A few years ago, on my 38th birthday, I found myself on the west coast of the United States of America, more than 16 000 km from home and thoroughly alone. To avoid the birthday blues, I decided to take myself somewhere fun. I did a quick search of things to do in the area and discovered that I was a train ride away from Portland, the biggest city in the state of Oregon, nicknamed “The City of Roses”.
My heart leaped. The Portland International Rose Test Garden, the oldest continuously operated rose test garden in America, would be my birthday treat. It would also be a pilgrimage of sorts because roses are important to my family. My grandmother Suzanna had 178 rosebushes jammed into her small
