Geoffrey Chaucer is a jerk. When he coined the phrase "All good things must come to an end", he must have either had a sadistic streak that enjoyed misery or been mostly morose and resigned to rottenness and despair. Either way, one of my favorite roses ended up in the trash and it's all his fault.
I've finally found the culprit behind the black spot pandemic in my roses. I should be happy, elated, and all those other joyful synonyms but I'm not. I'm just frustrated. Graham Thomas was supposed to be perfect: handsome, charming, and full of stamina. I swooned over his vigorous, full blossoms and admired his glossy foliage.
Graham Thomas was my own personal Superman.
I thought we'd be together forever.
But old habits die hard and as soon as his new foliage burst with vigor from thick stems, black spots began to appear. I had hoped the Rose Rescue Plan would save Graham, but it just wasn't so. There were no sad love songs or weepy poems in this break up, just a shovel up his ass and a toss to the curb. When I'm done, I'm done. Adios!
But I miss him. Not the spotty, scrawny stick languishing against my fence but the handsome, sturdy Graham I fell in love with. If Chaucer hadn't fashioned that stupid quote, we might still be together.
After heaving him to the trash, I had only one true option: I needed to go shopping. Retail garden therapy with my best gals and a glass of wine were in order. My dogs and I headed for the home office, slammed the door, and bought some plants. No one dared intervene.
I needed more of what never lets me down, dresses in spots, or looks pathetic against a fence. I needed clematis, the queen of all climbers.
fragrant clematis from Brushwood Nursery.
Fair Rosamond was planted in Graham's empty spot and Sugar Sweet Lilac is mingling nearby with swamp milkweed and phlox. The affair is over and the good thing has ended. Goodbye, Mr Thomas!