Striking Serendipity

A second blessed event 0f RAIN (!) occurred Wednesday night.  Short-lived, but a nice little downpour of a little over an hour yielded 2.6 inches of rain.  We may even be wetting the subsoil now!

I had just recovered from a day of clinics, eaten supper, perused the paper, and watched the evening talkies, when I realized that a decent storm front had assembled and was about 20 miles northwest of Manhattan, bearing down on us.  I've been waiting weeks for this opportunity, and, seizing the moment, I quickly donned garden shoes and ran out to spread a bag of alfalfa pellets on as many roses as I could.  I always like to spread the pellets just before a rain so they'll "uncompress", mold a bit, and be a little less likely to draw rabbits and rodents to the base of my roses. 

Now this is what I call lucky!

 After emptying the alfalfa bag, I grabbed my camera and went out to take a few pictures of the developing storm front.  And then, by a "stroke" of luck, I snapped the photo of lightning shown above.  The camera was hand-held and looking straight west, past my neighbor's mirthful sign and over his pasture to the western ridge.  Gorgeous, isn't it? And better yet if you could see it in the non-compressed form.  I've hoped for years to snap such a picture and here it is, mostly focused, straight, and as good as I could hope for.  God, in action, right on the Kansas prairie.

The rock sign, in case you're wondering, is at the entrance to my neighbor's property a few hundred feet to the west of my house, and it carries a slightly altered quotation from "Paint Your Wagon", both the name of a 1951 musical and the 1969 motion picture (Lee Marvin, Clint Eastwood) inspired by it. The hit song of the musical and movie was They Call the Wind Maria, with "Maria" pronounced "Ma-rye-ah."  My neighbor, as you can guess, is a little bit of a character to love such a haunting song that he had a rock engraved with it.  I surmise that he didn't know the correct spelling of the song title, but then neither did Mariah Carey's parents, who, according to omniscient Wikipedia, named Ms. Carey after the song.

The actual lyrics are:

Away out here they got a name
For rain and wind and fire
The rain is Tess, the fire Joe,
And they call the wind Maria

This picture was taken looking due north from the front of my house, as the storm came in.

Isaac's Wife

'Madame Isaac Pereire'

While I'm on the subject of Old Garden Roses, one of the biggest mistakes that I've made in gardening (up until now) is to have waited this long before trying to grow 'Madame Isaac Pereire'.  This grand old lass is but a yearling in my garden, and her health, beauty and productivity is rapidly making me into an avid fan.

'Madame Isaac Pereire' is a dark pink Bourbon rose bred in France in 1881 by Armand Garcon.  The rose is named after Fanny Pereire, the wife of a prominent French banker, who used the inheritance after his death to honor his memory and simultaneously have this rose named after her.  In a very Continental twist, Pink Ladies and Crimson Gents reveals that Isaac Pereire was Fanny's uncle as well as her husband, a bit of salacious gossip that I somehow can't resist keeping in memory.

I was afraid of this rose, in my previous Zone 5B garden, because of her often-rating of Zone 6, and so I simply never applied Zonal Denial as a growing technique in her behalf.   But, come to find out, she did just fine as a one-summer-old unprotected shrub last Winter in my garden, and she's started back in this year without a pause.  Reputedly one of the most fragrant of all roses, I agree with the crowd about her strong bouquet, but I am insufficiently talented to confirm that tones of raspberry are prevalent in her ambiance as stated by others.  The very large and very double flowers are often quartered, and they hold their form as long or longer than most of the Bourbon class.  The bush form is sprawling, as you can see in the picture at the bottom of the blog, and I now understand first-hand why previous admirers like to stake her out in the garden to encourage bloom all along those long limbs.  I know that some consider her a short climber, with strong canes up to eight feet high, but I'm going to trim her as a shrub.  My specimen is a moderately vigorous bush, already this season pushing up 4 new large erect canes above the three foot level, and she's very healthy, with less than 10% of her unsprayed leaves bearing blackspot and with no noticeable defoliation.  I've seen no mildew on her matte green foliage here in Kansas.

She was sparing of her blooms in that first summer, and so, until recently, I believed her to be just another Bourbon, nothing special except exuding a decent fragrance.  What I hadn't anticipated are the rapid and bounteous rebloom cycles of this rose, making it the most prolific of my OGR's in terms of repeat flower production.  I'm encouraged now to look for 'Mme Ernst Calvat', a lighter pink sport with the same glorious fragrance.  The picture at the bottom is this year's first bloom cycle, but the second bloom cycle, now underway, is just as colorful and, because of the summer heat, even more fragrant.  One other secret I'll reveal about this rose;  this time of year, when Hybrid Tea and Floribunda blooms are bedraggled by wind, discolored by rain, and chewed by insects, my 'Mme Isaac Pereire' blooms still seem to be perfect, every one.  I don't know how she avoids the factors that disfigure the blooms of other roses, but she does.

I currently lack the knowledge and experience to tie down those long canes in gentle restraint, but perhaps this winter I'll borrow Fifty Shades of Grey from Mrs. ProfessorRoush and study it so that I can be properly prepared to restrain her (referring to 'Mme. Isaac Pereire') in the garden come next Spring.  This old gardener will try anything to encourage blooming of an Old Garden Rose.

Blackspot Susceptibility; Old Garden Roses

'Madame Hardy'

At last comes the third blog in my series reviews of roses for blackspot susceptibility.  Two Mondays ago I reported my Griffith Buck roses and last Monday it was the Canadians and Rugosas.   Since I also grow a fair group of Old Garden Roses (compared to some mythical average rosarian in my mind), I'll throw down on them in this third blog of the trio.  As before, the first number is the estimated percentage of leaves with blackspot and the second number the estimated percent defoliation.

Old Garden Roses:
Fantin Latour 60%-20%
Madame Hardy 0%-0%
Double Scotch White 0%-0%
Konigin Von Danemark 0%-0%
Comte de Chambord 0%-0%
La Reine Victoria 0%-0%
Zephirine Drouhin 5%-0%
Celsiana 0%-0%
Duchesse de Montebello 0%-0%
Charles de Mills 10%-15%
Louise Odier 5%-50%
Ballerina 30%-30%
Rose de Rescht 70%-5%
Variegata di Bologna 80%-10%
Red Moss (Henri Martin) 0%-20%
Salat 0%-5%
Duchesse de Rohan 0%-5%
Reine des Violettes 10%-10%
Madame Issac Pierre 10%-0%
Cardinal de Richelieu 0%-0%
Belle de Crecy <5%-5%
Blush Hip <5%-0%
Coquette de Blanches 5%-0%
Duchess of Portland 5%-0%
Frau Karl Druschki 10%-10%
Ferdinand Pichard <5%-0%
Shailor's Provence 0%-0%
Madame Plantier 0%-0%
Maiden's Blush 0%-0%
Seven Sisters 0%-0%
La France 20%-80% (not really an OGR, but the first Hybrid Tea).

