Tenacious Tip Tuesday - The Roses of Autumn

I seem to be on a philosophical kick with my Tips the last few weeks. As the season ends, I have a tendancy toward melancholy and introspection. I hope you can bear with me. Today's tip is simple - be true to your gardening self, no matter what.

As you know, I've been trying to simplify my gardens to better care for myself. Many plants are being re-evaluated and some are hitting the compost heap. If I'm being honest with myself, most of my roses should be shovel pruned. Many of them are hybrid tea roses, which are notorious for disease problems and generally are the prima donnas of the garden.

This year, they have gotten no love whatsoever. No fertilizer, no spraying; they were lucky to have gotten pruned this spring (in fact, some didn't). I wrote in an earlier post that I would have to toughen up and get rid of the worst of them. The ones that survived my new Darwinian care program would stay; all others would be banished forever. I really meant it, too.

Then they go and do this:

Rose 'Playboy'

'Playboy' is one of those roses that looks fabulous when well cared for. It gets covered with those orange/yellow flowers, has glossy green leaves and stays a reasonable size. It's a blackspot nightmare when not sprayed, at least in my garden. I thought it had died over the winter and spared me the necessity of digging it out. But no, it not only recovered, it started sending out little clusters of its beautiful flowers.

Or how about this one?

Rose 'Sunstruck'

This rose is what we who grow roses call a "one-cane wonder". It literally has only one cane coming up out of the dirt. Excuse me, out of the soil. Yet, it has still managed to have at least one gorgeous flower and a few buds on it all summer. How can I rip it out when it's giving me presents like this?

So I've decided to modify my earlier, tough-love stance on my roses. They still get no special care, but if they keep blooming, I'll keep enjoying them, even if all their leaves fall off. My true gardening self simply isn't as hard-hearted as my renovation self. And I don't care! The joy I get from a single rose blossom is worth a few weeks of blackspot or Japanese beetles.

Here are some more roses currently blooming in my garden. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!



Rose 'About Face'



Rose 'Autumn Sunset'

Rose 'Chrysler Imperial'

 

Rose 'Cinnamon Spice'



Rose 'Falstaff'



Buds on Rose 'Mother of Pearl'



The Renovation Begins

The first step to a garden renovation is clearing some space for new hardscaping. As mentioned last time, we will be having a small patio installed and also 2 small pergolas, so I needed to move all the plants within range of the construction to a no-work zone. I have previously tried leaving the plants in place, only to have the contractor’s size 13 waffle-stompers deprive me of some favorite plants.

The first bed to face the shovel was the one along the sidewalk, facing the pond. All the plants in the middle of the bed had to be relocated. When I first made this bed, I planted a couple of spiraea shrubs named ‘Golden Elf’, one near each end, and a rose in the middle. ‘Golden Elf’ is a lovely, small shrub, only getting 2 or 3 feet tall and wide with bright, green-gold foliage and pink flower clusters in the spring. It’s tough as nails and rarely needs any care except the occasional trim.

The 2 spiraeas are staying, but the rose, named ‘Gourmet Popcorn’, had to be moved. Additionally, 3 astilbes (2 ‘Peach Blossom’ and one ‘Spinel’), one daylily (‘Stella d’Oro’) and a Japanese forest grass (‘Aurea’) were also shuffled off to the holding bed. There is a patch of daffodils left which should probably be moved, but I’m hoping to let them bloom first.

Pruning ‘Gourmet Popcorn’ in preparation of moving was traumatic for both of us. This rose forms a twiggy shrub that is covered in tiny white blooms all summer and looks uncommonly like its namesake. It is generally no care and a pleasure to have around. In testament to its vigor, the main canes were as big around as my wrist and the whole plant just screamed “don’t move me, I’m happy!!” I hope it forgives me for hacking off all but a few strong limbs and ripping it out of the ground. I felt exactly as I imagine a parent must feel when bringing their kid to the doctor – you know it’s for their own good but you hate to hear them scream. I did give it some fertilizer and a position with more sun, much as the parent takes the kid out for ice cream after a shot.



Rosa 'Gourmet Popcorn'

The astilbes were much less trouble and popped out with no struggle. The reason for the lack of resistance soon became clear when I saw all the roots had been chewed off by the local varmint population. Fortunately, astilbes are quite tough and I believe the few roots remaining to them will be sufficient to get them started elsewhere. ‘Spinel’, in particular, is a favorite of mine. The flowers are a vivid dark red and last for most of a month. When the blooms fade, the foliage remains and looks vaguely fern-like for the rest of the season. No pests, except varmints, seem to bother it.

Plants are Telepathic

Plants are telepathic. Not all of them and only certain thoughts, but I’m convinced it’s true. They know, for instance, when you are planning their demise and can respond accordingly. How else can you explain my ‘Golden Zest’ rose?

