There are signs on Wyn Drabble's rose bushes of what's to come this summer. Photo / NZME
There are signs on Wyn Drabble's rose bushes of what's to come this summer. Photo / NZME
I'm not about to become embroiled in the argument about whether spring has officially started or not. I'm not even going to reveal whether I'm a firster or a twenty-firster.
What I can say is that it's time for me to start frolicking through the flora because some of myroses have started displaying what I shall refer to as spring behaviour. These are obviously firsters and the others will start strutting their stuff on the twenty-first.
Fresh healthy leaves are appearing and gently unfolding to the world but, more importantly, new shoots are appearing from the bole of the plant. These will become the healthy and sturdy flower-bearing branches of summer, the branches that I will leave on next pruning season while I get rid of some of the older ones.
This raises the question of whether pruning season begins on July 1 or later?
It also raises another question, one which a green-fingered reader might be able to help me with. Is there any way you can encourage new growth from the bole in a particular direction?
I have three or four roses which annoy me because all the growth comes from one side, the left if it's a left-handed rose (and probably a firster) or the right if it's a right-handed rose (possibly a twenty-firster).
It's all a matter of creating beautifully balanced ambidextrous bushes rather than leaf-rich but lopsided ones.
But, back to the new growth. While I'm frolicking through the flora (being very mindful of my arthritis and brittle bones), I stop to welcome the new little shoots to the planet. Yes, okay, I'll admit it – I talk to them.
Of course, I don't engage in academic-type conversation. I don't employ litotes or synecdoche or even multi-syllable words. I don't make literary allusions or drop in grand quotes from the greats. I'll admit I even lapse into colloquialisms ("She's a cracker day").
They don't answer me but I'm sure they feel my caring. Sometimes I even stroke them very gently (but in the right direction, not against the "grain").
You possibly believe that I have even named each little new shoot. I'll leave you to decide that for yourself (but I would like to point out that girls' names seem to work better).
Wyn Drabble
I also protect these fragile babies. I might hammer a couple of stakes beside them because Madam Dog has worn winding tracks through the roses and goes hooning through them at high speed if she sees a threat (eg a butterfly) that needs to be barked at. With her speed and power and joie de vivre she could so easily brush against this new life, break it off and end it.
These little shoots must be coddled and cosseted like newborn babies (though I draw the line at buying a layette).
They start out as pale pink protuberances popping out for a peep but, as they expand, the sun and the atmosphere soon coax some colour from their little clusters. Soon they will be green or russet or greenish russet or russety green and they will probably have no understanding that in 10 or 12 weeks they will be the blessed bearers of beguiling blooms.
English art critic Clive Bell once said "…a work of art is like a rose. A rose is not beautiful because it is like something else. Neither is a work of art. Roses and works of art are beautiful in themselves."
And, according to a Chinese proverb, they certainly give back. "A bit of fragrance always clings to the hand that gives you roses."
