God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December. – JM Barrie
I remember my roses. They grew in the back garden of my first house. I started with four bushes, hybrid teas in red and orange, yellow and pink. I thought I’d have enough color to make a pretty centerpiece for my dining room.
Roses are picky, demanding creatures.
They need sun, but not too much; warmth without extreme heat; and endless weeding, fertilizing, and pruning to produce enough flowers for continuous bouquets. I pushed my twenty-seven-year-old self around the back yard every weekend, my actions governed by a checklist from the local rose society. But no matter what I tried, bless my heart, I couldn’t coax enough flowers from four measly bushes.
I decided to buy more roses.
The rose society had a sale. “Check everything you want,” they crowed. “You’ll get maybe a fifth of them.” I took them at their word and ticked everything that caught my eye. When I turned in my order sheet, I didn’t even tally the total. I’d get five or six of them, right?
Wrong.
I got EVERYTHING. I came home to twenty new bare root bushes, scraggly things crying to be planted. The rose society folks dropped those things off and laughed all the way to the bank.
I wasn’t very smart at twenty-seven.
Undeterred, I dug up half of my back yard to create a new rose bed. I crafted perfect holes with cone-shaped dirt in the bottom and spread each set of roots with love. Like a plant mixologist, I concocted the perfect get-started-right cocktail for each bush. I watered them, and I talked to them, and I sprayed them, and I imagined what each one might become.
Because rose bushes are like children.
I resolved to be the ideal rose mother, and for several weeks, I was. My babies rewarded me with a profusion of intoxicating blossoms with which to spangle my home. I deemed my effort a success and went on vacation, because I’d earned it, right?
I came home a week later and ran to the back to greet my babies, certain they’d have another crop ready for me. But the beds were overgrown with weeds a foot high. Yellowed leaves covered the ground, and the ones clinging to the the canes were covered in black spot. And what were those flea-like bugs all over the heads of each desiccated not-flower?
Maybe I live in a condominium today because of my experience with roses. I mean, I love gardens, but I’ll pay to visit them from now on.
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15 Comments
I love roses. There is one of mine still growing at my father’s house. I got it when I was about 5 years old. When we moved from that first house I dug it up and took it with me to the house where my father is now. It is still going strong and thick. It is what, 45 to 50 years old? Love that thing.
That’s a long time for a rose bush to live. My mom still has the one growing next to her carport. It was there when they bought the house in 1974.
I remember when you grew roses. You were quite domestic back in the day! Happy Monday. xxoo
Ha. I was an idiot.
What a wonderful experience. My rose garden was like 15 two years olds that need me daily for more than hour. I lived in north Florida and lost them all to mold. That nasty stuff but those little buggy mites hated dish soap water. They won too. I yanked them all like the camelias I planted in sweet soil. Oops
Roses don’t like our humid heat.
A rose by any other name is still a rose.
Right.
I, too, love roses, but not all of us are gardeners. 😉 I usually manage to have some pretty geraniums through the summer months and count myself lucky. This year, what with all the packing and such, even they have suffered a bit from benign neglect. It will be exciting to see what the new yard will yield next year. We know there are some perennials already established there.
Glad you had this memory to share though . . . made me think of the pink climber that graced my great-grandmother’s front porch trellis when I was very, very young.
I’m excited to see what the new place brings! I hope you’ll post more photos.
like you, i am a trial and error gardener. win some, lose more, onward -)
My stuff grows in streaky fashion as well. It thrives and dies inexplicably.
I love roses, but I’m sure struggling with whether to continue to give them so much time and attention. Roses were never intended for Southern California, but they do grow well if I devote myself to them. And we do still have them blooming in December. 🙂 I love gardening, but I must admit there are times I really think a condominium or townhouse is a wonderful answer to practical living!
I don’t regret our condo life at all. We can’t get herbs to grow and keep killing them, but otherwise it’s very low maintenance. Roses need so much water, too.
Oh my! I wouldn’t have known what to do in that situation. How sad though. Roses are so beautiful. But so much work.
My parents have the green thumbs in the family. I did not inherit those thumbs.
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