A Rose is a Rose

Nanny/Frannie's rose bush went through a few hiccups over the years. Nanny had given the plant to Mom when she visited back when I was a teen. There was the time my brother in law took an axe to it after Mom asked him to "cut down" the rose bush. She meant "cut back." Anyway, nothing was left but the root stock and Mom was so upset. But Pete was forgiven.

Years later, after Mom moved away and after Nanny passed, the roots fought their way out of the dirt and put out tentative branches. A couple of tiny red blooms blooms emerged. I told Mom and she was so happy. She said it was Nanny saying hello.

This year, the bush seems to have a new life, with more little red blooms bursting through the day lilies on the neighbour's side of the fence.

On the same note, Uncle Bob's spectacular roses next door were being dug up by the tenant last fall. I showed up just in time. He must have seen the look on my face, so he quickly offered them to me. I immediately dug a spot in the corner of the yard and popped them in. Not good soil, but I didn't want them to die from exposure. This spring, they seem to be making a comeback. The pink rose is one of Uncle Bob's, with the flamingo from his late daughter's wedding in the background. I'll try to augment the soil with some compost when I can.

I don't know much about roses, but I feel a connection with these plants and I hope they can bring joy to future generations.

Uncle Bob used horse poop. Maybe I gotta go find some horse poop.