The prairie rose, also called the polar rose, is so tough, hardworking and durable, every other rose on earth looks feeble by comparison.

Rosa acicularis will survive fires, extremes of cold and heat, drought, floods – just about any calamity nature can throw at it – and still pop back up the next spring as though nothing had happened. Not bad for a plant that looks like it belongs in a cut crystal vase and smells like a hundred-dollar-an-ounce perfume.

In the ‘looks can be deceiving’ department, rosa acicularis has few equals. For First Nations People in North America, it delivered all of the big three: food, fiber and medicine. Rose hips, the fruit the plant produces in the fall, are one of nature’s highest sources of vitamin C. These were (and still are) boiled into teas, eaten both raw and cooked, and used to flavor many dishes. Inuit people even combined it with oil and water to make ice cream.

As a fiber, the large branches of mature prairie rose bushes were peeled and split to make cradle hoops. Medicinal uses for the plant ran the gamut from a cure for foot fungus, to a treatment for eye infections and blindness. Taken internally, it brought down fevers and cured upset stomachs.

To top it off, rosa acicularis contained potent magical powers. It was used in some of the most important ceremonial rites, including as a wash before entering a sweat lodge and to sweep out a grave before laying the dead to rest.

It was a good luck charm to help hunters and fishermen bring back a good catch, and could wash away a jinx placed by an enemy.
Children made toy pipes from the hollowed out fruit, petals were used in cosmetic paints and hips were strung together to make jewelry. If any plant could be called an overachiever, this is it.

In September of 1930, Alberta’s farm children returned to school after one of the toughest summers of their young lives. Their families had been hit by a devastating one-two punch. First, the price of seed had risen higher than the price of wheat. Then, those families fortunate enough to be able to plant a crop, watched it fail in one of the worst droughts in living memory.

In the face of these harsh realities, some parents may have thought their children’s first assignment of the year was absurdly trivial: choosing their province’s flower emblem. But their children’s choice could not have been more inspired – or inspiring. And it couldn’t have come at a better time.

As Perren Baker, Alberta’s Education Minister, said at the time: “How fittingly it typified some of the qualities that would be needed if, in due time, men and women were to succeed in putting down their roots and enduring to make homes and civilized communities in that wide, empty and stubborn land. A modest little flower, but so lovely, and yet so hardy, tough and strong to endure. Vive Rosa Acicularis, the wild rose, worthy official emblem of Alberta.”