Rosa Colored Glasses

Since before I can remember, I have had an indifference to roses. While, I don’t necessarily dislike their fragrance, habit, flowers or their over saturated market prominence; I could never find a reason to fall in love with the humble rose. To me, the overpriced cut flower marketplace was the only location for roses. A cool dozen, wrapped in tissue, and packed in a box.

Tea roses were the biggest joke, an unnatural combination of a hardy rootstock and a single unsightly bud graft. These roses required more care than tiptoeing through party politics in the primary season. Ensure the bud is protected over the winter, but not too deeply covered. Cut back to 2′ in early winter, and then back to 1′ in early spring. Monitor moisture in the monsoon season of early spring- too much water=death. Monitor insects and diseases since the rose family is afflicted with every disease in the plant kingdom, and some from the animal kingdom. This is the only genus I know of that has a solution to a disease that causes a different disease, but I digress.

In recent months, I have found myself being drawn to roses, and why not? They have a society dedicated to the “enjoyment and enhancement” of roses. Tens of thousands of people can’t be wrong, can they? However, it is not the mass marketed carefree “series” (note to the masses- “series” in horticultural terms means true breakthrough + seconds and thirds=lots of $$) or the more well know hybrid teas that draw my eye, but rather the non-conformist rose, the roses that the hard-core enthusiasts enjoy. The English roses are better known by their most famous breeding house, David Austin.

While browsing the selections, I can’t help but notice the differences between some varieties. The perfect rose is a taller (6-8′ tall), highly fragrant, standard variety that can be used for training on a fence. Heronswood has carried Rosa ‘Glorie de Dijon’, ‘Darlow’s Enigma’, and ‘Paul’s Himalayan Musk’. Although amazingly gorgeous, they are a little too tall for my shorter growing needs. Although not an Austin bred variety, ‘St. Swithun Climbing’ might be the rose that has the opportunity to alter perceptions, and change the opinions of one lone horticulturist.

Contemplative Grasses

Call me obsessed, but every evening I return home, parking closest to the planting bed(s) that require inspection the following morning. The morning “awakening” before getting back into the corporate mindset that draws ever more on my dwindling mental fortitude This works out well during the “warm” months when the daylight hours are longer and the swift fingers of justice nab those pesky Digitaria (that seem to keep popping up despite my best efforts and best pre-emergents) before ever walking in the front door.

While leaving for work this morning and couldn’t help but notice the ornamental grasses that dot the landscape. The sedges have over-wintered beautifully to this point, while the Panicum have seen better days. They resemble a poorly constructed Flock of Seagull’s haircut. No further comment should be necessary… Oddly enough, the Miscanthus has never thrived in the location it was planted. This is an intense plant that has been seen thriving in nothing more than a pile of rocks. Growing with reckless abandon along the interstate, but not in my garden. I like to believe that my soil is inhospitable to the non-native, potentially invasive species. I am certain this is not the case. What concerns me is there are seemingly more nutrients in a pile of rocks than in my garden. Impossible. Salvia and Solidago occupy the same bed. Watson, fetch my deerstalker and hand lens. I will need to investigate this further.

Thinking about my minimal grass collection on the tedious commute into the office actually made me melancholy. Remembering back to the grass collections at Heronswood Gardens, Fordhook Farm, Morris Arboretum, Chanticleer, and Tyler Arboretum, my first thoughts shifted to how stately the grasses appeared and how they provided an essential element to the design of the landscape. Their form and texture lent an unruly element to an otherwise formal planting. Upon my arrival at the office, I have concluded without a doubt, I require an unruly presence in my gardens, and not just myself. Both tall and short, ridged and undulating, my garden and I have neglected the great grasses, lost ourselves focusing on the Digitaria.