The Deceitful Delicacy of Wild Roses

And their plan to take over the world.

You may think wild roses (rosa rugosa) are beautiful and romantic but allow me to disabuse you of that notion. Yes they bloom all summer and they smell absolutely divine. Unlike overbred domesticated prissy roses they are not prone to various diseases, blights, molds and bugs.  They are indestructible and see that’s what I’m talking about.

They can’t be killed and they are after one thing – to take over the world, starting with my back yard. Last summer I was too busy* to do much gardening and when I wasn’t looking the wild roses ran amok.

*(it was hot and I didn’t feel like it)

So this is a War of the Roses situation – but not the 15th century war in England between the houses of York and Lancaster which inspired George R.R. Martin’s epic Game of Thrones plus dragons.

And not this War of the Roses either, a 1989 satirical comedy which I remember as being funny and would maybe watch again if I don’t have to pay for it.

This is a 21st century suburban war and as anyone with a trowel in one hand and pruning shears in the other will tell you - gardening is not for sissies. Building an arsenal of weapons for the task of creating and maintaining gardens is a lifelong endeavor. Every single tool is absolutely indispensable. Gardening tools are never discarded. If they break or become dull, you simply buy another one.

Anyway, the issue with the roses took root when I was visiting Rhode Island, the Ocean State. Along with all that ocean, Little Rhody is blessed with beautiful beaches and graceful sand dunes.

In fact there’s sand pretty much everywhere in Rhode Island, but wild roses thrive in that environment. They anchor down the dunes and help keep them from washing away during storms. That’s a handy thing to have during hurricanes, which seldom come ashore in the Pacific Northwest.

Wild roses living their best life in Rhode Island

It was early autumn and the rose blooms had faded but in their place were those cute little red rose hips that hippies use to make tea out of.  I picked a bunch of them, brought them home, separated out the seeds and planted them in a clay pot. I put the pot outside for the winter, because they like to chill out for a few months, literally, before they sprout.

And sprout they did. At first I thought I would raise up a two or three in large decorative pots. But they only grew about ten inches and then hunkered down into a sulk. Not dead, but not growing any bigger, either.

I could almost hear them whenever I walked by: “These pots are too small and we want out . . . now, bitch.” That bit of disrespect in their tone should have been a red flag. But I set them free from their pots and dug them into the ground next to the picket fence that encloses my garden. Nothing like roses adorning a picket fence to evoke a charming old fashioned country garden vibe. Jane Austen would have been right at home seated on my rose bedecked patio.

But it didn't take long for those roses to morph from Regency inspired gentility to over-the-top Little Shop of Horrors. They threatened to pull down the fence, tear up the patio and smother the other plants into oblivion.

Who agrees that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was one tough cookie and could have made short work of Audrey II.

By the way, I was doing some research on what kind of gardening tools were used in the olden days and this picture popped up.

Ha ha, very funny Google.

Check this guy out - he sounds pissed but I think he’s just a busy bee.