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In the Rose Garden by Henry John Yeend King

In the Rose Garden by Henry John Yeend King

Of the dozen housewarming gifts I received, the small yellow rose bush is truly vying for the place of my favorite present. For what is an English Cottage, without roses?! However, as with many domestic tasks, I lack the skill. I called upon My Suitor’s parents, or as I like to think of them, “my future in-laws” who have great knowledge of gardening. Senora M, My Suitor’s mother was thrilled at first about the roses, but then she realized I harbored no skill or knowledge of toiling the earth. She began to ask a barage of questions, I thought rather silly. “What part of your yard is facing East? Do you have a drip system? How big is the bush? Do you have mulch? Fertalizer? Vitamins? Watering can or hose? . . . Any gardening tools, what so ever?’ I fumbled . . . “Uh, no. The house did not come with tools. Of all the nerve!”

She brought over Senor M to do the “heavy” labor. We decided on a shady, quaint lil spot under my bedroom window facing East, between two oleanders; which might be moved to another part of the yard during the landscaping phase of renovation. She instructed Senor M, where and how big to dig. She informed me how to properly water the plant, why mulch was needed, how B1 helps prevent the shock of replanting, and we discussed future garden designs with great relish. Senor M, gifted me with the shovel he was using (The Cottage did not come with that either. Tsk tsk.) After treating them to dinner for both their time and money spent on mulch and plant vitamins, Senora M wrote out TWO pages of detailed instructions for just the next three weeks with my rosebush. She lamented at my lack of gardening tools and vowed to purchase some for me for the next gift giving holiday.

This morning, list in hand, I stood in front of the thorny twig like thing and read over the details, I frowned. It seems like an awful lot of work for an 18″ plant. It is like having a child! Hmmm . . . the irony of all things is that wicked and debiliating plant allergies run in the M family. Yet, Senor and Senora M have a beautiful garden of all sorts of plants that they are not allergic to (and a few that they are!–In her words, “It is simply so pretty! Allergies be damned.” Ah, yes, I am familar with the price of beauty. So, I am dutifully tending to my little thorny plant. Let us wish upon every star and cross as many fingers as possible, that roses will bloom soon enough.

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