The Gardens of the American Rose Center (118 acres) are botanical gardens located in Shreveport, Louisiana and dedicated to rose varieties. They have been the headquarters of the American Rose Society since 1974 when it moved to Louisiana from Columbus, Ohio.
The gardens include some 20,000 rose varieties, arranged in 65 individual gardens such as ones featuring the newest rose hybrids, All-America Rose Selections, miniature roses, single petaled roses, etc. Taken together, the gardens are described as the largest park in the United States dedicated to roses.
The gardens are located just west of Shreveport at 8877 Jefferson Paige Road, off of I-20, Exit 5 near Greenwood, Louisiana. They are open daily March 30 through October 31. An admission fee is charged.
Famous quotes containing the words gardens, american, rose and/or center:
“It is closing time in the gardens of the West and from now on an artist will be judged only by the resonance of his solitude or the quality of his despair.”
—Cyril Connolly (1903–1974)
“The white American man makes the white American woman maybe not superfluous but just a little kind of decoration. Not really important to turning around the wheels of the state. Well the black American woman has never been able to feel that way. No black American man at any time in our history in the United States has been able to feel that he didn’t need that black woman right against him, shoulder to shoulder—in that cotton field, on the auction block, in the ghetto, wherever.”
—Maya Angelou (b. 1928)
“Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
First vague shadow of surmise
Flits across her bosom young,
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free;
Nor thou detain her vesture’s hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)
“When the landscape buckles and jerks around, when a dust column of debris rises from the collapse of a block of buildings on bodies that could have been your own, when the staves of history fall awry and the barrel of time bursts apart, some turn to prayer, some to poetry: words in the memory, a stained book carried close to the body, the notebook scribbled by hand—a center of gravity.”
—Adrienne Rich (b. 1929)