This is normally a fairly blackspot-free group, but Fantin Latour got spotted up early and pretty badly, and Variegata di Bologna presently has a touch of the fungal flu.  As you would expect however, it is hard to go wrong with Old Garden Roses.  Most of our current disease troubles began after the breeding of 'La France'.  I grow 'La France' for conversations-sake only; if there was ever a balled-up, blackspot ridden rose, it is that first miserable offspring of crossing a Hybrid Perpetual with a Tea rose.  Why, oh why, did society ever decide that 'La France' was the future of roses?  For sheer gloriousness, I think the world went wrong and should have stayed with 'Madame Hardy', 'Duchesse de Montebello', and 'Madame Plantier'. Those are three classy old dames who can still show a gardener a good time.

Beetles! Get'cher Beetles Here!

Hey, You! Yeah, you, Fella!  Take a look at these!  Japanese Beetles for Sale!  These little green friendlies would love to hitch a ride into your garden and fornicate in it and make babies.  Cheap!  End of the Year Sale! Don't wait until they reach your area on their own!  Get'em NOW!

This morning, on a trip out of town, I innocently stopped at a large regional nursery about 60 miles east of Manhattan.  This nursery sells each Spring, among other plants, the largest variety of potted roses for a radius of 100 miles.   Being who I am, I could not help but stop to view their sale on the few remaining potted roses, hoping particularly to find a 'St. Swithun' marked down to a price that even a curmudgeonly rosarian would like.  And there, I saw them.  Japanese Beetles!  Fornicating in 'The Wedgwood Rose'!  And, looking around, they were on all the roses!  And the perennial hibiscus! And the daylilies (insert primal scream here)!  I took the pictures displayed here with my Iphone, to dispel doubting Thomas's and the likes of government types who claim that UFO's do not exist.

To understand the full depth of my horror and the stream of curses I uttered, you should be aware that Japanese Beetles are not yet endemic just 60 miles west, in Manhattan, Kansas, and I was unaware that they had been seen in anything but temporary outbreaks west of Kansas City.  You East-Coast rosarians should imagine, for a moment, an idyllic garden where you had never seen a Japanese Beetle, but you had heard they were massing at the seashore.  That is the fear that I've been living with for 5 or 6 years now, viewing the pictures of destruction at other gardens on the Internet and waiting for the beetle-induced Armageddon.

Fellow Gardeners, I am irate, nay, I am INCENSED at the callous disregard of this nursery for the public.  Questioning a worker at the store, "Yes", they did know that they had living, breeding Japanese beetles on the premises.  "They've been here for two or three years."  And "Yes" they had notified the authorities and were being monitored.  Why then, I wondered, were their embeetled roses and other plants still for sale?  How was it that they felt it was okay to participate in spreading these things around? I understand a conscientious gardener sticking to their organic principles and refusing to spray, but surely a commercial nursery wouldn't hesitate to nuke every inch of plant and soil.   One thing for sure, I wasn't buying any roses today.

Friends, this whole issue puts me deeply into an ethical and moral dilemma.  I have a vocal libertarian streak, distrusting authority of all kinds and advocating that petty little government dictators, (like Michael Bloomberg, currently trying to regulate the size of soft drinks at the movies in NYC), be exiled to Elba.  But I wished instantly and fervently on the spot that there was a government agency that would step into this void, tell this nursery they have to put up signs warning unknowing customers, and curtail sales to western customers.  Or better yet, depopulate and burn the nursery to the ground, as they have done in the past to farms with tuberculosis and brucellosis in their dairy herds.

I know, I know, eventually beetles will reach Manhattan Kansas on their own.  But I had a small hope that the Flint Hills would be a 50 mile-wide barrier to westward expansion; a no-beetle-land of poor food sources for their migration and extensive annual prairie fires to wipe out early scouts.  Little did I know that a nursery on the infested side of the zone would blatantly offer to sell me a potted plant with either beetle larvae in the soil or, in my case today, some actual beetle couples who would have been happy to have intercourse in my back seat during the Jeep ride home and then quickly disperse into my Beetle Eden of 200 rose plants.  Just as bad, I've bought plants from this nursery every year, my latest being a peony last August during a sale.  It has been long planted in my garden, all last Winter and this Spring, far too late to grub out now.  Until now I've tried, myself, to be a no-spray gardener, mostly faithful to the organic cause, but within seconds I was contemplating which insecticide I should use first.
  
I drove speedily home, calling friends and local nursery owners on the way like a Paul Revere of horticulture, spreading the word that the beetles were coming.  Local nursery owners were unaware and surprised at the disclosure.  Flashes of Kevin McCarthy screaming "They're here already! You're next!" at the ending of the classic movie The Invasion of the Body Snatcher's were running through my mind.  I came straight home and ran into my rose garden, inspecting every bloom for insects lounging in post-coital bliss, finally collapsing in relief as I determined that I'm still free from infection.  And then I took a long hot shower in disinfectant soap and burned my clothes.  You can never be too careful.

Praise Be

According to yesterday evening's Manhattan Mercury, a miserable daily rag which keeps the wailing gardener informed of each and every increment of annual water deprivation, we had received 8.37 inches of rain year-to-date, with a deficit for June of 2.67 inches and a deficit for 2012 of 6.67 inches.  Yes, that's correct, we have only received 55.6% of our normal rainfall in 2012, adding more pain to the drought from Fall of 2011.

We have been seemingly deserted by the rain deities.  Just last Sunday, I watched a cloud split and go north and south of us, leaving this area clear and dumping 4 inches of rain on areas only 1/2 hour away.  The storm must have known that I had sworn to dance naked on the driveway if it rained and thus, in its wisdom, spared my neighbors from such a blinding glimpse.


