The roses are in crisis. The Gertrude Jekyll rose is dead. I never got it properly hydrated when it arrived bareroot, I assume, and I have to admit defeat. I keep meaning to send a photo of it to the David Austin customer service email, and see whether they will replace it, or am I out of luck and out 54 dollars. There is a rose of unknown variety tucked in a spot behind my Korean lilac where it receives almost no sun, and it desperately needs to be dug up and moved. I don't have the energy to do it, and the Mr is going on a trip soon, so he won't get to it anytime in the near future. Poor thing needs light.
Today as I sat, wrung out from a long day of babysitting, Mr S-P came in from the garden and handed me a set of 5 rose leaves, covered in puffy orange spots. My stomach clenched. Rust. I was not prepared to deal with this. It appears that the only rose with rust was one of the very first ones we planted, a simple pink one that survived being crowded too close to two others (one of which remains). I rushed out and started trimming what I could get to, but I know I didn't get every fungus-covered leaf set. I only cut one whole cane, plus dozens of leaves. I was just too worn out to do a thorough job. I have to go back tomorrow, and apply some fungicide once it's fully trimmed.
Later in the evening, he came back from visiting a neighbor down the alley who is building an accessory dwelling unit (ADU). She ripped out a wild rose from where the ADU is going in, and of course he wanted to save it. He gave it to me along with some clippers, and asked me to prune it back to a size that might give it a chance of surviving transplant shock. I think he put it in the ground immediately, over by the garage. Who knows whether it will make it.
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