Apr 11, 2005

I'm waiting.

I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Been like that all my life, so why stop now? I had a great weekend working in the shop, cleaning the yard, and transplanting a bunch of my roses from the old home site to the new one. I'm waiting, I guess, for the roses (some of which have just endured their THIRD transplant) to just up and die. This would not so much bother me in most cases, as they're all replacable, but for one. I have a Don Juan rose back there right now that has come through thick and thin with me, and has managed not only to survive but to thrive.

When I was but a young irrelephant I bought a rose bush, god knows where. As I recall it wasn't much more than a stick with some roots glued on. I planted it here (where I live again,) and it grew. I moved to the back home site a few years after that, and I so loved that Don Juan, with it's tobacco-smelling dark red roses that I had to bring it with me, so I caned it well back, dug as deep around it as I could, and moved it to it's new home, where it remained for a good 13 years. In that time it put roots down into Hell, where it was stealing the moisture from the air, and grew a root bud the size of two of my fists together. When I caned it back yesterday and dug it up I swear I could hear it barking at me. It's safe in it's new home, a shadow of it's former self, and this time I REALLY feel I've done it in. I simply could not get enough of that root out of the ground, along with dodging poison ivy and hornets. Granted, that thing had a tap root that most pine trees would have balked at owning, but still.

There's nothing like putting down roots with a plant to make you crave stability. Stability and a little 6-8-8 rose fertiliser, a side dish of bone meal and a glass of water.

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