Last night, I made no such threat of joyful full-exposure, and, safe from that unsightly danger, a gorgeous front formed and commenced to downpour here at 11:00 p.m.  ProfessorRoush, of course, went promptly into the most restful, worry-free sleep in weeks amidst the lightening and thunder and rain pounding on the roof.  And woke up this morning to the beautiful sight of both rain  gauges (I keep one near the house and one near the vegetable garden), containing 2.2 inches of rain. Even the daylilies are happy, although the dewy specimen above will likely be a bit spotted as the day wears on.

The forecast still shows chances for rain of 50%, 30%, and 60% respectifully for the next few days and, not normally a greedy sort, I'd  be pleased to see similar rainfalls every day of the next week. Yes, surely, Praise Be.

Canadian Crimson Glory

One of the hardiest, red hybrid-tea-style roses to grow here on the Flint Hills prairie is an older introduction from AgCanada, the bright red rose 'Cuthbert Grant'.  'Cuthbert Grant' is a "Parkland" series Canadian rose, bred at Manitoba, but it was named after a prominent Métis leader who led the victors at the Battle of Seven Oaks and who became an important early figure of the Hudson's Bay company.  

'Cuthbert Grant' was one of the first Canadian roses I grew in Kansas and it remains one of my favorites of that group.  Blooms are cardinal to dark red, with more of a purple-red hue in colder weather, and they fade to a lighter but again more purplish-red hue.  The double blooms (17-25 petals) start as a hybrid-tea type bud and then open relatively quickly to a cupped shape.  I love to experience the strong fragrance of this rose in the garden, but because of the quick opening of the bloom, 'Cuthbert Grant' doesn't last long as a cut rose indoors.  I should disclose that different references list this rose as having strong fragrance to none at all, but my own nose is voting on the strong fragrance side. Blooms come in clusters of 3-9 flowers on long slender stems. This rose is one of the first to bloom in my garden, then it will take a rest and it seems to bloom in several smaller periodic flushes though the summer before producing a second great flowering in the fall.  I wouldn't, in other words, call it a continuous bloomer, but it does produce several flushes over a summer.

'Cuthbert Grant' is extremely resistant to blackspot, powdery mildew and rust.  The Montreal Botanical Garden listed it as being an outstanding variety for disease resistance in a 1998 trial, and I never spray my 'Cuthbert Grant' rose.   It's a medium-tall bush, about 4 to 5 feet tall and 3 feet around as a mature bush in my garden, but in hot climates, it is said to shoot up to over 8 feet.  I noticed one reference on davesgarden.com that suggested the bush has a slight weeping habit, but 'Cuthbert Grant' has only had strong, thick erect canes in my garden.  It is reputed to be hardy to Zone 3 and I can certainly attest that I've never seen winter-induced dieback in Zone 5.  In fact, as I think about it, this rose seems to be unusually resistant to cane dieback or damage at all times of the year compared to modern hybrid teas.

'Cuthbert Grant' is a Hybrid Suffulta (a R. arkansana descendant), a result of crossing 'Assiniboine' (a red Hybrid Suffulta itself) with a 'Crimson Glory' x (Donald Prior X R. arkansana) seedling. He was bred by Henry Marshall in Morden, Manitoba and released in 1967.  I'm assuming the strong fragrance of Cuthbert comes from the 'Crimson Glory' grandparent, since its fragrance has much the tone of that latter rose.

In a nutshell, if you are discouraged by the disease and cold susceptibility of the real 'Crimson Glory', try 'Cuthbert Grant' instead.

Canadian and Rugosa Blackspot Review

'Hunter'....of course

This post is the second in a series of three Mondays on which I review a major group of my roses for blackspot susceptibility.  Last week, of course, I reported my Griffith Buck roses.  Today, I'll note the damage on my AgCanada-bred roses and selected Hybrid Rugosas.  Of course, many Rugosa Hybrids who have very thick and rugose leaves are not susceptible at all, and I can vouch for Blanc Double De Coubert, Souvenir de Philemon Cochet, Scabrosa, Purple Pavement, Pink Grootendorst, and F. J. Grootendorst as blackspot free.

As before, the first number is the estimated percentage of leaves with blackspot and the second number the estimated percent defoliation. And now, without further ado, the Canadians and Hybrid Rugosas: (with a few odd roses thrown in that were bred in Canada but not released by AgCanada).

Canadians:
Prairie Joy 0%-0%
Morden Blush 10%-5%  (this rose is my blackspot "indicator")
Marie Bugnet 0%-0%
Therese Bugnet 0%-0%
Cuthbert Grant 0%-5%
Morden Sunrise 10%-20%
Morden Centennial 5%-10%
J.P. Connell 60%-80%
David Thompson 0%-0%
Hope for Humanity 0%-0%
Adelaide Hoodless 5%-5%
Champlain 0%-0%
Henry Hudson 0%-0%
Alexander MacKenzie 10%-70%
Morden Ruby 0%-0%
John Franklin 30%-20%
Morden Fireglow 20%-10%
Winnepeg Parks 10%-50%
William Baffin 0%-80%  (leaf loss may be due to drought)
Survivor 5%-5%
John Davis 5%-5%
Martin Frobisher 0%-0%
Prairie Dawn 10%-60%

Hybrid Rugosas:
Conrad Ferdinand Meyer 5%-0%
Sir Thomas Lipton 0%-5%
Moore's Striped Rugosa 0%-0%
Robusta 10%-20%
Linda Campbell 20%-10%
Hunter <5%-0%
Rugelda <5%-0%
Topaz Jewel 0%-0%

As you can see above, the Canadian roses are hit and miss on blackspot susceptibility with John Franklin, Alexander MacKenzie, Winnipeg Parks, Morden Sunrise, and J.P Connell almost sure to have a little blackspot.  In fact, J.P. Connell always lies somewhere between struggling for life and trying to die for me and I would grub it out if I only had the courage of the Cowardly Lion (a little Kansas-Wizard of Oz reference there).  Morden Blush, interestingly, is usually one of my earliest roses to show blackspot, but this year it isn't as affected.

Rugosa blood, as you can see, does not necessarily mean that blackspot can be forgotten.  Robusta and Linda Campbell have both been a bit disappointing to me in that regard, but I keep them around for their cardinal red color and dependable repeat. Certainly, it seems the more rugose the foliage, the more blackspot resistant in this group.

Next Monday I'll spill beans on the Old Garden Roses that I grow.

Lavender Lessons

"There’s flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed wi’ the sun,
And with him rises weeping; thes are flower
Of middle summer, and I thek they are given

To men of middle age."

