Rustlin' Abandoned Roses

There it was, a rusty old crane at the end of an old dirt road dotted with a couple of worn tires, various common weeds, some interesting rocks, one frog and a wide assortment of buzzing, biting insects. The perfect subject for daughter Joie's boyfriend, Donavan's photography assignment. Grandson Nate immediately dove for the frog; Joie immediately dove for cover from mosquitoes in the car. Bill went exploring along the river bank, and Donavan started snapping photos.

At first, being an artist, I examined the composition possibilities for the crane. Then I spotted something from the corner of my eye. Delicate fresh red foliage in a ditch filled with rubbish and weeds. I carefully crept near enough to investigate. It was the foliage of a rose. Obviously an old rose. An abandoned and unloved rose who had once graced the garden of some now demolished old home. She must have been bulldozed to the side when the road was made, and now she was begging me to save her from certain extinction.

Seeing that this faded beauty had only brand new growth sprouting from a few large and long dead canes, I used my thumbnail as a knife to cut off a pair of those new red shoots. But there was a big problem. The fragile red canes were already wilting after just a couple of minutes. Because Bill likes a tidy vehicle, there was no left over bottle of water with which to refresh the canes. Luckily, we were all desperate for water ourselves, so we bought some at a gas station up the road. After a bit of pleeding with the storekeeper, I was allowed to take a styrofoam cup to put my new acquisition in, with some of my own bottled water.

I can't understand how none of my companions found my new friend as interesting as I did. As we headed to River Bend Park, I examined her intently. Her canes are reddish green, with mossy growth at the stem around each new leaf. The new leaves themselves, are thin and folded and curly at the tips. They open to be a deep red-brown. I worried that new shoots wouldn't root this time of year, and finding scissors and a hatchet in the back of Bill's car (the scissors were mine, and the need to have a hatchet handy at all times is a remnant from Bill's Boy Scout days) I told him that I'd like him to dig up a small section of the rose when we went back for the "later in the day" photos that Donavan needed.

Heading home, we returned to the abandoned lot. As Donavan went right for the crane, I grabbed my scissors and Bill, his trusty hatchet. He didn't question. He didn't complain. (He is the best husband a girl like me could ever have!) He just climbed into that ditch and started hacking at the roots. All of the roots. I refused to succomb to a sense of guilt for leaving nothing behind, and a fear of responsibility (now I must succeed in making her live!). Bill dug her up, dead canes and all. Then he got a full grocery bag of the soil she'd been growing in, and stuffed her right on top of it. Dousing her bare roots with a bit of H2O, we headed home.

After pouring over all of my rose books, I can't find any foliage like hers. And examining the growth on the root we dug, I suspect that she may be two roses. One that was planted there on purpose and the other, perhaps a sport of it or a return to some older rose.

It's funny how your brain can train your eyes to spot a jewel amongst a passle of weeds. My little brain has trained my eyes to spot plants; all kinds of plants. I identify Joe Pye Weed, Goat's Beard and May Apple in the woods and along the shore of creeks and rivers. I find old herbs like wild mustard, sorrel, cinquefoil and Angelica in meadows. Best of all, I can spot an old abandoned rose just about anywhere.

I have read about "rose rustlers" who rescue old roses from certain extinction. I suppose I am a bit of a rose rustler myself. (I blogged about one earlier this year, on my art blog Little Pink Spaceship Gazette at deberklein.com.) This old girl in the picture is right happy about it, too. She deserves to live; even a place in my garden. And later, if she turns out to be a newly discovered "old rose", a moss or perhaps a long lost damask, I'll see to it that she gets spread around to the right people. If it turns out that she is just a common wild Carolina rose, Shakespear's words come to mind. "A rose by any other name does smell as sweet." I will still enjoy her. The foliage already has made her worth the rescue.

See youn's later, as they say 'round these here parts!

deber

By the way, if any of you could help me identify this foliage before a flower comes about, please feel free to comment! I'll be ever-so-grateful.

(And added later) She is now planted in the yard, right outside the garden fence, where I can water her from the front porch. I know this isn't the best time to transplant, but I think she's going to make it.