Nothing signals the height of Summer more than my Father's roses. They always fill the tables of the home I grew up in this time of year and threaten to take over the garden outside. My Grandfather Call had a similar green thumb. His small patch was locate right beside the front door of the Gig Harbor home that he shared with my Grandmother. Many traits are passed on from generation to generation - but sadly, gardening is not mine (yet). Suffice to say, perhaps that is why I enjoy the emails my Mother sends me of my Father's roses even more. They bring back great memories, and momemtarily transport me back home -- even though I am located thousands of miles away here in New York.