William Shakespeare The Winter’s Tale, iv.4

There are not many of these flowers given to THIS man of middle age, but I do GROW some of them.  I don't rightly know of all the places on the six habitable continents where lavender may grow well, but the Kansas sunshine and heat certainly don't hurt its survival prospects here. 

  

I did have some trouble, back in my Zone 5B years, wintering lavender through to Spring, but those troubles seem to be gone now that I've been magically transported, garden and gardener, into Zone 6.  I grow several varieties as a sort of short hedge along a rock wall in a very exposed and wind-swept area, and I've got a couple of other bunches of lavender in my outer garden beds. I am a big lavender fan, but I am probably a poor second next to the butterflies pictured here, in my admiration for it.  I depend on it, after all, for luxury and indulgence, but not for my sustenance.

The majority of my soil is clay, and I was skeptical about growing lavender here since it is supposed to like well-drained, sandy or gravelly soils.  What I believe I have learned from growing it here in Kansas, is that it may not require good drainage if the soil doesn't get wet enough or stay wet long enough to be a bother.  Certainly the soil is solid clay next to the rock wall but it does have decent drainage and anyway, we haven't had enough rain to wet your whistle, let alone drown lavender.

I unfortunately haven't keep track of the cultivars along the wall.  Ten cultivars have lived or died or been divided into a hedge that now appears to be composed of three.  In flat areas of my garden, many of the lavenders I've planted have died out, but the lavender pictured in such blue splendor at the bottom of this blog grows in a clay bed with little drainage and it is the best bloomer of all of its cousins this summer.  I don't know its name either, because its identity was lost when I lost my notes of new plantings last year.  It may, however, be L. intermedia 'Grosso', a memory supported by the vivid color and prolific bloom.  I believe that most of the other survivors in my garden are L.augustifolia cultivars as those always seemed more hardy.

So, Kansans, try some lavender.  Keep it dry and treasure it well. The return in flittering beauty alone makes the effort worthwhile.

Sub Rosa Surprise

While my fellow blogger Hartwood Roses was accompanied by a bumblebee in her garden this morning, I had a more stealthy companion of my own as I gave my young roses a good deep soaking during the cool part of the morning.  Caught out between 'Gallicandy' and 'Marianne', the creature pictured below was trying to lay still, silent and unnoticed, all to no avail.

Or perhaps, it was trying to invite me for a literal sub rosa meeting to discuss some important aspect of my garden chores.   This is, of course, a small portion of the caudal half of a Common Red-sided Garter Snake, (Thamnophis sirtalis parietalis), whose overall length was about 3 feet and with a girth of around an inch at widest.  It was likely a female due to the short length of the tail, and that would be about my luck since the females bear up to 85 young in mid-summer.  I'm sorry that I can't show you all of it, but by the time I retrieved my camera and returned, it had moved quickly out of the open and it was obviously not inclined to introduce itself and make friends this morning.  I tried and failed to capture a better photograph than this, but once it realized that a large predator was stalking it, the snake stayed good and secure under a rose bush, not even moving when poked.  Yes, that's right, I stalked and speedily shoved the stealthy sub-rosa snake with a stick, but it slowly slithered under shelter and stayed silent.

I would be normally be very personally proud of not shouting or jumping at the first surprise sighting of the reptile, however I believe that the snake should get most of the credit for my own calm attitude since it was laying perfectly still (probably hoping not to accidentally get a cold shower from the hose).  It took me a few seconds to realize that the bright orange specks and the yellow-white stripes didn't belong among the light brown shade of the grass clippings I use for mulch.  

I appreciate the garter snakes of my garden for their control of rodents and spiders, and they are beautiful creatures, but I'd generally prefer that they perform their part of the garden maintenance out of sight and out of mind.  They certainly shouldn't feel the need to entertain me in conversation as I water.

Nothing But Blue Skies

'Blue Skies'

I'm afraid to admit that I'm falling in love all over again with yet another rose, in this case one that has trifled with my affections before and left me sobbing over its sudden disappearance.

'Blue Skies' is a Griffith Buck rose (with the registration name of BUCblu) that I have long desired to grow and, in fact, I have tried and failed to establish it twice before.  I can chalk one failure up to an overbearing and smothering nearby Panicum sp., and the other to a poor specimen (a grafted, bagged, $3.00 Grade 2 rose), so I hope that this time, the third time, will really prove a charm.

And, so far at least, so good.  This rose is so spectacular that it hurts me.  I purchased a band of 'Blue Skies' this Spring from Heirloom Roses and it arrived in excellent condition and now, 2 months later, is a one-foot tall rose "toddler" that has bloomed twice already and is heading rapidly into its third flush.  I cannot, of course, speak to its winter hardiness in my zone, but I wasn't going to wait until next Spring to blog about a rose of this perfect-ness.

I have not, in the past, been a real fan of "blue" roses, but I'll make an exception for the pink/mauve/lilac 'Blue Skies'.  Released by Dr. Buck in 1983, its parentage, according to Mary Buck, is  [(Soir d'Automne x Music Maker) x Solitude] x [(Mainzer Fastnacht x Tom Brown) x Autumn Dusk], a combination that I can't quite get my head around.  Whatever the heritage, 'Blue Skies' has, even as a small bush, provided me with a good number of perfect hybrid-tea style buds on long stems.  The double blooms have a strong fragrance and it may well be one of the fastest repeat cycle bloomers in my garden.  I hate to report a final assessment yet, since it is such a young bush for me, but disease resistance is excellent at present, absolutely not a blemish on the foliage anywhere.

 ProfessorRoush doesn't grow many Hybrid Tea-type roses, and Mrs. ProfessorRoush has soft spots for both lilac-colored roses and for Hybrid Tea blooms, so I'm keeping my figures crossed and watching this rose closely.   Because, of course, I want smooth sailing at home and 'Blue Skies', nothing but blue skies, from now on.

Mely-rid-me-of-it

Melyridae (Soft-winged flower beetle)

"Mrs. ProfessorRoush is not fond of bugs."  I'm sorry, but that statement isn't strong enough to accurately summarize the situation.  "Mrs. ProfessorRoush hates bugs!"  Yes, perfect, that wording is more descriptive of the depth of her emotions.  Mrs. ProfessorRoush hates spiders and ants and chiggers and ticks and bagworms and generally just about anything that has six or eight legs and gains entry to her home or body.  And she's also not very happy with ProfessorRoush when insects hitch a ride on his flowers into the house.

