Rose season is starting—my favorite time in the garden. Every year I watch the buds begin to form on the dozen rose varieties (mostly climbers) that perch on various surfaces around the house, and I wonder which will flower first. Each has a name, and I delight in thinking how the breeder decided on it (creating, or hybridizing, new roses is a complex, obsessive process cheaper but just as serious as breeding Kentucky Derby winners). For most of my roses, the name definitely corresponds to the appearance and personality (or habit) of the rose. Queen Elizabeth, for instance, a grandiflora (bush) rose introduced in 1954, is a pink rose with rounded petals. The blossoms are square and squat just before they open. It’s not a showy rose, but it’s very constant, blooming steadily though not extravagantly for more than twenty years in a place that gets a lot of shade. I swear it waves to me on breezy days with a particularly stiff but regal motion. On the wall not far away is New Dawn, a huge sprawling climber that is packed with pale pink, delicate yet disciplined, roses (they all seem to to face the same direction). In full bloom they cover one side of the house. I think of these roses as the ladies-in-waiting. Around the corner is Don Juan, a smoky red-purple climber that gets around. Its blossoms are lush, velvety, and smell tantalizing. It’s prolific, so I prune it in to move away from Queen Elizabeth, since I don’t want her to be scandalized. Luckily QE can’t see Colette, my star climber on the opposite side of the house. This voluptuous, peach-colored rose is named for the notorious French author and actress, who was sensual, sentimental, and often outrageous as both a writer and a woman. Colette needed to be the center of attention. So I'm not surprised that this year, her namesake rose is the first to bloom (pictured above).