I hail from a line of storytellers, each with their unique style. Storytelling is a skill that is learned and passed on.
If you grew up surrounded by creativity, you absorb some of it, whether you are aware of it at the time or not. In fact, at the time, there may have been some eye-rolling on my part. Kids often learn skills like music, art, sewing, building and mechanics from their parents.
I remember sitting on the kitchen floor, listening to my aunties and uncles telling stories about their lives. I love to tell stories and feel I honour my ancestors by sharing their stories and my own. My grandchildren often say, "tell me a story about when you were a kid," and so it continues.
In my blog story, "Old Rose", about how every garden is full of stories, I mentioned one of my rose bushes. I know you have been riveted to your seats, waiting to hear more of Old Rose's story, so I thought I would share the tale of the day I rescued her from certain death.
Everyone remembers the same trees and plants from their childhood. On the prairies, it was basically bulb plants, rose bushes, lilacs, caraganas, and fruit-bearing trees and plants. The exact origins of many of the trees and shrubs we see today are a mystery. Things are pass down from one generation to the next, and details get lost in translation.
My dad's parents both came to the United States as part of a surge of immigration from Europe in the early 1900s. They met, married, and moved to the farm in Saskatchewan.
Starting in the 1920s, the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon, which opened in 1911, began distributing trees and plants to settlers. Grandpa acquired shrubs, fruit-bearing and shelterbelt trees from there. This may have been how Old Rose came to be on the family farm.
The rose grew beside the house, and we walked by it every time we went to the garden. After my grandparents moved off the farm, and my parents took over the operation, Mom became the guardian of Old Rose. She lovingly tended her for fifty years.
Old Rose is a Hansa Rugosa Rose. I checked with my village gardening network, and this is the species to which we think she belongs. Roses of this variety can grow to be 5 feet tall by 4 feet wide. She has deep fuchsia coloured flowers and blooms in mid to late July. These thorny rose shrubs are hardy because they can withstand the Canadian winters, hot summers, dry weather, wet weather, wind and are disease resistant. Her prickly branches help keep animals away.
In 1998, my parents decided to retire and move off the farm. They sold the land, and the old farmyard became unoccupied.
Shortly after their departure, I decided I needed to rescue Old Rose. I could not leave her there to face the plough. I envisioned digging the entire shrub up and relocating it.
At the time, I drove a 1984 silver Ford Crown Victoria. It was like a tank. When our kids were growing up, I often took carloads of their friends along with us to the beach. Inevitably, the car got the nickname "the beach car."
With only a small shovel, I went solo on the recovery mission to the old farmyard. I naively thought I could easily retrieve Old Rose and bring her home with me.
When I got there, I quickly realized I was ill-equipped to dig up such a large shrub. I was out there alone, standing in the overgrown grass with the only sound coming from the hoards of mosquitoes closing in around me, trying to dig up a huge thorn-covered rose bush. Brilliant idea. Good times indeed.
I prayed the new landowners would not drive into the yard at that moment. I tried my best and managed to get a part of the rose bush out of the ground and shoved it into the trunk of my car, breaking it into two pieces in the process. Old Rose was too large, and I could not close the trunk.
I surveyed my war wounds and then drove home with Old Rose hanging out of my open trunk. Mission accomplished! I planted her in two spots in our yard, not knowing if she would survive after the brutal extrication she had to endure. Low and behold, both plants survived and are still thriving here in the village over twenty years later.
My daughter has a part of Old Rose growing in her garden. Four generations and counting.
Rose is more than an old shrub. She represents family bonds, and the hardships my grandparents and parents went through to build a life on the farm.
Old Rose is in her nineties now and is still looking spry. Each year when she bursts into bloom, and her fragrance fills the air, I feel the pull of their stories on my heart.
Norma’s Notes:
I researched the correct way to prune and transplant roses. I see I may have made a couple of errors when I attempted to move Old Rose. What can I say, Google had only been launched the month before and it wasn’t a thing in my world yet.
How to Prune Shrub Roses
- Prune in late summer after flowering is finished.
- Prune most stems lightly, cutting several of the old stems down each year to encourage new growth.
- Deadhead spent flowers and trim off hips to encourage continued flowering.
How to Transplant a Shrub Rose
- Wear a long-sleeved shirt, gloves and long pants so that the cactus-like prickles do not rip you to shreds. (There’s a thought.)
- Cut back the shrub to about 18 inches tall to make it easier to handle. (An 18” shrub would have fit nicely in the trunk.)
- Dig a hole about 1 foot deep by 2 feet wide at the new location.
- Cut straight down around the root with a spade to about a foot deep, pulling back on the shovel to lift the root. (I did follow these instructions when I moved another rose, but I neglected to cut it back first. I was holding back the tall, prickly branches with one hand while trying to maneuver the shovel with the other. One branch slipped out of my hand and whipped me in the forehead, leaving a bruise and puncture marks.)
- Lift the root ball out of the ground, cutting any stray roots to release the plant.
- Two people may be required to lift a large root ball. (I concur.)
- Place the root into the new hole, tamp soil and water every 3 to 5 days.
- If you wish to start a new rose from your existing one, locate a shoot on the outer edge and dig it up, cutting it off below ground level and transplant. (In retrospect, this may have been a better option.)
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Thank you for reading!
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