Thus, we reached a domestic crisis when a number of the creatures pictured here began falling out of every rose bloom that I, her knight-in-shining-armor, so chivalrously tried to gift her.  And as I examined my roses closer, these were everywhere, hiding in the open blooms and running around or abandoning ship at the first sign of human interference or disruption.  The blooms seemed to tolerate these free-loafer tenants without damage, but the bugs were surely putting a strain on the whole "I'm sorry for breathing, here are some roses to make up for it" sequence of my marriage.

Thanks to the Kansas State Extension entomology and their excellent diagnostic service at gotbugs@ksu.edu, I now know that these are beetles in the family Melyridae, also known as soft-wing flower beetles.  They do not, in fact, harm the roses, but are omnivores that primarily feed on other insects and insect eggs, and that sometimes add a little pollen and nectar to their regular diet.  Their larvae live and feed in the soil and there are 520 species in 58 genera of Melyridae in North America.  The "melyrids" as the bug people refer to them, are nuisances to those of us who bring flowers indoors, but they will not eat the carpet or survive long in our homes.  From a fascinating publication titled The Coleopterists Bulletin (2003;57:154-160), I learned that melyrids may even be important pollinators in the western United States, and that my personal melyrids probably visit other flower species as well as my roses.  The author of that article seemed more excited by that discovery than I felt upon reading it, but hey, how much does it really take to excite a coleopterist?

 Melyrids were once recognized as the "Bug of the Week" by someone calling herself "The BugLady," who appears to work for the University of Wisconsin Milwaukee Field Station.  These beetles may contain batrachotoxins, potent heart and nerve toxins that are also found in poison dart frogs in the South Pacific, so I would recommend that you do not make Melyridae a mainstay of your own diet even though you'd have to eat your weight in them to be harmed.  I think I'll keep the latter information from Mrs. ProfessorRoush, lest she begin shaking the blooming roses over my soup du jour.

Regarding my melyrid infestation, I view them as a simple byproduct of my religious conviction to not indiscriminately use insecticides in my garden. If I were spraying the roses with Silent-Spring-inducing poisions instead of allowing nature to find the controls for me, I'd have less melyrids, but also less ladybugs, and I would increase the chance that some insect that the melyrids normally eat would proliferate and cause more damage.  So, I'm going to let bygones be bygones and simply shake out the roses a bit more carefully before presenting them to Mrs. ProfessorRoush.  And hope that she forgives me.   

Buck Rose Blackspot Review

Now that I've seen others state on the Web that it has been a bad blackspot year for their roses, I feel confident enough to come out of the fungal-shame closet and agree that I've been entertaining the same thought.  I don't know if it was the early March warmth or the cool nights of recent weeks, but blackspot has been a struggle at the K-State rose garden at this early date. In my own non-spray garden, I also believed that the roses were a little "fungus-ier" than normal.

So I resolved to note down the degree of blackspot damage on all my roses and did exactly that this morning.  And, you know what?  I think that maybe it is not quite as bad as I thought.  I seem to have been misled by an early defoliation of one of my 'Prairie Harvest' (normally quite resistant), and the damage on my 2-year old Paul Barden rose, 'Jeri Jennings'.  'Jeri Jennings' definitely got  the black spots aplenty, but 'Prairie Harvest' just seemed to turn yellow and defoliate all but the top leaves. I'm still not sure if that was blackspot-induced or drought-induced.  She seems to be coming back.   The rest of my roses are mostly doing quite well, in contrast to my undocumented impression, with exceptionally bad disease only on floribunda 'Rhapsody in Blue', English Rose 'Golden Celebration', and pink floribunda 'Gene Boerner'. 

For reference's sake in this modern era of gigabyte data and online searchs, I will report the blackspot tendencies of three of my rose groups, the Griffith Buck roses, the Canadians, and the Old Garden roses, today and over the next two Mondays.  Today, we'll tackle the Buck roses, at least those roses who are at or beyond their second season with me.   The first number is the estimated percentage of leaves with blackspot and the second number the estimated percent defoliation.  The list, of course, begins with Carefree Beauty, an Earth-Kind® decorated rose and often a resistant control rose in disease plot-tests.

Carefree Beauty 0%-0%
Country Dancer 0%-0%
Freckles 0%-0%
April Moon 0%-0%
Griff's Red 0%-0%
Wild Ginger 0%-5%
Hawkeye Belle 10%-20%
Prairie Harvest 0%-80%  or 0%-0%  (one defoliated, the other perfectly healthy)
Prairie Star 80%-20%
Winter Sunset <5%-0%
Earth Song <5%-0%
Quietness 20%-0%
Polonaise 0%-0%
Pearlie Mae 10%-0%
Golden Princess <5%-0%
Queen Bee 10%-10%
Honey Sweet 0%-0%
Folk Singer 0%-0%
Bright Melody 0%-0%
Iobelle 0%-0%
Golden Unicorn 0%-0%
El Catala <5%-0%

I noted roses with "<5%" above when I found a leaf or two with some blackspot, but generally the rest of the rose was unaffected.  The health of most of these roses are not surprising, or should not be surprising for the Buck-bred roses, since Dr. Buck bred and raised his roses under a no-spray policy in a similar climate to mine.  'Prairie Star', 'Quietness', 'Pearlie Mae' and 'Queen Bee' seem to be the only ones that I grow currently with some degree of blackspot present.  Other, that is, than the quandary that 'Prairie Harvest' is presenting me with.  I have one bush almost defoliated and the other unaffected.  I don't know if this year is a quirk from a rose that I've grown for at least 10 years and whose foliage is normally very blackspot-resistant, or whether the rose got damaged from something else like our current drought.  Time alone will tell the me truth.

Heritage of Blooms

'Heritage'

It occurred to me last weekend, and I find it incredibly hard to believe, that I've somehow overlooked blogging about David Austin's 'Heritage' rose before now. 

'Heritage' has a prime spot in my landscape, right out in front of the house towards the right corner, next to the driveway and walkway.  That site is on the west side of the house and she gets a little less sun (maybe 8 hours/day at the height of summer) than some of my roses, but she seems none the worst for the partial shade.  She is about 8 years old, own root, and she's a tall vase-shaped rose (about 6 feet tall) with a lot of presence in the border.  That first bloom, with all those shell-pink delicate blossoms, is a stunner.

