Roses in the rural garden

This was a surprise. The rambling rose that had been strimmed to nothing most years up beside the guest house is thriving.

There is something to be said for neglect. Or should I say managed neglect.

I did have a go at containing the roses one year – I put up stakes around the three plants and donned gauntlets to tie up the tendrils.

I have no idea what rose it is. But I’d say it’s a rambler.  And anyone who strims tends to leave them be. Death by thorn.  But naturally I need to come up with a better plan. They really are in the wrong place.

You may recall that the rose New Dawn had a hairy moment this year.  The walls where I planted three roses have been repointed and partially rebuilt.  Nicolas kindly cut them right back to just a few fat sharp sticks in readiness for the assault.

The cut so severe you hiss in alarm and clench and hope for the best.

But of course roses flower on new growth. So there is nothing wrong with this radical sort of pruning. Unless you are averse to lacerations.

You can see above the roses in May when it sprang into growth and I was actually able to train them to go under the endless wires I put up.

They are nice and whippy at this young stage and I am dead pleased that I actually remembered to train them properly. For once.

In time, they will wrap around the west wall and into the corner where the compost used to be. And sneak around the front.

I took advantage of Etienne’s drill to put plenty of hooks into the walls.

I have two other roses in the lee of the bread oven. I’m going to have to come up with a new name for this area.  The sun trap? God, we don’t need any more of that today. It was 30C today and will be so for the rest of the week. I certainly don’t need to call it the old compost area. Not glam enough.

The Tess of the d’Urbervilles was transplanted quickly just after the walls were done. It’s alive. And flowering.

Just. and you can tell I put plenty of lovely home made compost into the area; the nasturtiums and very happy indeed. I can’t bring myself to yank them out.

Unlike English gardens, we really are too hot for roses.  The one in the courtyard has already finished flowering and is considering a second flush.

This Munstead Wood is struggling – an effing mole rat burrowed underneath its roots. So I’m probably going to have to move it.

But it’s a crop and I do so love my rose petals for the jam.

I have more to say but I have to end there. It has finally cooled off enough for me to venture outdoors.  Things to do. Roses to pick.