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Roses

August 5, 2004

It was the roses that first struck me when I pulled into the drive of the house. The front and side yards were lined with bushes that were blooming like mad. I knew that my little patio rose bush of one blossom would be happy here, and that perhaps I could too.

After the boxes had been moved and unpacked, the floors cleaned, tea sipped and baths taken, the next order was to fix up the garden, which, after a month of neglect, was in need.

I’ve never read a garden book or dished with other gardeners so I’ve no way of knowing if my vicious pruning does more harm than good. But after two hours of basking in the sun, deadheading the roses as I imagined deadheading to be, pulling out weeds and cutting back the trees, the garden seemed a little happier.

When the sun set that night and I sat out on the patio to admire my work I wasn’t alone; the woodpecker, stellar jay and squirrels were there too. Each seeming to say, “Job well done. Your roses will be OK and so will you. Sleep well tonight.”

And I did.

Here’s a collection of photos of the roses.

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