'Heritage', or 'AUSblush', has always been a healthy bush for me, with little blackspot and no mildew.  I don't spray her healthy, glossy dark green foliage, but I do provide a little extra water to this bed at the height of summer because it tends to dry out fast with the hot afternoon sun.  She has strong erect canes, never slouching or breaking to the wind, and I commonly go into Spring with between 10 and 15 healthy strong canes on this rose after pruning.  Winter hardiness in my formerly Zone 5B climate was and still is very good, with no dieback noted in most years.


'Heritage' was released by Austin's English Roses breeding program in 1984. Classified as a shrub rose, like many of Austin's creations, she bears light pink, fully double flowers of up to 40 petals that are 4 inches or so in diameter. The flowers are, as advertised, very fragrant when you bury your nose in them, but this is not a rose that I've noticed perfuming the air around it, no matter how prolific the bloom.  I've also found that she doesn't last very long in a vase, but her initial beauty keeps me bringing those blooms inside to stay in the good graces of  Mrs. ProfessorRoush.   She keeps her few thorns to herself (the rose, not Mrs. ProfessorRoush), and is ladylike in her manners, and so she is safely placed near my walkway to the front door.  A tetraploid rose, her parentage is described as a seedling X 'Iceberg'.  Knowing that, I'd like to add that 'Heritage' is a much healthier rose in Kansas, in my experience, than 'Iceberg', who seems to be a better rose everywhere else than here.

I only grow a few English Roses, among which are 'The Dark Lady', 'Mary Rose', and 'Golden Celebration', but so far 'Heritage' would be my pick for Kansas, since the bloom form, hardiness, and health of the bush are more dependable than the others.  It is not an accident that this rose is likely the first that a visitor to my house would encounter. 

Blackberry Bounty

It's Blackberry time here in Kansas!  It's Blackberry time here in Kansas! 

There should be a song written to the wonders of blackberries here in the Flint Hills, a boisterous song to rouse the spirit and whet the palate.  Many fruits are iffy in these dry, thinly-covered hills, but blackberries are usually not among them. The peach crop can be wiped out with an inopportune freeze, strawberries die with the droughts, the watermelons and cantaloupes survive only at the mercy of the squash bugs, and grapes can disappear overnight as the June Bugs arrive, but blackberries, oh blackberries, usually can be counted for a fresh, sweet beginning to the summer.  Okay, maybe except for last year.


I grow a number of blackberries varieties, in theory, but I may be down to one or at most two varieties in reality.  I originally began with a row of thornless 'Arapaho', 'Navaho', 'Black Satin', and 'Cherokee', but those original plants have dwindled with crown gall and I've moved suckers everywhere to grow in other areas, so it's entirely possible that I've ended up with only one of the original cultivars (probably 'Navaho', which seemed the most vigorous) and certainly no more than two of that group.  This year I'm making a concerted effort to provide these thornless varieties some deep watering at intervals (economically, with soaker hoses), in an attempt to improve the number of canes and the harvest.

A couple of years ago, the University of Arkansas released some varieties that fruit on primocanes as well as the floricanes.  Hoping to get two harvests each year of blackberries, I purchased three plants each of Prime-Jim, Prime-Jan (both 2 years old) and Prime-Ark 45 (a yearling) to try.  Of the former two, Prime-Jim seems to be the better variety for the Flint Hills.  It is a thorned variety, but the canes are stiff and erect, not trailing and grabbing at everything in sight like the old classic varieties.   This year, my three Prime-Jim plants have many, many more berries than Prime-Jan, and they are ripening at a quick pace and all at one time.  There are so many berries on Prime-Jim that I don't even care what the second harvest is like because the first out-does any other blackberry I've seen.  Prime-Ark 45, which is said to be the best producer and have the largest berries, is not old enough yet for me to evaluate, and it has been at a disadvantage anyway, putting on most of its current growth during late summer of last year in the midst of a drought. 

I suppose I should expect hybrid blackberries to do well in an environment where wild blackberries grow up everywhere that is not mowed, burned, or otherwise treated, but one can never be sure what evils man may have created during the "improvement process."  Except for a little bacterial crown gall, blackberries are normally trouble-free for me.  In fact, my only problem with blackberries is that I rarely harvest enough of them to use in jam or jelly.  My family tends to eat them off the vine, unwashed, but oh so warm and sweet (the berries, not the family), as fast as they ripen on the canes.  Blackberries stain us, and sustain us, until the main garden bounty comes with summer.

Mme Plantier, I presume?

'Madame Plantier'

Just because I feel guilty about trashing a world-treasured Alba rose in my last rose post, I'll show you an Alba rose that I really wish I'd planted years ago.  My one-year-old Madame Plantier bloomed for the first time this year and I am most definitely impressed by the young maiden.

Unlike my spoiled 'Maiden's Blush', 'Madame Plantier' gave me quite a display this year, young though she was.  She was covered from head to toe for three weeks with 3 inch blush-white blooms, and every one of them just as perfect as the picture to the right.  No blight, no browning buds, no thrip damage.   I think "scrumptious" describes this rose best.  Somewhere, in my reading, I had gained an impression of  'Madame Plantier' as being less than a star, so I had avoided her until recently. What a mistake that was, because a star she is!

'Madame Plantier' is an 1835 Alba bred by Plantier of France.  Well, I think she's an Alba.  Some references list her as a cross of Rosa alba and Rosa moschata, while others list her as a Damask rose, the result of a cross of R. damascena and R. moschata.  Regardless of the actual heritage, the clustered blooms lose their blush as they age, much like a young lady growing into womanly maturity, and they end up flat with a nice button eye.  The bush is almost thornless, completely hardy without protection here, and completely blackspot and fungus free so far.  I've read that she's going to get much bigger, and the canes will stay flexible, so I've provided her lots of room for her anticipated 8 by 8 foot size and drooping arms. What a spectacle that will be!

While researching this rose, I stumbled upon a reference that characterized the scent of 24 Old Garden Roses, and so I can report that Madame Plantier contains 31.44% 2-phenyl-ethanol, 28.11% benzyl alcohol, 21% hydrocarbons, 8.63% geraniol, 5.91 % nerol, and trace amounts of 20 other organic compounds.  Do we really believe that we can take the essence of a rose and distill it to a few carboniferous chemicals?  Blasphemous! This formula is TMI (too much information) and reveals too much of the soul of this beautiful rose, and so I will now attempt to forget I ever heard it.  There are none so cynical as a rosarian who has seen a favored rose stripped of its mystery.

