roses

Pruning back roses and putting down roots

I pruned my rose bushes this weekend, and stripped them bare. They look so vulnerable now, and I’m remembering with wistfulness their fragrant beauty.

It’s an act of faith, this paring back. But it promotes deeper roots, and encourages branching.

It also speaks to me of possibilities. And you know what that means: a trip to the garden nursery!

Meet Oprah’s Legend, the newest resident of Chez Shore. For now, she’s a just a rootball with a few thorny canes…

Bareroot rose in soil

fresh from a leisurely soak in epsom salts, bare roots exposed.

Bareroot rose, soaking in epsom salts

Over the next few months, she’ll plant herself deep in the earth.  In due time, she’ll  become a leafy beauty. When she reaches her full potential, she’ll be a sweet-fragranced, “ruffled whopper of a show-stopper” according to the grower, with epic 8″ blooms and “petals as big as a child’s palm.” That’s not just catalog hyperbole, mind you.  A trustworthy gardener confirmed it for me.

Oprah's Legend, red rose

Courtesy of Weeks Growers

Hurry up, spring! This, I’ve gotta see.

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Art Challenge of the Week: Amid waves of concern, a sea of calm

When was the last time you spent a relaxing day at the beach, completely unplugged–

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resting quietly at the ocean’s edge,

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utterly mesmerized by waves that froth and curl, and then ease themselves ashore?

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When’s the last time you saw a seagull take wing,

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or spied a honeybee, humming a song about sunshine as it collects pollen?

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Do you remember the last time you heard the ocean’s lullaby,

felt it ease the wrinkles from your worried brow?

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(Did you figure it out already? This week’s art challenge prompt is the word CALM.)

Want to see more? My responses to previous challenges are available here.

Thankful Thursday: Focusing on the positive

My writing is going really well these days, and I'm wondering if that might have something to do with the fact that I'm spending more time behind the camera lens. I'm not a proficient photographer by any means, but I'm making progress. I'm learning how to reframe certain objects, to allow more or less light for greater effect, to slow the shutter speed. 

And I'm learning from my mistakes.

Without forcing the metaphor, I think these lessons hold true in a broader context. Things exist within and beyond our awareness, but we can only acknowledge (and grow to appreciate) those things we’re willing to see.  

Perhaps your eyes were drawn to the splashes of sunlight on Caley’s body, her oversized ears and sleepy-eyed stare. Maybe your imagination led you toward the garden, instead, just beyond her countertop perch. Or, ha, maybe you zeroed in on the rain-spattered window. Camera or cleaning cloth: Which would you reach for first?

Here's another example, this one from the garden. Seeing my roses in bloom again…pure joy! I can almost forget the spindly, bareroot shapes they took in January, and the thousand plagues diseased, insect-ridden foliage of a few weeks ago.

Almost. But I won’t forget the lessons. As my friend Susan said, “So much of gardening is about letting go.” Hovercraft mother gardener that I am, I'm still working on that.

Widening the lens even further, I see parallels with Life Itself. Dark and light, death and rebirth….things shift in the blink of an eye, depending on (and regardless of) our focus. 

This is not a random thought, inserted recklessly into my blog. It comes of grieving a friend of mine, recently murdered. It comes of being candid about things, good and bad, of trying to make sense of the unimaginable by exploring it from all angles.

A trusting soul, my friend didn’t recognize the stranger who came knocking on her door. As with this frilly purple flower, Death presented itself as harmless. Too late, she realized its true nature.

Am I more guarded now, after hearing the gruesome details? To some degree, I guess. Some people open their lives to strangers; others are more cautious. I fall into the first camp, but it’s a gamble, either way. And while I'm not one to dwell for long in shadow, I'll carry this experience like a flashlight, going forward.

In WISE HEART, Buddhist philosopher Jack Kornfield writes, “Pain is inevitable…suffering is not." My thoughts this morning are a contemplative nod to this "Noble Truth." They also come of seeing recent events in the context of Philippians 4:8, which is one of my favorite Bible verses. I’ve carried it in my heart for many years, and I'm finding comfort in it now:

Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

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Friday Five: Sentimental Journey

I catch glimpses of my Nana's sensibilities (and sentimentalities) in myself, more and more every day. How so, you ask? I offer you five examples:

1. A couple of days ago, this pair of mallards landed in our yard. I'm not sure what they were looking for–the closest water source is my neighbor's pool (although there's a stream bed a few blocks away). Anyway, after strolling through my new rose bed, they ambled across the road. 

