Friday, June 8, 2012


It's not a corner of the yard I go to much. From the street it's hidden by a corner of the house and behind a large amur maple. It's where the sump pump empties out into the yard, and the meters are gathered. Still, I had big plans for it once upon a time.

My favorite rose ever is the Mr. Lincoln. Big red blossoms, perfect form, and the fragrance - oh the fragrance! It's everything you think all roses should be, the very essence of rose. The Chrysler Imperial comes close, but the Mr. Lincoln has slightly better form in the hybrid tea blossoms. I planted one there, out in front  of a pair of Patriot blueberries, upright-growing rather than spreading, and producing large fruit.

The first Minnesota winter killed it.

I kinda suspected it might, and was only moderately heartbroken.

I never planted another there, and mostly forgot about that spot, except to weed it every couple of years and watch the perennials from the rest of the front garden spread around the corner and into the spot. After a couple years, I noticed a wild rose sprig poking up from the spot. Spindly and gangly, I think it managed a bud, but I managed to miss whatever bloom it produced due to inattention. I knew the Mr. Lincoln had been killed back to below the graft, and had no expectations.

A week ago, Paul called me back to look at it. There was a huge bush, long arcing branches, filled with deep red single-petal blossoms, lightly fragrant (darn). I have a red climber! It's gorgeous!

Maybe in another few years I'll produce a trellis for it.

Or maybe not.

But I will start paying attention.

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