Chipping Cheerfully

Just for those who were wondering how the Chipping Sparrow eggs were doing, I'm happy to report that the babies have hatched and are growing just fine.  Momma Chipping Sparrow, however, looks a bit harried and tense as she tries to keep these hungry little critters fed.

Lately, watching these little bits of life develop, it strikes me that there is nothing quite so life-affirming as watching a nest of baby birds go from egg to fledgling.

Now You See It (or not)

Eastern Meadlow lark nest, exposed

I got another surprise Sunday morning as I was watering a fairly new Acer rubrum 'Autumn Flame' to the west of the house, in an area that I used to mow but have left "long" these past two years.   Practically at my feet, a brown streak exploded and then quickly disappeared into the eight-inch-tall grass about 25 feet away.  Looking carefully near my feet, I found another bird nest filled with 5 brown-speckled eggs.  Using some local forbs as references, I mentally marked the location.

I returned about an hour later to photograph the nest and spent about 25 minutes looking for it, even knowing it was within a 5 foot square area, and I located it only after I got on my hands and knees and slowly combed the brush to find it.

 Can you find the nest?


How about now?  It's like one of those "Where's Waldo?" games isn't it?  Imagine me moving gingerly around the area, expecting every minute to hear a crunch as I accidentally ruin the nest.

Well, I'll make it easy, the nest is in the exact center of the photo below.  In the first photo above, it's in the right third quadrant at the center line, and in the second picture it's at the upper left.  Almost impossible to find even from a few feet up or away.

This is an Eastern Meadowlark (Sturnella magna) nest and although it is laying exposed on the ground for lumbering animals to step on or slithering snakes to seize on, I've got to give the mother Meadowlark extra credit points for care.  This is a much better camouflaged and constructed nest than the matted patches of grass the Killdeer start their families in.  I guess I'm being a little judgemental here, but, hey, I know a dotting mother when I see one.

I won't go looking for this one again because I'm afraid of damaging the brood, which takes about 2 weeks to hatch and another 2 weeks to empty.  And my own inability to avoid a nest that I KNOW is there makes me wonder how these birds ever evolved to ground-nest in an area filled in recent centuries by bison herds and in millennia past by larger herbivores including primeval horses, rhinos, and mastodons.  I would have predicted that the first stupid bird to drop an egg on the prairie would have seen its eggs quickly crushed and its gene pool darwinized to extinction.  Timing the movement of the herds, perhaps?  Sheer numbers?   Certainly. there weren't many other choices for nesting sites, since there were few trees on that virgin prairie.

But this nest does make me even more happy that I let the grasses grow in this area over the objections of Mrs. ProfessorRoush.  Aside from the decreased mowing time and gasoline usage, I'm now seeing the beginnings of the environmental riches that the native prairie can provide.

Disappointing Maiden

Warning: For those Old Garden Rose fans who just can't stand a bad review on any rose born prior to 1867, it might be best for your mental health if you stop reading NOW. 

'Maiden's Blush' at best, but a little balled up.

Okay, if you're still reading by this time, I'm going to assume that you either relish hearing about the deficiencies of a former queen of the garden, or at least that you've braced for the worst.

I confess that I was once in love with the venerated Alba 'Maiden's Blush', but the veils of infatuation have been lifted from my sight over time and she has fallen from grace.  Here in the Kansas climate, years of evidence has convinced me that she has turned out to be a faithless lass, cool and demure and virtuous in a rare year, but more commonly crumpled and nasty and worn. 

The soiled dove

Many readers here are likely familiar with Michael Pollan's Second Nature, and what he has to say about his experiences with Old Garden Roses and 'Maiden's Blush' in particular.  Michael waxed so eloquent, and marginally pornographic, about 'Maiden's Blush' that she was impossible for me to resist.  I've had her in my garden about 11 years and she is now a massive shrub in my beds, around 6 feet tall and broad.  In the early years of the 21st century, I had some good times with her, even including her in my own book, Garden Musings, as the seventh in a group of my ten favorite roses (pages 59-60).  But, over time, I've come to realize that, at best, a lot of her blossoms will be damaged by a little botrytis blight, and at worst, many of them turn brown and don't open at all.  Don't get me wrong, I treasure the exquisiteness of the occasional perfect blossom;  the creamy petals, blushed with pink in colder years, opening to a delicate picture of coyness.  But I would estimate only 10% of her blooms make it to that perfection.  The rest, well, let us just say that a soiled dove still has its beauty, if can you look past the blemishes.   Every year, I look at the buds coming on and think "wow, 'Maiden's Blush' is going to have a great year."  And then, even in dry years, a rain and a little cold weather comes at the wrong time during her budding and she simply molds at the edges.  To be fair, I think the same thing happens to many of my Albas, like, for instance 'Leda', but that's a story for another time.

Bush form of 'Maiden's Blush' at peak bloom 2012

When she's good, this ancient rose (prior to 1400) is very good.  Intensively fragrant, very double, and solidly hardy in Kansas, she doesn't suffer from blackspot or mildew in the southern exposure I've given her.  The bush is rangy, with occasional bare legs, and not very thorny, so there are both positive and negative aspects to her overall form.  She goes by many names, this one, so don't be confused if you see her listed as 'Great Maiden's Blush', 'Cuisse de Nymphe' (translates to "thigh of nymph"), 'Incarnata', 'La Virginale' or others.

I'm going to keep her as a part of my own garden because I simply can't give up those times when she is warm and friendly and gives me her all.  But I can no longer recommend to my fellow Kansans that she be allowed to trifle with the affections of any except the most dedicated rose fanatics.

Warning; Zealots Crossing

We've all seen them.  The bulging eyes moving frantically from side to side seeking an exit. Antic feet sliding sideways in a fruitless attempt to escape.  The dazed expressions that signify aural and mental overload.  Saliva pooling and drool overflowing as the higher cognitive functions are beaten down and dulled.  All of these and more the signs of a normal person trapped in a zealot's snare, unable to fly to freedom against the onrushing tide of words and enthusiasm.

Such was the lot of a few poor souls this week when I gave a Tuesday Talk at the K-State Rose Garden sponsored by The Friends of the KSU Gardens.  I'd been tapped several months ago to talk about the Garden and rose history in general during a walk around the rose garden and my anticipation had built up to the boiling point, but at last the scheduled time had arrived.  A half-hour came and went in an instant as I poured forth a partially coherent stream of information about rose classes and the AARS and the Gamble Fragrance Award and rose breeders and anti-Knock-Out-ism.  No one actually ran from the venue, and no children were permanently scarred by the lecture, but I'm concerned that several attendees will require some recovery time before they can again look at a rose as a simple lovely flower.

