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Dr. Leda's Rose Journal |
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Everything I Know, I Learned from Roses
By Dr. Leda Horticulture,
A Clinically Diagnosed Rose Addict
February 1, 2002
Some of life's choice Nuggets of Wisdom I've picked up from growing roses...
Believe the impossible.
Back when I was a novice gardener, the nice man at the nursery tried to sell me a hideous little clump of prickly twigs. He swore that within three months, it would quadruple in size and be covered with dozens of exquisitely perfect, beautiful, long-stemmed roses. Naturally, I bared my teeth and hissed at him in a primal display of healthy skepticism. Three months later, if he'd told me the sky was going to rain truffles, he could have sold me a hundred buckets.
Never say never.
You can always make room for more roses. When you are absolutely certain that you've run out of space, you are doomed within three days to meet an Adult Child of Satan who will sweetly announce, "Oh but you must see my lovely woodland rose garden. I've discovered 200 new varieties that thrive and bloom in the dark." Next thing you know, you'll be throwing out clothes and filling your closets with potting soil.
The more you give, the more you get.
The more you cut roses, the more they bloom. A rose cut from your garden can be an incarnate expression of love, friendship, romance, generosity, apology, sympathy, or obsequiousness. Whatever it is you're trying to say, your friends, co-workers, and dearly beloveds are guaranteed to be overjoyed that your roses have finally taken over the zucchini bed. Your karma will rise at least three notches.
We're not just filthy, we're filthy rich.
You've heard the old saw that the best way to make a small fortune is to start with a large fortune and take up growing roses. Laugh, but I'm convinced that growing roses is actually the best way to save a fortune. Look, for example, at me. (You're probably already coveting my chic gardening attire. "Ah, the haute couture of baggy khakis with gaping holes in the mud-caked knees!" you murmur wistfully. "Probably Versace, or Chanel, or perhaps the latest Isabelle Ballu.") Like many dedicated gardeners, I've avoided the futility of a manicure since the Carter administration. I figure at $35/week for 25 years, my roses have saved me $45,500 from manicures alone! If you calculate how much I've saved on hair styling (why bother, I'm always wearing this old straw hat anyway), vacations (what?? go away and leave my roses??) and of course therapy bills, why, I might already be richer than Howard Hughes. In fact, I'll probably start wearing kleenex boxes on my feet any day now.
Good things are worth waiting for.
One reason we rose growers save so much on therapy is that staying patient and calm is good for our mental health. And if rose growing teaches us anything, it teaches us to be patient. Look in the mirror, take a deep breath, and repeat the following: The roses I ordered WILL probably arrive before Sam Shepard drops by for dinner. The bareroots I planted WILL bloom sometime before my reincarnation as Venus Williams. The climbers out front WILL reach the porch before archeologists start excavating the house. (When you've completed the affirmations, it wouldn't hurt your mental health to go check the mailbox one more time, just in case next year's catalog comes out early.)
Eyes on the road, not on the map.
When I was a beginner, I diligently went by the rules. I never pruned before the forsythia bloomed, I measured the fish emulsion with an eye dropper, I wouldn't dream of fertilizing after Halloween. My roses thrived. But as the years passed, I discovered the benefits of sometimes straying beyond the straight and narrow. Instead of strictly following a set formula, I learned to pay close attention, to listen to what my roses were telling me. (After several decades of saving money on therapy bills, your roses might start talking to you too.) Now they, and not the calendar, let me know when to prune. They announce when they are hungry or thirsty. Like children, they insist on being treated as individuals. Which is all very endearing, but not always feasible: if you have 163 roses and each wants to be pruned on a different day, well, they're just going to have to get a grip. And this leads us directly to the ultimate Nugget o' Wisdom:
If you can't remember their names, you have too many.
I believe it was Wendell Berry who said when a farmer no longer knows the names of all his cows, his farm has grown too big to manage effectively. This also applies to roses (and of course children, husbands, cats, etc.). You may want to check your local Yellow Pages for a memory enhancement support group in your area.
