Rosy Victory

I moved the roses out of the side yard in very early spring. There just wasn’t enough sun, and besides, well, the graves.1

On the bright side, since a certain neighbor was silly and took out half the cedars along the back fence, what used to be a shade garden now gets much more light, which made it perfect for said roses though it’s doing bad things to the patio put in with so much labor. Win some, lose some.

The ketchup-and-mustard showed its appreciation of the new quarters by blooming first this year. Its presence in our garden is in honor of the Princess’s best friend–they met in middle school, and these are her favorite type of roses. So each time it raises a vibrant flag, a flurry of pictures gets texted. I’m rather proud of this one.

I thought some of the roses would give up the ghost during the move, but amazingly, all of them survived. Either they’re far hardier than I thought or my sotto voce pleading “please, please don’t die, you’ll be happier here, I promise,” was effective. Either way, I’m counting it as an unqualified victory.

Happy Friday, dear Readers. I hope your weekend is everything you need it to be, whether quiet or busy, solo or (masked, vaccinated, and) gregarious.

  1. Don’t ask. Suffice to say tiny critters sometimes need a proper funeral.