A friend bought a house in Portland, Oregon. Last spring he was redoing the yard: all edibles.
“Wait,” I say, “what about the roses? Didn’t you say there are roses?”
“Yes,” he says, “Digging them up. Do you want them?”
“Yes!” I say.
I visit in Portland and drive back with three roses, roots but not much dirt, in a plastic bag. I think two are red. I plant all three in my front yard, with the deer fence. As high is is legal.
And here is the first bloom: an immigrant to Washington, a transplant, another color, a surprise! Lovely!