War with the roses

The fun sensor in my brain may be damaged. Last Saturday morning, I wanted nothing more than to clean the tile flooring. Who gets excited about something like that? Still, it left me feeling satisfied.

This morning, I turned to the yard foolishly thinking I could beat the heat. It began innocently enough, watering plants and pulling weeds from around my moss roses/portulaca. It progressed to using the weedeater and then doing battle with the roses bushes that grow beside our front porch.

These floribunda bushes produce small hot pink roses and huge thorns. While floribunda is not my favorite rose type, I like the pop of color they provide. I sometimes cut the roses and place the fragrant blooms in my late grandmother’s small jadeite cups.

Taking care of the roses means scratches and scrapes. During our January freeze, it meant shredding an old sheet when trying to cover the bushes I continue my efforts to try to shape them, resistance also continues. This morning’s battle ended in a draw. I have a puncture wound and new scrapes, mostly on my gardening gloves; my loop cutter claimed a few old gnarly limbs. We’ll both live to fight another day.

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