When I first moved into my house nine years ago, the front landscaping was pretty minimal. A few neglected bushes planted against the house, and a lot of grangly grass. Oh, and a large, sick tree, which I had removed several years back, because there was no saving it. That broke my heart, chopping down an old tree—but neighbor and tree trimmer Aesaia agreed that there was nothing else to be done.

Anyway, I moved into this house in February, and along about April, I discovered a rose bush tucked between to shrubs at the front of the house. Bush is stretching it—the poor thing was planted in the shade, on the north side of the house, between two bushes that were overhanging it. I let it be, to see what would happen. The bush produced one long stalk, which reached out of the shade, into the sun. Eventually, one or two small yellow roses appeared. That was it.

I let this go on for several years, never doing anything to the rose bush. It never grew any larger, save for the one long stalk that grew from it each spring.

When I started redoing the side yard last year, I began by pulling out hundreds of cannas—and while I was pulling things out, I pulled up the rose bush. It was sad. Barely any roots, mildewed, and just generally looking like a dead, dried stick. I tossed the stick over the fence, into a hole where I’d been throwing other organic things.

The strangest thing happened. The bush took hold in the hole, and started to sprout greenery. I patted a little dirt around it, and let it be, because I have a general “live or die on your own” policy about anything that grows in my garden. It started to grow—and then, it started to bloom. Big, beautiful, sweet-smelling yellow roses. The kind that smell so good, they make you sigh. Every time I wandered out to the side yard, I clipped three or four roses, and cut back anything that looked ugly. The bush was undersized, and had a terrible black mold problem, but it produced tons of lovely flowers all summer, into the fall. Like these, which I discovered this morning—the first roses of spring.

I pruned the bush hard in February, and here it is this morning—still growing in the same hole, but much heartier than last year. It already has two long stalks on it that are quite thick. Eventually, I’ll move it somewhere, out of the weeds, but for now, it seems perfectly happy. I think the poor thing is just so grateful to have been moved out of the darkness, into the sunlight…