would they die too? I fell
07:03asleep listening to Papa cough wondering about old people and the stars. Summer turned
07:09into winter. Late one night Mama woke me. Come say goodbye to Papa she said gently.
07:17Goodbye. I wondered. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Papa's room glowed with a soft light.
07:26He rested quiet not coughing one bit. Mama I whispered. Let's not wake him. Mama dropped
07:35into a chair and his her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook. I looked and looked at
07:42Papa until I figured it out. Papa was dead. Even though I was almost 10 I climbed on to
07:50Mama's lap. After Papa died. Our house stretched like a huge rubber band around relatives and
07:58neighbors. Aunties and uncles elders and babies filled every room. The grown ups laughed and
08:05told good stories about Papa. They cried and sang soft songs. The babies fussed and the
08:12little cousins gobbled cookies and fry bread. The noises swirled in my head so I snuck off
08:19to the garden. There I could still smell Papa and I told my cousin Mitch. He laughed and
08:26said I was dumb. Mitch thought he knew everything but he didn't know how nothing ever really
08:33leaves a garden. After the funeral the days ran down like a music box out of song. I went
08:40to school and I walked in the garden. I helped Mama and she helped me but we missed Papa
08:47so much. Sometimes she'd cry. Sometimes I did. Sometimes we cried together. One night
08:56I dreamed I was walking through clouds puffy and white climbing under them and over yet
09:01never falling through. Higher and higher I climbed until I reached the top. Then I was
09:08standing beside a white fence looking into a garden of flowers a whole sea of colors
09:13orange and gold, pink and lavender. Rosalie a voice called. I know you'd come. There was
09:21Papa right in that garden. Straight not bent. His face was smooth and glowing not one wrinkle.
09:31Where are your wrinkles Papa? Gone now that my life story's been told. Then Papa pointed
09:39above his head. A trellis of roses curved around him. He pulled a branch lower. Blue
09:47Papa. My blue roses. He winked and smiled. I tried to open the gate to go inside to Papa
09:56and the beautiful roses. But he shook his head. No Rosalie. You can't come in. How could
10:05that be? We always shared our gardens. I tugged the latch harder but Papa shook his
10:12head again. It won't open for you my little rose. Not yet. I started to cry. But I miss
10:21you. And I miss you Rosalie. We're in different gardens now that's all. Remember how nothing
10:29ever really leaves. You tend the sunset roses and I'll tend the blue ones and we'll be together.
10:38Papa smiled then, his special smile. It sailed into my heart and made me smile too. In a
10:45shimmer he faded like stars to the sunlight. I awoke in my bed, the sunset roses peeking
10:52at the window, the blue roses still in my heart. The rest of the year passed. I grew
10:59two inches and needed new jeans. Mama was promoted at work. I won the spelling bee and
11:06learned how to multiply fractions. Missing Papa became familiar like a cut that heals
11:12as a scar. Mama and I still cried, but not every day not like before. Planting time came
11:20again. I hoed and planted every little seed the way Papa taught me. I even put in the
11:27chunks of dead fish. School ended when the roses bloomed. I tied the longest branches
11:34of the sunset roses over my window to grow like the trials in my dream. I wished on the
11:40first star every night for two weeks that they'd turn blue, but they never did. One
11:46Sunday morning, Mama and I ate breakfast at Dipsy's Kitchen, doughnuts thick with chocolate
11:52and milk rich with foam. Afterwards we drove to the cemetery to weed around Papa's headstone.
12:00I had planted rose bushes on either side of Papa's stone. Their bright leaves waved hello
12:06as we parked. I grabbed my hoe and started toward his grave but stopped. Specks of color
12:13flashed from the bushes. Had someone thrown trash on Papa's roses? I ran fast. Mama too.
12:23When we stopped, our eyes stretched wide. Not trash but tiny roses dotted the bushes
12:29some fulsome clenched hundreds of beautiful blossoms. All blue. As blue as the sky or
12:37the sea or a wish inside a dream. My fingers touched a blue petal and I heard Papa's laugh.
12:44The end.