Last year, while visiting dozens of houses, looking for the perfect one to buy, I happened upon so many lovely arbors, trellises and fences covered in white, pink or yellow blooms cascading all over the place. They perched from atop thorny limbs woven into many a gate I tried to peer through, and they climbed up columns holding up centuries old double porches (piazzas in Charleston-speak). They called softly to me from unseen gardens, their fragrance mixed with the humid air for hundreds of steps. Ah, so rosey.
But I am a beginning gardener. One with a love of many sun loving flowers and limited space in which to grow them. A quick reading about basic rose care, and it was settled. No thorny, mildewy, buggy, flower wilting, fertilizer sucking temperamental roses for me. Nope, I don't love them that much.
Then something happened today when I stopped by to get some potting soil to fill up my two monster patio pots. This Lady Banks Rose ended up in my passenger side car seat. I swear I didn't put her there. She tried to hide herself under my jacket, and frankly I wouldn't have even noticed her there except in an effort to make it safely home she put her seatbelt on, and well, I was suspicious. My jacket is one of those wild children - never uses his seatbelt.
So her cover blown, she pulled out a water pistol and said "Drive, or you'll have root rot where the sun don't shine." I'm sure you all can imagine my utter shock. At the next light, I nervously glanced around elsewhere in the car to see if any other secret passengers were about. Sure enough, an entire bag of caladium bulbs were hiding on the floorboard! The outrageous audacity of some plants, right?
For all of you who are now a bit concerned for me, no worries, I made it home totally dry, albeit with a new found understanding of the southern magazine, "Garden & Gun."
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