Nineteen years ago, I decided to haul out the chain saw and prune the ridiculous holly that a previous owner of our house in Hickory Hill had planted around the pool. Can you imagine planting holly around a pool? I couldn’t, and so I chopped those prickly bushes down, even though I was eight a half months pregnant.
By 3 a.m. the next day, I was awake with the start of labor, and by late afternoon, I was holding our beautiful daughter, Anna Rose. Tony and I had decided on her name a few months earlier on a long drive to the beach, when the poetry of the words tumbled out of my mouth near Jackson, Mississippi. But on the morning Anna was born, a rose bush planted by Tony (fortunately, that shrub escaped my chain saw) exploded with blooms. I noticed the red roses before heading to the hospital, and that pretty much sealed the deal on Anna’s name.
The rose bush didn’t make the move to our new home in East Memphis, but a large and sprawling snowball bush has taken its place. It blooms every year a few days before Anna’s birthday on April 24th. I like to think it’s Anna’s nature that brings on the timely bloom, regardless of the weather.
nice post; Anna: are you paying attention? Anna Rose; beautiful name.
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