Our Belle of Portugal blooms in flushes through the year in Northern CA, San Francisco Bay Area, the Peninsula. My Grandpa planted it so it must be 70-90 years old. It’s been munched on by deer and goats and it just climbs higher and keeps going with out any care even through our driest 3 months of Mediterranean climate drought August-October. Half of its roots are probably growing under the cement pad it is planted next to offering some protection and moisture. It is on the West facing side of the house. It would like more sun because it reaches out to it. I’ve failed many times to grow it from cuttings and air layering. I will try inflicting a larger wound on the stem next try.

I love roses, but this one has to be the most sublime things I have ever set eyes on. It is huge, tough, with the most delicate, perfect booms. I hope to be in a warm climate to grow this beauty someday. Susan Louise, its seedling [or, I believe, huge bush sport] is also an unusual, ungainly, perfect delight.

When I was in high school, we lived in house that shared a Belle of Portugal with the house next door. It had been planted along a long gone fence and had grown to great proportions. It was never pruned (we would have had to erect scaffolding to do it) and sent canes rocketing skywards every summer. The flowers were a marvel. The color always reminded me of the inside of a conch shell, a magical blending of pale pinks and glowing yellows on the inside of the petals. The flowers were huge and always prized in a bud vase. I recall a wonderful fragrance, not strong but very intense. The bloom period was just too short, you wanted it to go on forever.

If I ever live in a house with enough land, I will plant one.