It Was A Fancy Rose Once

 Years ago I planted a fancy hybrid tea rose next to the house. I was looking for fragrance, and the two most reliable roses in my experience for fragrance were Mr. Lincoln, and just about anything in lavender... aka purple.

I planted both, of course. Who cared if the colors clashed? I wanted my version of nose candy -the kind of high I get from a deeply fragrant rose. For the first couple years they did so-so, but I did get some blossoms to inhale.  Being Minnesota, they had to get buried in winters for protection. We were still getting the occasional -30 night back then, and cars still automatically came with a cord dangling under the engine to plug in to an outlet by the garage door keep the engine warm overnight. Mostly those worked, but towing companies kept in business. 

If cars needed that, what kind of future did a fancy hybrid tea have when facing raw nature without good protection? You might expect that even with protection they struggled. You might also expect that some years went by where protection wound up a big OOPS from neglect. No more fancy fragrance for me of a summer morn. 

Weeds grew, thorny canes with scattered leaves popped up from their rootstock below where the fancy part had been grafted, and some years total neglect of that corner were inflicted on their remnants. Sow thistles and tall grass thrived, of course. Lily of the Valley invaded, as it does. In fact there's a list....

Recently, after my knees worked again (mostly), I started paying more attention to the yard when we came up for summers. My youngest son had bought my house and we stayed with him, so I had ample opportunity to see what neglect had done to take advantage of my gardening optimism. Some of you saw photos of the "before" parts, when young trees invaded everything. And tall grass, as in 5 feet high. And both sow and bull thistles. And cup flowers, something like a small blossomed, over tall sunflower. And sour cherry and choke cherry trees spread by the neighborhood birds with their unique fertilizer packages gift wrapping each for a healthy head start. And burdock, and raspberries, and elderberries, and Virginia creeper vines, and... and... and.  After two years of reparations, it was just a wee bit less of a nightmare. 

A couple years back there was a remnant of one rose left, basic rootstock only, no hybrid graft. The canes came up, budded, drooped, and... nothing. Last year, same thing. To be fair these were very dry years. I will even admit to, uhhh, accidentally cutting several canes way back when cutting out weeds. Aside from preventing more bleeding when I snagged them - or was it them snagging me? - it may have been a good thing. 

It pretty much hasn't stopped raining this last couple months here. That turns out also to be a very good thing, at least for the rose remnant. The sump pump dumps right past where the bush was planted, into a decorative catch basin hiding in the weeds, in the shape of a gargoyle, to keep the ground from getting washed away, another very good thing this year. It is finally earning its high price tag. In fact, we had so much rain by the time my son left for work this morning that he asked us to make sure the sum pump was still pumping during the day and hadn't died from overwork. (At mid afternoon, so far so good.) 

 He neglected to make an additional comment, though maybe he thought I'd noticed already. Possibly the new crop of tall weeds and weed trees hid it from his view. (NO? I didn't think so either.) The old rootstock rose had totally burst into bloom since the last time I'd looked at the side of the house while driving down the street or looking in the mailbox (hope springs eternal) for something for me. I went back inside, pulled out the camera and waded though tall wet grass to get some shots. If he forgot to mention the bloom, he did mention the wetness of the yard. I'll have to give him full credit for that. It was my own fault I stepped in front of the gargoyle mouth just as the sum pump kicked up again to soak my shoes.

Shooting finished, I picked a pair of blossoms from the bush, and despite total lack of fragrance, brought them into the house and plopped them in a small plastic dish with water for the kitchen table. Turns out that the dish has a teensy crack in the bottom, so the water was actually for, and on, the table.

Some days I remember to settle for what I can get!