2000-06-30
Dear Diary:

Among the many things we have in common, both Marie Antoinette and I share a passion for roses.

(The two people who don't know me in real life who read this diary are now, I'm sure, smacking their foreheads and saying, "I KNEW Marn reminded me of someone, I just couldn't think who. Marie Antoinette, a guillotined French queen. Of course!")

Marie had several unfair advantages over me in this rose fixation thingie we share. Let's see, there's

1) the fact she had a limitless treasury and could spend whatever she wanted on plants for her gardens,

2) she could afford lackeys to do all her grunt work

3) she lived in a place where the thermometer didn't drop to stupidly cold readings like -40 (which comically enough is the same in Fahrenheit and Celsius degrees.)

Up until recently only the thorny, flower-once-in-June type roses such as rugosa roses could survive both my ineptitude and my climate from hell. And then ... then they released the Explorer series of roses. (Marn, overcome by emotion, swallows the massive lump in her throat, blots a few tears and then soldiers on.)

Buddha relaxing with John Cabot and Alexander McKenzie.  Wonder what they chat about when no one is around, eh? Yep you're looking at John Cabot and Alexander McKenzie, two of the handful of proudly Canadian roses out there folks.

Verily I say unto you, these are not those milquetoasts that they coddle elsewhere on the planet. Nosireebob, these are the Iron Roses, roses bred to spit in the eye of the cruelest winter gale, to sneer at common rose diseases, to say rude things about the bugs that would munch them.

Geez I love these plants.

Can you tell?

Prior to Agriculture Canada releasing these sacred bits of wonderfulness, roses were basically an annual for me. I'd buy 'em, enjoy their flowers for a season, and then they would winter kill.

Sure, I bought the ones the catalogues said were hardy, sure I protected them just like the books said to, and every year these lily-livered weak-kneed excuses for plants would croak on me.

Sometimes they wouldn't make it through a season, destroyed by one of those hideous rose diseases like black spot or eaten to shreds by aphids and other evil pests.

I know, I know, I could have bought something toxic and saved them, but I promised myself that my little corner of the planet would be gardened organically, and that means that sometimes the bad things win.

(Marn quickly brushes the granola from her lips, praying that no one noticed.)

Spiderwort and perennial geranium entangled in a pretty waltz.  If I was spiderwort, I'd hire a PR firm and go for the big name change, eh. Speaking of noticing, it's interesting to me how photographs make you stop and SEE things. Fr'instance, you're looking at spiderwort (white stuff) and perennial geranium (other stuff) in this picture. Last night I e-mailed this picture to several of my equally obsessed gardening friends.

(Yes, we're an odd twisted bunch, but basically harmless unless you happen to get between us and a plant sale. Then we'll cheerfully trample you into little stompie bits. Forewarned is forearmed, I'm thinking.)

So anyhow, Paul moseys in here and sees the picture on my screen and he's just stunned at the beauty of the plants and how the little fuzzy thingies in the spiderwort perfectly echo the colour of the geraniums.

Thing is, the big goof has to walk past this planting every night to get in our front door, it's looked like this for nearly three weeks, but it took a photograph to make him SEE it. Sheesh.

I'm telling you, if he wasn't the only person on the planet who gets all my jokes ...

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


Subscribe with Bloglines


Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


.:Cast:. .:Diaryland Notes:. .:Comments (0 so far):. .:E-mail:.
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.

Cavort, cavort, my kingdom for a cavort Globe of Blogs 12 Per Cent Beer my partners in crime


A button for random, senseless, drive-by linkings:
Blogroll Me!


< ? blogs by women # >
Bloggers over forty + ?
<< | BlogCanada | >>
[ << ? Verbosity # >> ]
<< x Blog x Philes x >>


This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.

�2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.