Roses

Many years ago (okay not so so very many, but some) before I'd gardened much when we lived in CA, my sister Katie bought me a little rose bush for my birthday from a hispanic man who sold them from his yard. I planted it in the little plot outside our condo. Digging into the soil was like digging into sand and I was sure it would die because the only dirt I'd every known was the clay like Ohio stuff. Die it did not. Turns our roses kind of like that sandy well-drained stuff. That first year it bloomed exactly 2 blooms. But they were the biggest roses I have ever seen. They threatened to weigh the whole bush down. And the next year, the bush was full of blooms. When we left CA there wasn't much about our environment that I was going to miss, but I was going to miss that bush. If we'd had a digital camera back then, I could show you how pretty this rose bush became.

Then a few years ago for my birthday, a friend bought me another rose bush. It was a climbing bush, which was something that I'd dreamed of since childhood (does any girl interested in fairy tales not dream of roses climbing up their houses?). I planted it on the southern-most side of the house, in the only dirt we had around that would be good to it. The first year, it grew A LOT. The next year, it bloomed a lot in the spring, but not at all in the fall. The year after that, it bloomed spring and late summer. By that time it was huge and threatened to stab anyone who came near it. This was enough to inspire Kip to put some wire up on our wall so I could train it. This year it is bursting with blooms and the most beautiful bush--all my fairy tale dreams come true. (Now about that blue-painted wood on the rest of the house).