What Jim saw:

Kim Rupert and I left Los Angeles at 6:45 a.m. to attend the Dedication of the Ralph S. Moore Rose Garden in Visalia.

Another town away in Tulare County citizens lamented the desecration of 54 irreplaceable tombstones of 19th century vintage. Elsewhere people whined about rising gas prices. But Visalia was honoring one of its own on the morning of May 29th over the Memorial Day weekend.

The Chamber of Commerce ordered up reasonably good weather for the mid-morning ceremonies dedicating the Ralph S. Moore Rose Garden in honor of the most famous rosarian in Tulare County. The ceremonies were as deceptively simple as the honoree himself. Only a few speakers were permitted and they were allotted a scant three to five minutes to mark the occasion. Mary Hill recounted the circumstances in which she had been asked permission to have a rose named for her. The local newspaper, the Visalia Times-Delta, noted that three generations from the same family attended—Dian, Janna, and Jessica Rose, each of whom had provided a name for a Moore rose. A former mayor of Visalia read a proclamation noting the day and the event. Steve Jones, Vice President of the American Rose Society, presented a resolution from the Executive Committee of that organization, 'whereas-ing' Mr. Moore in a short and eloquent statement.

People noted the roots of the man in the community. To the outside world Ralph Moore is the hybridizer of such prodigious diversity and vision that moss roses became both remontant and miniaturized, not to mention the re-inclusion of hybrid bracteatas and hulthemias into the mainstream of the rosarian world. But to the local community, Mr. Moore was an elder in his Presbyterian church, a long-time member of the school board, and the husband, father, and patriarch of a group of descendants unto the third generation. His ability to engender loyalty in others is such that three of his woman associates had accumulated a combined working time nearly equal to a century of service.

Children whimpered and cried during the speeches, a sound unfamiliar in the settings of most rosarian events. Local groups and parties to the creation of the park and the occasion gathered in easy proximity to people who had traveled miles and hours to be present. Julia Cooper of San Diego drove eight hours in holiday traffic to mark the occasion; she and her beautiful teenage daughter were still related after the ordeal. Mel Hulse, keeper of the Garden at the San Jose Heritage Rose Garden, drove from San Jose in his racy red Miata. Other well-known names in Rosaria made an appearance, such as Terri Hart, John and Lynette Petrula, Irene Lindsey, Muriel Humenick. Hybridizers Jim Sproul and Betty Jacobs attended as well as diverse citizens from rose fields as far away as Denmark. Sturdy souls sat in the park chairs arrayed in the sun; sturdier ones stood in the shade of tall trees.

The honoree himself said a few words paying tribute to those who had preceded him in the ongoing work of hybridizing and discovery. He specifically cited the earlier giants of Luther Burbank and George Washington Carver, his contemporaries of Jack Harkness and Dr. Walter Lammerts, and paid an especial tribute to a faculty mentor, English teacher Edith Wallace Bryant, who taught him in both high school and at the College of the Sequoias over seventy years ago.

The ceremonies culminated with photo ops of the memorial plaque with the Moore likeness on it. Music accompanied the proffered punch and cookies; (I kept reaching for chocolate chip, but could only snag oatmeal.) The whole event took less than an hour.

Some of the participants repaired to Sequoia Nursery where family and friends munched on traditional picnic fare of roast beef sandwiches, macaroni salad, fruit salad, potato salad, and carrot cake—the comfort food of the diet restricted—that disappeared with the speed and appreciation, which marks every rose gathering. And there was conversation. About roses. Would the striped rugosa be put on the market next year? Yes. What about the cross between Tigris and Playboy? Probably not. Would the Fairy Moss cross with Calycarpa be commercial? No; it was a once bloomer. When would the TV series with Mel Hulse and Kim Rupert interviewing Mr. Moore go on the market? Whenever the money situation permitted. Would a cross of Basye's Commander's Legacy with a thornless wichurana combine all of the known sources of both thornlessness and blackspot resistance produce something incredible? Worth trying.. Did you see Irene Lindsey's 9 minute slide show of the available Moore roses? Pure eye candy.

