There is good blooming weather now in the East Bay garden where my daughter's roses live, plenty of sunshine but not too much heat, so they can open slowly and not rush through their phases. I was busy most of the afternoon trimming and staking and tying back wild new canes that seem to have no clue about a sensible destination for themselves.
This last red-black rose is the semi-wild disease-prone climber my daughter resolutely defends against the calumnies of those who dare to suggest that it should be dug up and replaced with something practical and attractive. As if to vindicate her good opinion, it is healthier and more profuse this year with its raggedy-shaped flowers than it ever has been before.
