I mentioned a few weeks back that I’m an amateurish gardener.
Well, it seems some of my efforts are finally paying off, despite the late snow that stunted some of the roses and their growth patterns. Or at least that’s what I’m choosing to believe, anyway.
My little Sombreuil (pronounce something like "Sahm-brr-OY!" and try to look refined) has a few proud, creamy blooms ready to open, and I can’t help but bask in that tiny bit of loveliness that will soon share its fragrance and make me smile.
The rose has had its share of sorrows, alas; apart from the crappy weather and the snow a few days after it was planted, it’s also had to deal with horrible aphids that tried to munch on her delicate buds (oh, how I hate aphids!) and with some sort of suspicious, strange oil discard courtesy of our neighbors next door. Jesus, people…. do you really think it’s a good idea to leave motor oil not a whole foot away from a pretty rose? Insane people!
See how pretty she is? So very verdant and simple and lovely. You can even see a little discoloration on the bud where she sustained some aphid damage (click on picture to see larger version). She thought that was not a very flattering angle to share with the interwebs, but I assured her that this was actually a good thing: she was a fighter showing off her battle scars, not some spoiled rose who has never known a day of trial or tribulation and whose skirts are entirely too low and who’s trying to snag every photo-op imaginable holding a bible or some Buddhist literature as if that made a difference on whether said rose is guilty of driving drunk or not.
She gave me a funny look, little Sombreuil. A little clever rosy look that said, "Stop reading so many damn tabloids and get cracking with the insecticidal soap."