I pruned my neighbor's last living rose bush. In fact, their second-to-last front yard plant. Yesterday, when driving my daughter to guitar lessons, I rolled the window down and asked Suzanne if I could trim it for her. So I did have permission. They fed our dog when we went on vacation, and we exchange homemade Christmas gifts with them. I made them a couple casseroles when their last child was born.
They are clueless gardners, but gave it try last year. Their planters bloomed with bright pinks, reds and yellows in spring and summer. This 40ish couple had a baby last June though, and now they have 3 small children. Between parenting and working at 1.75 jobs, they have little time or energy for front yard concerns. And, to be honest, it's amazing how little they know about gardening.
I have a neighborhood rep as master rose grower, and admit to a "green thumb" when I set my mind to it. (Now that I think about it, I have grown and nurtured roses for...gulp...25 years. Have hopefully learned a thing or two.) So I walked over there this morning when no one was around, took my trusty rose shears and ridiculously-expensive elbow-length leather rose gloves, and reshaped the overgrown bush to prep it for a new year of beautiful blossoms.
It'll be fun to watch the new spring rosebuds across the street. I pray that these seeds have fallen into good soil....
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