Last year, in preparation for major renovations, I was reviewing all my plants to get a jump on those I would be removing. The list was actually more draconian than I intended to be and several plants landed on it more as ‘watch’ than ‘remove’. ‘Golden Zest’ was one of those and I was quite upset over it as it was a lovely, yellow rose and had performed quite well previously. While I am not one to talk to my plants, my mental message could not have been clearer – shape up or ship out!

Fast forward to this spring. With no further intervention than my mental admonitions, this rose now has multiple healthy new canes and new growth on the one cane that survived the winter. I wouldn’t dream of ripping it out now.

Coincidence? I think not.

I’ve noticed over the years that this phenomenon only occurs when the gardener is genuinely considering mayhem. The attempt was made once to influence a perfectly healthy plant to greater performance and you can imagine the result. Bupkiss.

No, you must be in earnest in your intention to shovel prune the pathetic specimen before it picks up your vibe. And it doesn’t always work. Some plants are simply done and ready to shuffle off this mortal soil. Let them go; there are stronger-willed plants waiting to take their place.

Talented or Just Stubborn?

“You must be a very talented gardener to have such a huge and lovely garden!”

“Why, thank you. You are very kind!”

This exchange occurred after one of my continuing education classes at our local high school a few years ago. I had given a talk on growing roses in upstate New York and shown several before and after pictures of my garden. A few students had stayed behind, some asking questions about more specific issues, and this comment was made in passing. At the time, I gave it little thought; it seemed just a pleasant remark. Over the years, though, this remark has resurfaced in my musings, usually with a self-deprecating smirk.

What that person could not have known was I have never considered myself talented at gardening. Dedicated, yes; obsessed, absolutely. Talented? Not so much. I have always bought plants I liked and put them wherever I found room for them – no talent required. Space requirements were occasionally followed but not religiously. Zone information was noted but only in passing. Soil and water recommendations were unashamedly laughed at. So why did I have an admittedly huge and, to me, beautiful garden?

I think what has made me a successful gardener is not talent but pure cussedness. Gardeners, as a species, seem to take it personally when things go wrong and will go to long lengths to make it happen anyway. In fact, stubborn doesn’t begin to describe it; we can be downright mulish when it comes to what we want in our domains.

Several years ago, I found a rose I absolutely adored in a catalog. This rose was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. The petals were ivory and blushed in the sun to a rich pink; the flower form was perfection. Aptly, it was named “Color Magic”. The description said it was hardy to zone 6, disease resistant and had a lovely scent (a blatant lie, by the way; rose porn . . . er, catalogs should be perused with a salt shaker handy, especially when they are describing fragrance). Needless to say, I had to have it. Zone 5 and zone 6 are almost the same, right?

Into the garden it went, in a large planting hole with a modest dash of Rosetone and a good drenching with the hose. It was spectacular the whole season, covered in flowers and only the faintest touch of black spot. Everyone ooh’d and aah’d; a few exclaiming what a shame there was no fragrance (I was one of those but my language was somewhat stronger).

Come the following spring, after an average winter, it was dead. Well, said I, I must not have protected it sufficiently or maybe the local varmints chewed up the roots or maybe I got a bad plant. There is always some excuse the first time you kill a plant and it’s never because you ignored one of its cultural requirements. Ergo, I ordered and planted another one. This plant, too, was gorgeous all summer and I was extra careful to mulch it for the winter with branches pruned off our Christmas tree. Sadly, history repeated itself and the second one was also dead as a doornail the following spring.

The gardening gloves were now coming off. I wanted this rose in my garden and that was final, darn it!

I tried planting the third one in a massive pot. Another extravagant show graced our patio rather than the garden but it was still a sight to behold. That fall, the pot went into our unheated garage (with some minor and good-natured grumbling from my husband, Brian, He of the Strong Back) and emerged alive and well the next spring. Success!

After spending two winters in the garage, the rose succumbed to a combination of black spot and one missed watering too many during the season. Also, Brian was grumbling less good-naturedly about moving that pot again; understandable, as it must have weighed 60 pounds. At that point, I decided it was more trouble than it was worth and gave up.

Cold zones matter and fighting them is hard. It took me 3 dead roses, 5 years and a mildly disgruntled husband to come to that conclusion.

I have learned a few other lessons over the years and try to avoid making the most egregious errors more than two or three times, no matter how much I want them to work this time. I learned to pay attention to cold zones and cultural requirements. If you are gardening in zone 5, you really can’t grow tender roses without a great deal of fuss. Really.

Fortunately, there are plenty of other roses out there. I don’t have the rose that I was besotted with anymore. I did however find another, not quite as breathtaking but a lot hardier, and if I squint, I can pretend they are the same. It too has no scent, though to their credit, the supplier described the scent as “light”, which in catalog speak means “non-existent”; most rose gardens understand that little fiction and don’t feel cheated.

I think if you are stubborn enough, everything eventually does come together into a beautiful garden, if only because you’ve already tried all the wrong things, usually more than once, and all that is left is the right stuff. If you’re really lucky, other people might even mistake that perseverance for talent!