This Week On The Death Rack
When I walked past the Death Rack at Lowe's yesterday I heard a voice. Something was calling.
The Death Rack at Lowe's has yielded a few good things at great prices. If you are not familiar with it, Lowe's Death Rack contains all the plants that could not handle the sales environment, plants that are either wilting, mostly dead, damaged, or otherwise close to worthless. Some of the plants are truly doomed--trying to sell a potted Tulip bulb in Southern California after the bloom is finished--well...maybe there was value in the bow on the pot.
But the relatively experienced gardener can find value. In the past, I've gotten a couple of Echeverias, a Pachyveria, and a Dendrobium Orchid for a dollar or two each, and a decent Flower Carpet rose for $1.62. Yesterday the voice belonged to the shrub rose 'Belinda's Dream'. $3.99.
"Take me!" It cried. I could hear its voice distinctly. "I'm thirsty! Water. Please!"
Normally plants on the Death Rack don't cry out to me--they know better. The dried-up Snapdragons in June, the sun-scorched brown ferns, the soaking wet cacti, the floppy etiolated Jade plant bonsai, the yellowed "lucky bamboo" are easy to ignore.
It may have been timing: at home in the garden, 'Belinda's Dream' is putting on an astounding August show of flowers. So I stopped at that cry. The rose looked exactly as a two-gallon sized, healthy, own root 'Belinda's Dream' should look: wimpy and nondescript.
This variety looks undistinguished until it establishes itself, and then it looks fabulous.
This 'Belinda's Dream' is established:
Nondescript as a baby, fabulous grown up. The Death Rack assigner obviously didn't know that, and condemned it. Being a 'Belinda's Dream' owner, I did. It cried; I answered.
The label was wacky. Rosa arbustiva? "arbustiva" is apparently "shrub or shrub like". Okay. I am completely in favor of botanical nomenclature, but that's a little silly. Call it a shrub rose and be done with it.
Mainly, August has been taken up with tomatoes. That continues.
I find I hardly blog about roses lately. You would think by blog content that they are leafless, scraggly, and dying. No. I am out there daily sniffing, dead-heading, and gawking at them, and that all goes unblogged. I'm fairly obsessed with 'Tamora' and 'Bishops Castle', 'Barcelona' and 'Bolero'; they are always blooming, I am always sniffing and deadheading, and I've got a blog full of Agaves and xeriscaped front yards. Odd.
I fret constantly over 'Gemini', which deserves a better location than it has, and nag daily at myself to get rid of 'Touch Of Class', which has had nine years to prove itself, but hasn't.
But I haven't been blogging about them at all. I guess I assume it would be repetitive. Obsessions, real obsessions, are so tiny, scrunched down, and strange, that they cannot be of interest to anyone besides the obsessor.
'Sombreuil' is falling down, falling down, falling down...
Or I am so in tune with roses that I don't think at all about them? It is some portion of my unconscious mind that cares for them, just as my fingers can touch type without any involvement of my conscious mind. What ever part of me that cares for roses without thinking at all heard the cry from the Death Rack.
The human brain is like the garden. All kinds of things go on in there that you would never expect.