Mr. Moore, in his 97th year, economizes on his energy and his time. Like many of the hard-of-hearing, he has prepared answers for expected or repetitious questions and furnishes them without even a soupcon of boredom. Open-ended questions lead to political attitudes reminiscent of agrarian populism of 1948. The abrasive and the acolyte manqué receive equal courtesy and time. But the essential spark of interest does not appear until he converses with someone knowledgeable in his arts; then his posture stiffens up, he leans forward to engage in direct conversations, and added force and power pepper his commentary. He says of Kim Rupert, a hybridizer, "Kim is a real rose man; he knows his stuff."

A parting conversation with Kim starts at 5:00 p.m.; it takes 68 minutes to traverse a hundred steps to his residence from the Nursery Office. The elongation of the journey is not only because of Mr. Moore's slowed steps, but because there is always another facet to the conversation to be explored. The journey halts, only to be resumed reluctantly.

The elapsed time of a trip from Los Angeles to Visalia is something like two and half hours total from Sherman Oaks to the Sequoia Nursery. The apparent cost is about ten gallons of gasoline for a round trip. But the cost/benefit ratio stretches to infinity.

Kim notes:

One may worry that a man nearing his Centenary may not have the energy to follow through on his intentions. Two months prior to the Dedication, I'd asked Mr. Moore about a rose he's shared with me years before. He said he thought he still had it and would see about getting it propagated. When we arrived at the park, I got in line to greet Mr. Moore and to let him know we were there to participate in the dedication of 'His Garden.' As soon as he took my hand, he drew me close to his face, saying, "Remember that thornless Wichuraiana, you asked me about? I have it rooted for you. Don't let me forget, remind me!" This act is symbolic of Ralph Moore, and how he has shared his knowledge, experience, and discoveries with the world.

Mr. Moore related how Luther Burbank was one of his heroes. Burbank discovered a California poppy with a red stripe down the backside of a petal. Through breeding and selection, he created the red California Poppy that we now grow and enjoy. Mr. Moore had a pink California poppy, which he mentioned in his address. Some years ago, he shared with me of how he thought it would be beautiful lining Highway 99 and the hills around Visalia. The only problem was, that poppy seeds are extremely tiny and light. How could you deliver them to their destinations when you couldn't walk to where you wanted to plant them? He had the idea of using 'mud bombs' rolled in pink California poppy seeds, but the mud would have to be the proper consistency so they would cleanly shatter on impact and deliver their payload evenly. He created the proper poppy- laden mud bombs, and then proceeded to drive up and down the Highway 99, hurling his seeded bombs out the windows! I began to laugh hysterically! He looked up puzzled and asked what was wrong? I told him I was imagining the newspaper headlines about the prominent Visalia businessman, elder in the church, etc., arrested for mud bombing the freeway hillsides! The staid and proper gentleman the world came to honor on this beautiful summer morning, is a determined inventor who would never allow a problem such as a simple delivery system to deter his creative genius and drive to create beauty all around him.

He brought this same determination and imagination into the world of creating roses. He questioned all of the 'Rules,' and found that most of them didn't apply. In his words, 'Just when you think you know what the rose is going, to do, the rose changes the rules!' He took me by the hand and led me on a journey of discovery, seen through new eyes—the eyes of his inspiration. With humor, whimsy, and a healthy dose of 'what if?' he has traveled his own path. A path of freedom to explore, with virtually no limits, unconstrained by the artificial rules imposed by those attempting to explain what they merely observed. His break-through roses are the result of that creative kind of determination to completely exhaust the possibilities before him. He is a man whose character was revealed to the world through his roses. In his town, he is known as a humble and dignified pillar of the community. The rose world knows him as one of, if not the most honored Rosarians of the last Century. In his nursery—his playpen—his life's work has been about breaking the rules and pushing the envelope.

Even at 97, his curiosity is not dimmed. He is still encouraging others to take the roses beyond, not just to 'stir up the pot,' but also to see 'What if?' When offered the chance to talk roses, his faces still lights up, and he stands taller. That is why he followed through on his promise, propagating that thornless Wichurana, giving it to me on his special day.