Zealots and fanatics can both be defined as being "marked by excessive enthusiasm and often intense uncritical devotion".  Synonyms for the words include "rabid", "bigoted," "phrenetic," and "mad."  Winston Churchill is quoted as saying "A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject."  All right, I hear all that, but I still don't understand why zealotry is seen as a bad thing.

I put to you that little progress would be made in the World without a zealot or three or four challenging The Man. Yes, the world might be a calmer place and there might be fewer wars, but without a little irrational enthusiasm, little gardening would be done.  Who among us would garden if we didn't conveniently forget annually that every year the quail would come to eat the corn before it sprouted, that a late frost would nip the first tomatoes we put out, and that a drought in August will always cause us to carry water daily for the pumpkins?  And if some fanatic doesn't pick up the torch of rose snobbery and defend the Old Garden Roses, who among us will stand to speak out against scentless and bland 'Knock Out'?  

Somewhere out there, I hope I planted a seed at the lecture.  A seed that will grow and cause someone to shun the Big Box Stores and their 'Knock Out's in favor of a real rose.  Perhaps an English/Austin hybrid, or a mail-order Gallica, or a hard-won Griffith Buck-bred 'EarthSong' or an EarthKind-recognized rose?  A rose worthy of the name rather than just another colored flowering shrub.  Such incremental changes are the lifeblood of a zealot and I'm proud to be so labeled if I can cause yet another 'Knock Out' to dry up on the shelf, unpurchased.  And, somewhere along the way, provide a little aid and comfort to the Friends of the KSU Gardens.   

(Author's note;  The picture above is of the "Rose" statue in front of the KSU Rose Garden, surrounded, ironically in light of this blog entry, by 'Livin Easy' roses).

Ha! Caught'em!

Finally, my game camera has captured its first infrared photos of unauthorized nocturnal garden visitors (as opposed to the 300-odd candid pictures of ProfessorRoush puttering in his own garden).  It has gone over a month without catching of a single critter since I placed it into the garden, so I was thinking about abandoning all hope or at least preparing to move it yet again, but suddenly there they were.

Thankfully, I have not documented evidence of the existence of Bigfoot in my garden, but I have captured two separate creatures on two separate nights.  One of them, wandering out of the garden after a presumed late night snack at 3:05 a.m. on 5/22/12, is obviously a deer, or more accurately, a doe. This same doe was likely also the cause of a hollyhock eaten back to nubbins sometime on 5/18/12, but that is the only deer-like damage I have detected recently.  With the continuation of last-year's lack of rain here, you can forget about footprints as collaborative evidence of garden raiding parties.

Okay, I've got a deer, but what is this other thing, which visited on 5/14/12 at 10:17 p.m.?  Much lower to the ground (I'd estimate it at about 1 feet tall and maybe 2 feet long), and with erect ears visible in two pictures?  I'd think coyote, but the hindquarters seem too plump and low-slung.  That is the butt of a pig, not a coyote and the coyote would carry its head higher.  Raccoon? I can't see the tail that I'd expect there and it probably wouldn't have the ears.  Bobcat?  That would be an incredible find, and, again, the hindquarters look wrong. Rabbit?  It would be a big one and where is the fluffy tail?  A previously undescribed prairie mammal or an alien creature from another world?  That would indeed "be wondrous strange!"  To mangle and turn Hamlet's statement into a question, are there really "more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy?"  In this case, I sincerely doubt it.

On the bright side, I now know three sure things that I didn't know yesterday.  First, I've got a deer that returns repeatedly to the green larder of my garden.  Second, there is another something prowling around at night that probably isn't there just to sample the greenery.  Third, both of these creatures are lazy and bold since they are taking the mown paths from my garden down into the prairie rather than coming and going through the taller, denser grass. 

Maybe I'd better rescind their invitations and quit mowing the paths?.

Red Moss

'Red Moss'

I don't know why, but I somehow associate the name 'Red Moss' with the ominous feeling of doom evoked by Poe's The Masque of the Red Death,  I suppose that association only occurs because of the similar sounds of the respective name of the rose and title of the short story, but it is unsettling nonetheless.  And the feeling is blatently false, because 'Red Moss' is a troublefree and dependable rose in Kansas.  At 8.8, it also has one of the highest merit ratings by the ARS for Old Garden Roses, testifying to its good growth in most climates.

'Red Moss' or 'Henri Martin'

'Red Moss' is more accurately known to rose lovers far and wide as 'Henri Martin', an 1862 breeding by Jean Laffay.  This once-blooming rose was named for the French historian involved in the creation of the Statue of Liberty, although most who know 'Henri Martin', the rose, wouldn't know the significance of the name.  Like most of the moss roses, it has a strong fragrance and resembles a semi-double Gallica rose in bush form, foliage and flower, except for the mossy buds.  I have two 'Henri Martin', both of the same age, one about three feet tall and wide and the other, interspersed with a pair of sun-blocking taller roses, is taller, approximately four feet in height.  This rose sprawls a bit on its own, so smaller plants might be smothered within its reach if the gardener allows such a travesty.




Moss roses, for the uninitiated, have mossy-looking growths on the sepals of the buds and calyx.  These are actually a glandular mutation of the prickles and oil glands, and the moss, when brushed, adds a balsam or piny scent to the rose fragrance. All moss roses have two sepals with moss, then one without, one with, and the last of five without.  True moss roses are believed to be descendents of a sport of  a centifolia rose and first appeared around 1700.  They were bred sporadically by rosarians through the 1800's and into the current century, with several fascinating and more recent introductions by the late Ralph Moore.

I grow three moss roses, 'Red Moss', Chateau de Napoleon, and 'Old Pink Moss', the latter likely being the original centrifolia sport.  All are bone hardy in the Kansas climate and survive drought and wind without failing.  Blackspot is nonexistent on the old moss roses, however the 'Old Pink Moss' in the K-State University garden, placed in a fairly stagnant area in terms of air flow, is prone to a little mildew now and then.  If I have a complaint about 'Red Moss', it would be that the bush is sparse, with overly flexible canes and no real mass of foliage.  The flowers, however, make up for that failing as does the complete lack of need for additional care while the season progresses.  I should also point out to the unsuspecting that the color or 'Henri Martin' resembles the Redoute engraving or a "red" Gallica, really a rose-red rather than the bright red displayed by many internet pictures of it.