Roses aren't something I would ever choose to cultivate. They have a reputation for being fussy and difficult to manage. The flowers themselves are so loaded with meaning as to have become essentially meaningless. Caring for roses always seems brutal and barbaric. Hacking a plant down to nubs each year is so counter to my horticultural instincts.
Plus those little bitches have thorns.
But she is here and she is old and despite at least a year of utter neglect she seems to want to live. Last summer a patch of morning glories climbed up and through her branches, but I never saw a rose bud. Maybe her days of blooming are done but I've decided to give her a chance.
Plus that bitch stabbed me through my gloves twice today, so I better get flowers.
