My little rose bush is at it again; in full force blooming like crazy. Being a far better gardener my husband often reminds me to trim the bush, and I suppose this should mean actually pruning it but I interpret that as a license to fill my countertop with roses.
First I enjoyed the yellow bushes from our backyard and I found myself somewhat startled by how sad I was when their short burst of full blooms had run its course. Much to my delight though the red and pink ones in the front yard started up as if on cue. Like they are all synchronized dancers and step out only when the one before them has played their part in full.
Last year the pink one had exploded first and the red one hardly made an appearance. I guess it's making up for last year for just two days ago the whole thing was covered in red. Ambitiously I attacked it with my husband's mustache scissors (much to his annoyance, though, I figured they needed some use... Have you seen that beard? Poor neglected scissors...) I came up from the scuffle with a few scratches and a plastic grocery sack full of roses.
Since there were way too many for my counter, I instantly settled on a neighbor I hardly knew to take them to. I'm not quite sure why her name popped to mind but a few weeks prior I had been at a different neighbor's house, whom I dare say is becoming a good friend, and she called out to us that she wanted to come have some girl time with us. There was a sweetness in her honesty and I felt bad that just then my husband had made it home with Kaiya who had a severe ear infection. No force on Earth was going to keep me from holding that child's poor hurting head on my lap so I begged my neighbor's pardon and retreated to my home with CJ in tow.
So there I was, on this lady's porch with a bag full of roses. I realized, as I was already crossing her yard, that I should of saved some. Lord knows how many were in there but likely three dozen at least. It occurred to me, perhaps a bit too late, that she might not have any earthly idea what to do with them. Once I had deposited them with her, somewhat awkwardly, I started to be a bit jealous that I had given all of my roses to an almost stranger. Then I got mad at myself for being jealous. After all, it was my bush, there would likely be more soon enough. Still, that evening when I rubbed cool water on one of the spots that a thorn had stuck me it was hard not to be frustrated that the fruit of the thorns was not present to enjoy.
The next day was a busy one at work for me and as I wearily trudged to my door there before me was an astounding smattering of red. How it was even possible blew my mind away for I could of sworn there simply could not have been that many buds left on the bush from the fierce pruning I had done the day before. I set to cutting, this time graciously accepting the plastic school scissors he offered, and using my sweatshirt as a basket soon I was clutching another three dozen or so roses in my arms.
Happily I went inside and filled my vases. Again, there was plenty left over. Walking back out I saw yet another neighbor who was just coming out of a brief spell of worrying over her sick dog (pooch was doing better!) and she joyfully took a handful. I trudged on to the neighbor across the street whose friendship was new and exciting and bestowed the rest of the roses to her. After she placed them in a plate-sized bowl we sat and chatted. I think it may have been one of the first times one or both of our little boys weren't underfoot as hers was sleeping and I had gleefully abandoned my house to bestow roses on the world. Maybe there will be even more tomorrow, for apparently, roses multiply.