Generous Gardeners

If you've spent any quality time among gardening people, you know that they come from all walks of life and exist in all spices and flavors.  Even after several years of association with a much varied group of Extension Master Gardeners, I would be hard-pressed to name five common traits among the various personalities.  I believe, however, that I have identified one characteristic that all gardeners seem to have in common; generosity.  Whether we're digging up starts of daylilies for a passing stranger, handing out flower seeds at garden shows, or just plain sharing our knowledge of our hobby, gardeners are generous to a fault.  Well, to be completely honest, except in those few occasions where we've got a new plant that no one else is growing.  In that case a little one-up-man-ship is certainly excusable as a very human failing.

I was the recipient of grand gardening generosity recently when I received a surprise package from a reader just after Christmas containing two marvelous DVD's.  Knowing of my rose passions, this thoughtful individual sent me a DVD of Louise Mitchell's 2012 documentary of the preservation of the roses in Sacramento's Historic Rose Garden,  and what appears to be a bootleg copy of Roger Phillip's 1993 six-part series for the BBC titled "Quest for the Rose."

I've enjoyed both immensely, initially diving quickly into the Cemetery Rose documentary, for a fascinating story of the collision of passion and opportunity among old rose lovers.  Lately, however, I've spent time again and again with Roger Phillips on his travels.  That six-part documentary is not only great entertainment, it's highly educational, and a perfect companion to Phillip's book of the same name.  With his friend and coauthor, Martyn Rix, popping in and out of the series, Roger Phillips travels the world following the development of modern roses, from the first 35 million year old rose fossils found in Colorado, to Turkey, to China, to France, to Britain, and to America.  Along the way he visits Josephine's Malmaison and Alcatraz, he has a British museum expert write the word "rose" in the scrawl of ancient Babylonia, and he follows Petrie to the monasteries of China, traveling in cars, boats, bikes, and on foot.  We meet rosarians who are all old friends to us through their writings: Graham Stuart Thomas, Peter Beales, Fred Boutin, Miriam Wilkins, Ellen Willmott, and Clair Matin, among others.  To hear the real voices of these people, several now dead, strikes me as deeply as listening to John Kennedy's inaugural or Neil Armstrong's first moon steps.  Phillips, himself, comes off as one of those eccentric rose fanatics we're all familiar with, inseparable from a really hideous orange pair of reading glasses, and bounding up mountains in France in search of a wild rose whose location is known only from notes in a 100 year old book.  The scene of an ecstatic Roger Phillips dropping to his knees on a steep hillside to sniff a wild R. gallica will be with me forever.

I can't thank my benefactor enough for my Christmas gift, this entertainment that has sustained me through the winter, but as you have probably noticed, I am keeping the source unnamed here lest he/she be hounded by hordes of salivating rose lovers seeking copies of their own.  I have, however, in gratitude,  passed on a copy of Phillip's series to another rose nut, another link in the chain of a passion passed on from enthusiast to fanatic, zealot to fellow addict.

David Thompson Lives (For Now)

It is a poorly-kept secret that our Government officials, soon after being elected or appointed, quickly learn to use Friday as a day to dump bad news on the unsuspecting public.  Few of us, the over-taxed serfs, take notice of anything except family and fun on Friday nights and weekends.  The goal is to divulge the bad news Friday after the newspapers have been written and then hope that it'll be forgotten by Monday.  Following that example, I'm going to use the dead of winter to finally discuss 'David Thompson' in Garden Musings.  Maybe that way someone, somewhere will still find him worthwhile to grow.

'David Thompson' is one of the Explorer Series Collection of roses.  It was released by Agriculture Canada in 1979 and bred by Dr. Felicitas Svejda.  Named after a famous British-Canadian fur trader, 'David Thompson' is officially a medium red Hybrid Rugosa rose that repeats occasionally throughout the summer.  My mature, 11 year old specimen has never grown lower than three feet tall nor higher than four feet tall, and it has is 3-4 feet in width as well, a rotund aging specimen much like the local gardener.  The leaves are strongly rugose, and the flowers open quickly to flat semi-double disorganized disks with golden stamens.  'David Thompson is thought to be the result of an open pollination between 'Schneezwerg' and 'Fru Dagmar Hartopp'. 

