They've Killed Rosie!

I remember the call to this day. I remember the horror and devastation in my wife’s voice. “They’ve killed Rosie,” she said combining scream and sob into one. “They were cutting down a tree, and one of the branches…They killed Rosie.”

Rosie, as she became known, was a small bare-root that we’d received from close friends as a wedding gift. She was my first rose bush, and I’d spent hours learning how to trim her, when to trim her, and when to fertilize her. I’d raised her from the initial planting; through rain and drought, aphid attack and rust. With soap sprays and ladybugs, watering and pruning we’d watched her grow into a beautiful rose bush, producing full red blooms throughout the years.

They hadn’t killed her. Rosie was resilient. Smashed, dejected, broken she was, but still clinging to life. Rosie had survived all three of our moves, including the final one to the desert.

When I moved out, Rosie didn’t come with me. I wasn't sure where I was going, or how to move Rosie. Without loving care, Rosie’s certainly died.

I thought of Rosie today, as I looked around at my new plants. Come Spring it will be a good time to honor her resilient spirit by planting anew; a Deep Secret, Chivalry, Imperial Chrysler. Maybe even a Rambling Rosie.