This is a scary post about maniacal plants and fire-breathing flowers so you might not plan to read it to your children at bedtime. (Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)
Long long ago (in a galaxy right here) I planted a rose by our “car barn,” which is an outbuilding in which we park our little car, along with the 30’s Cadillac “project,” the skis, the Mantis tiller that never worked, the extra shovels, rakes, hoes, an occasional tractor chain and a dead ’68 Volvo. (You get the idea.)
Anyway, the rose I planted at the end of this building was a “climber” with pretty and sweet small bundles of blossoms, just cute and romantic, and called The Garland.
Then too it was a crochety old variety, born in about 1835, and one would expect that, at its age, it might have slowed down a little, but it must be taking some of those new drugs that would show up in your emails but thank goodness for your spam filter.
It turns out this is some kind of pioneer-spirited old rose, ready to have it’s baby by the side of the trail then climb back into the wagon and still make the Big River by sundown.
Its roots are in the fruit orchard grass and it gets No Care beyond the occasional mowing of the neighborhood, and there’s that sort of gully there too so even the mowing can’t get too close.
It’s a case of not having read the fine print before planting.
But since the enormous-ation occurred I have read that this particular sweet delicate petite rose can reach forty feet. (So maybe this is actually a short one.)
When you drive in and stop to open the last gate the deep perfume from this rose rolls off the building in a thick wave and you kind of float on it, smiling, puzzled, happy, thinking “What IS that?” Then you see the blooms and realize the risk of just being there.
Now HERE is a rare photo that actually shows the heavy rose fragrance rolling off the flowers onto the roof of the car barn and spilling down toward the ground. (I bet you never thought I could get the camera to work this well did you!)
It really is a lovely rose, with little blooms that start the softest pink and become white. I don’t regret it for a minute, but I thought I should warn you, because if it grew by your house, and if your house were sort of small, well it could be dangerous, especially if you hadn’t paid your Rose Engulfation insurance.
In other news, the gas plant (Dictamnus) bloomed but wouldn’t burn.
I tried on several occasions, day and night, to light it on fire but nothing happened. Yes really it is supposed to poof into flame just like a Christmas pudding does when you pour the 150 proof rum and light it. And no you don’t pour rum on the plant, the plant makes its own flammable gas, but my gas plant is defective or something because all I had burning was the match. (Does this have something to do with rising oil prices?)
Got a post card from Tillie. She was passing through the Panama Canal in the gondola. There probably isn’t time to sell the house and move away before she gets back…