Along came an SUV, barreling toward both ducks. I flapped my arms and shouted, "Ducks! Watch out!" The driver screeched to a stop. He slouched in his seat, likely at the thought of the narrowly-averted tragedy. Or maybe he was frightened by the wild-eyed woman who waved him down?  I swan, I just about had a heart attack myself, right then and there.The ducks? They kept right on waddling, utterly nonplussed…

2. The yard into which the ducks shuffled next belonged to my dearly departed neighbor. Jan's front yard's a shambles now, but it used to be a caliope of roses, hibiscus, and gardenias–the pride and joy of the entire neighborhood. She tended her flowers every morning and evening…until she couldn't any longer. The house sold quickly, and the new owners just moved in. A young couple, really nice. But because they have a toddler, they plan to remove all the landscaping out front…sooner than later, as finances permit. 

We understand their reasoning, but the entire neighborhood has once again fallen into grief. We loved Jan's flowers as much as she did, and are anguished to think that her beloved rose beds–her legacy–will disappear without a trace. So when our new neighbors offered me as many roses as I wanted to take, I seized the opportunity.

I struggled mightily with the larger ones, but the thorns were too sharp, the roots too stubborn. Still, I managed to dig up three mid-sized bushes all by myself, and transplanted them into a flower bed in my backyard. I'm wishing on imaginary dandelion puffs now, like Nana taught me long ago. I'm so hoping that they'll make it!!

3. Good news: our orioles are back! And you know what that means, right? TIme to buy some more grape jelly! Nana would've loved to watch them flit from tree to tree. Knowing her, she'd probably sneak an extra pinch of sugar into the nectar while it's cooking…


I took this photo last year. I'll try for a better shot this spring/summer.

4. I'm reading WRITING PAST DARK: Envy, Fear, Distractions, and Other Dilemmas in the Writer's Life. (I wish I could remember who it was that mentioned this wonderful book on their blog, so I could thank them properly!) Bonnie Friedman's an amazing writer, and though I'm reluctant to single out any one chapter, I confess to tearing up while reading, "Your Mother's Passions, Your Sister's Woes: Writing About the Living." Just like my Nana, Ms. Friedman illustrates Truth With story. I love that kind of writing, don't you?

5. One by one, my longtime LiveJournal friends are leaving for greener pastures. I mourn the loss of everyone who leaves us, feel sad when their moving trucks rumble down the street. Nothing is permanent, but LJ felt less transient than most blog platforms…until it didn't. And if I weren't so attached to this place, if I weren't so reluctant to learn all I need to make the shift myself, I'd probably be digging up my own rosebeds about now. But I can't bring myself to do that–not yet, anyway.

Instead, I cling tight to my belief that, despite any temporary transplant shock, the friendships we've cultivated here will survive–and thrive. Here I am again, blowing dandelion wishes into the wind. But as my Nana used to say, "If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride." So I'm also thinking about what I might do to help smooth these transitions.  The odds are better, I've found, when I choose action over chance.

Nip this potential problem in the bud


Double Delight rose, via Google Images
Here, a cautionary tale for green thumbs and gardener wanna-be's (like me):

I'm replanting my rose beds this spring because my then-gardener whacked the heck out of them pruned them back too far, and they've been sickly ever since.

I've enjoyed reconfiguring the overall arrangement–reimagining color combinations, incorporating old friends with new acquaintances, etc. (Moondance, Angel Face, Double Delight, and Lasting Love…so evocative, don't you think?) But I've also discovered a very sad side effect of the current recession is that rose bushes are in short supply this year.

Some growers went bankrupt; some distributors cut back on supplies. The net effect for home gardeners is this: Many varieties are harder to find this year–standard favorites and exotics, alike. So if you're planning to order roses online this spring, do it now. Or if you prefer buying plants from your local nursery, put yourself on their waiting lists. You're more likely to get the ones you really want, once they're available in your growing zone.

Tell 'em a little birdie sent you. 🙂

 
I've managed to buy most of the roses I wanted from my local nursery, and I've placed an online order for another two or three varieties that they don't carry. Crossed fingers that they don't get cancelled for any reason…it's planting season here, and I can't wait to see them in full bloom!