When we bought our house in ’87, it had this red climbing rose that resembled the ones lining the fence at the edge of Stanford campus. I had always thought of roses as the most fragile of flowers, and yet theirs grew in the middle of a dried-out area and climbed and bloomed happily and freely. My red one, on the other hand, was in terrible shape with black spots and I didn’t expect it to last a year.
Which shows you what I knew about them. It’s grown into a magnificent plant.
Meantime, the Picotee has opened up, and I moved it to where I could see it better looking out my window here.
Every good family photo album has to have a set of bunny ears in it. This amaryllis is coming up next.
