I have had adverse feelings towards roses ever since, as a child, I enthusiastically volunteered to help weed my grandmother's rose garden. I was bored, and took the bait to earn a little money by yanking out the undesirables. I went after those weeds full force, determined to get every minute piece of greenery that dared to peep up from the compact soil. Proud of how good a job I was doing, exhausted by the work, and sizzling in the sun, I stood back to admire my work and was crushed to find that all my energy resulted in only 1/164th of the rose garden being complete. I lost my motivation instantly, (and, as it turned out, any hope of making money, for who would pay for such a minuscule amount of help?) Instead of this coloring my opinion of gardening in general, my animosity was reserved--in a dark corner of my heart--for roses alone. I decided they were not so handsome after all; quite ill favored. So bare! So typical!
Imagine my chagrin, then, when I discovered how many roses I had inherited with the purchase of our new house. Rose arbors, rose trellises, rose bushes, rose trees, miniature roses, gargantuan roses, (ROUS's...Roses Of Unusual Size,) roses of pink, orange, yellow, red, white...roses, roses, roses.
And then Spring sprung. As did the roses. And I'd be remiss if I didn't admit how wonderfully beautiful they are. Blooms everywhere, of so many kinds and colors, as to please me exceedingly. Please, know that you are welcome to stop and smell the flowers.