Notes from the First Rose

How a single rose bush, chosen by a five-year-old, became the seed of an entire garden — and a small line of bath rituals.

There was a gap in the backyard when we first moved in.

Not an empty space exactly, but a place that felt unfinished. So I took Maddie to the nursery and told her she could pick out whatever she wanted to plant there.

She chose two rose bushes.

At the time, I honestly wasn't sure they would make it through the winter. They seemed delicate, and the yard still felt new to us. But year after year, those roses came back stronger. The bushes grew fuller, the blooms got bigger, and the color deepened into the most vibrant, rich dark pink — the kind of color that stops you when you walk past it.

Those roses became the beginning of everything.

The rosemary hedge, the lavender along the wall, the lemon tree we almost took down — all of it traces back to that first choice. One small plant became a ritual, and then a garden, and then a way of making this place feel like ours.

That rose taught me to plant for the long view. To trust that small things grow. To leave room for beauty to surprise you.

Polish No.01 is the closest thing I have to a thank-you note to that rose.

The petals in each jar come from her, four summers in — gathered by hand, dried with care, and folded into a simple botanical ritual.

From the first rose, to what grew after.