I am not the world's greatest yard person. I claim to love yardwork, but getting myself out there to actually DO it is something else entirely.
Due to city ordinances about weed height, I have been trying to clear up the front sidewalk area that has grown without restraint since spring happened.
While weeding, the stickers and flag grass wanted to complain and fight about being uprooted. I reminded them that they knew good and well that they were just going to grow back, and to suck it up. They shrugged and let me go on with it.
In the back yard, however, it's a completely different story with the rose bush. The homeowners planted a rose bush in a corner next to the patio and the gate that leads from the back yard to the front. I'm not sure why they picked that location, but whatever. The white roses are gorgeous when they bloom.
The thorns, however, are another matter entirely. They are not small, and they are extremely sharp.
I had a talk with this bush today. I informed it that it was growing into my children's play space, and that I needed it to bush out in the other direction, please. Also, it would be great if it would cooperate so we didn't get scratched to bits getting the lawn mower from front to back.
Needless to say, the Rose bush felt like I was being unreasonable. How DARE I snip and trim at it. How DARE I prune off dead stalks. It is a rose bush, and deserves to use whatever space it wants.
I insisted that it be socially acceptable and child friendly. It fought back. I won, but did not come out unscathed.
The wild roses that grow along my fence are much more reasonable. They have smaller blooms, but they are so much nicer and easier to get along with. They're still somewhat snobby, but at least they deign to allow me to trim them when I ask.
Blackberries are eager to please, lilacs are more than willing to take direction, and honeysuckle is sweet no matter what.
Roses, however, are snobs.