Sunday, September 13, 2009
Last year we bought a rose plant from some iffy place, probably WalMart. It was the type that has its roots wrapped in cardboard and plastic, and it was sitting on a store shelf when we found it. It looked healthier than the others around it, and I am a sucker for rose bushes, so we bought it. I figure that at the price of roses these days, even if we get only one season out of a rose bush, we are money ahead. I think this one was $3.97 or something like that. A bargain.
It sat in its wrapper amongst the front landscaping, leaning on the birdbath, and we did not get to it for weeks. It wilted, and I told Shawn, "We really need to get that rose in the ground."
The day he dug the hole for me, I unwrapped the rose's roots and soaked it in a bucket of water. Despite the moisture, it did not perk up. We stuck it in the hole, packed it with dirt, and fertilized and watered it profusely.
It died back until all that was left was one shoot sticking out of the ground, with a bedraggled leaf hanging off it. By then it was September or October, so I figured we could just dig it out in the spring and try something else. I was pretty sad, but it had only cost $3.97, and we did let time get away from us before we planted it.
This past spring, it started to grow. It grew into a very small bush and the roses have been tiny, yet charming. They have also been steady. It makes me smile.