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| Photo is from a couple of years ago, before the campaign of death was begun |
There's nothing quite like digging in the garden in the rain.
We've had some volunteer rambling roses in our yard since day one. Pop decided it might be nice if he moved them to near the back door, but in the space of about two years, they took over the back door, so he dug them up and put them between the windows on the south side of the house, whereupon they proceeded to grow to block the satellite dish signals – plus, the invasion of Japanese beetles chewed them into scraggly, spotty skeletons.
Disgusted, annoyed, and frustrated, he decided a year ago last spring to just hack them down to their roots, and dig out what he could of those.
They came back.
He cut them down again.
You already may have guessed the result.
This afternoon, I moved those stubborn weed roses out of Pop's flower patch and into the Zone of Doom by the porch (in the shade, next to the bird bath), where my other wee roses, the oxalis, and his first rhododendron had all met their demise. If the roses survive this, we'll have a nice, lightly aromatic privacy screen in a few years – plus, we can probably grow offshoots on the moon and points beyond.
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