Unconventional Lady. Could there be a more outlandish name for a pink rose? Certainly, with a description such as “glowing cherry”, one could be excused for raising an eyebrow. However why would the rose farm people wish to send her to me, the most conventional of people?
As part of my rose addiction therapy, I must sit down and admit to you that yes, alright, I weakened yet again and bought roses. So late in the season, surely you would imagine I was home and hosed? Time and time again, I chanted February heat, February heat. The winter months marched on, with never a twitch or even a sideways glance. The rose pruning was finished with a sigh of relief and the usual amounts of blood and tears; a shrug of smugness with a task completed and thankfully no more to do. Remember those years when there were endless beds of roses? Climbing, clambering, clustering and clinging and that was just over me. Well, not now that my hands and back are becoming stiff and I have attained the age of non-renewable energy levels. I operate now on brown coal.
On reflection, I think it was the FREE POSTAGE that caught me. Hard to say, there is no rhyme or reason. I only know that in an instant, roses had been ordered, with delivery for next week, free postage and at 25% discount. Any of those combinations could have tipped me over though I must own to the next week delivery being pretty jolly exciting. They duly arrived on Friday, just ahead of twenty people for lunch, so my initial excitement had to be deferred until the next day.
As you can imagine, I now have several roses heeled-in, awaiting visa allocations for residency in what is essentially a closed border situation. Take heart dear roses, for at least there is a generosity and willingness of spirit here in this garden and your new homes will be ready. As soon as a few other unsuspecting residents can be re-arranged.
I love the fluidness of gardening: Mr. Moble was recently given a beautiful tree to remember someone who needs no memorial; for he shall never be forgotten while we are here. Even so, this tree is special, and it only took the relocation of three other trees in the garden to allocate it a spot. Nere semper.
Roses aside, our back verandah is a dazzle of pink fragrance with the jasmine flowering, Jasminum polyanthum.There are times throughout the year when I am ambivalent about this little jasmine, for it can be stalky and tends to die back from underneath in an unappealing manner. It is tough though and will carry on under the most fearful conditions. Undemanding too, never offended when you don’t make a fuss or forget to feed it or bring it an evening drink. Then one day in late August/September, you walk outside and catch a wave of its sheer spring exuberance. A few pink tips in a vase will fill a room with scent and the bees will hum with joy around it, so be careful where you put your snozzle.
Moving along to the front garden, the wallflowers I was waxing lyrical about a few weeks ago, all set for tumbling over the rock wall, were beaten in a surprise battle with the Khaki Campbells in a reverse re-enactment of Culloden. They now lie snapped and broken, set to tumble no more. I knew I had jinxed them by writing about them and have humbly and whole-heartedly apologised. I have also fashioned a complicated traction set-up with stakes and small ties, however the prognosis for tumbling at this stage is not good.
Obviously, I gave those fat Campbells a good dressing down as well. I lined them up with the lure of bread and explained a few facts about the real Battle of Culloden to them and exactly how they would end up should they dare to don the Tartan against my garden in the future. There was much quacking and bobbing of heads and I like to imagine a less war-like waddle as they marched back down to the waterhole.
So, Unconventional Lady? Well she was my FREE ROSE of course. The unexpected icing on the top of an irresistible rose cake. Nothing at all like the other roses I ordered, in colour shape or form. Nothing at all like her gardener either but I like to think we can stretch to a little unconventional around here. Though when you live beside a battlefield, I think the pink Florence Nightingale may have been a better choice?
Getting ready to Spring,
The Moble Gardener.