I thoroughly hate this rose.  It holds a prominent spot in my back landscape bed and I have regretted placing it there from that first summer at this house.   Why, you ask, do I hate 'David Thompson'?  Let me count the ways.  First, the official description of medium red really means, in similar fashion to other roses described as medium red, that it is really a lousy shade of glaring bluish-pink that clashes with the clear pink tones of 'Carefree Beauty' to the west and the pale pink of 'Fantin Latour' to the east (see the photo below).  Second, the frequent white-streak added to the petals only make them look less refined. Third, even though a relatively small Rugosa, it is a thorny vicious beast, grabbing me every time I dare to shortcut across the bed within its reach.  Fourth, although it doesn't sucker far, it does sucker, slowly expanding the width of the clump and threatening to take more lebensraum than it deserves.  Fifth, the flat flowers are as uninspiring in form as they are in color, and they bring to mind a teenager's messy bedroom-nest, a phenomenon that I hoped to have left behind by this stage in life.  Sixth, although described as being "strongly fragrant", it has only mild, if any fragrance, to my personal sniffer.  All of that, and one more thing; the petals crumple quickly in the extreme heat of August, like fried pink potato chips.

'Carefree Beauty', left, and 'David Thompson', right

After reading my previous not-high praise, your second question must surely be, "why don't you spade-prune him if you hate him so much?"   To my constant chagrin, I must, in fairness, disclose that "David Thompson" remains so carefree and healthy that I have not yet become disgusted enough to take that final act, even though I annually reconsider that decision during the first bloom period.  'David Thompson' needs no extra water, no fertilizer, will almost always have a bloom or two somewhere, and he is bone-cold hardy down to USDA Zone 2.  He blooms almost incessantly, although never prolifically after the first flush.  It never has blackspot or mildew or insect damage.  My only hope is that he succumbs to a good infection of Rose Rosette disease.

I did have a good laugh while researching this rose.  A comment from "Monika" on the helpmefind.com listing for 'David Thompson' states it is an "ugly Rugosa thing establishing its sucking roots in my garden only because I mistook it for 'Henry Kelsey', but hey, it blooms!"  Monika, whoever and wherever you are, I think that sums up my feelings on 'David Thompson' perfectly!

Winter's Prayer

Deep in ground where Cold Ones dwell,
The garden goes to rest, so weary
Green Life dormant, tranced by spell
Of glacial Winter, damp and dreary.

Rootlets dream of golden days,
Rain trickling down the pores of earth,
Buds sleep soft in frozen slumber,
Biding strength til their rebirth.

Demeter's hoary breath to mourn
Persephones loss to Hades forewarns,
The time of death, the time of ice,
Has come by now to poach the price,
Of life grown in warm Summer's day,
Vital and verdant put away,
By Fall the stocks of sugars stored,
To yield in Spring their sweet reward.

Like the garden, stills the gardener,
Waiting for the time of bloom,
Aching bones and crying sinew,
Wallowing in depths of gloom.

Gardener's also dream of sunshine,
Warm days, wet springs, gentle mist,
Serves to keep the growers lifeline,
Thoughts of days of Summer's bliss.

Hermes fly with rapid haste
To fetch Spring's maiden for embrace,
The time of growth, the time of life,
Must surely come to ease the strife,
Of frozen Winter, running down,
The sands of Time revolving round,
March the lion, April's tears,
Come May, come June, come back this year.

Deep in ground, where Cold Ones dwell,
The garden waits, and rests and sleeps,
Buds and tendrils wait to swell,
And grow and bloom and ever leap.

Breakneck Barnraising

ProfessorRoush knows almost nothing about building large structures or even Lego houses, but if there's one thing I do know about construction, it is that cement walls get built fast.  A week ago on Friday, there was only a big dirt hole and a foundation when they suddenly began setting up concrete forms for the walls. 






By Monday, the forms were up and the walls had been poured.  It was not impressive to look at since, to me, it just looked like a giant steel fish tank from the top and sides. 





On Wednesday, the forms were down and I was beginning to see the building it would become.  The small door on the left is a walk-in entrance, and the three large openings to the front are garage-bay doors.  All of the latter are going to be manually-operated since I'll probably just open them once on any given work day and I don't feel like robbing the planet for the materials and energy consumed by three more garage door openers.


Yesterday, they poured the floor for the 35' X 20' space and they laid the foundation drains and filled in the back.  Now it just needs a roof to be a functional shelter for the new tractor and implements.

Eventually, the front and about half of the sides gets bricked like the house. You may notice the pipe standing up against the far (north) wall.  There are 4 of these spaced around that third bay and their purpose is to anchor some gates, fencing, and cattle feeding troughs to separate it off from the rest of the space.  This spring, I'll connect that area with the pasture and then, by early Autumn, there are a couple of bred, tame, Angus heifers in my future.  After thirty years of apartment living or backyard horticulture, ProfessorRoush needs some Zen time with a couple of quiet, loving, 800 lb pets.  Stay tuned this fall and we'll have a naming contest for my new girls.