A spring afternoon of quiet contemplation, with a good book (about
Sissinghurst, as it happens), in the garden recalls the autumn decisions.

The two standard roses and the five bush roses were all I had to prune. Half
a day's pleasant work that reminded me of the far larger task that I
enjoyed, as a child, being part of as my mother pruned the ten beds of
around fifteen roses each. The pruning went on for a week with the gardener,
nDabula, following her to put dabs of paint on the cut ends to discourage
flies and beetles laying their eggs on the cut ends and the consequent
'dying back' of the stem.

A garden is an art. A place of artifice. None the less so as it also appears
to have its own will, growing under the guidance, but not the direction or
rule of the gardener. So it is with pruning.

As you examining the rose to prune it, looking at the last year's growth and
considering where it has been vigorous, where slow and how the shape has,
after the long summer, been to your design from last autumn's prune and how
far it has gone its own way - sometimes in a more satisfying direction than
you had imagined, you look for the buds to see what direction the next year
can take. I usually do one lax prune to get the general shape, then follow
through with a harsher one to define more exactly what I am looking for.

Sitting in the garden this afternoon, I was delighted to see the shapes of
the roses emerging as I had imagined them - not, of course exactly, there
are some shoots that have not emerged and others that have turned out far
more vigorous than I would have imagined from my survey of last year's
growth. The chicken manure put down a fortnight ago has produced a powerful
efflorescence though, there is one white rose out on one of the standards
already!

The garden is looking lovely. A small, hairy, caterpillar looked dead, but,
after I had settled made its busy hydraulic way over the lawn, pausing to
rest every six inches or so, a butterfly dipped through the lavender and a
small bird darted through the cypress, pecking at the buds for an afternoon
snack. The upward vigour of the roses suggests that a little espalier work
might improve the shape of the standards and cover the gnarled spot where
they have been grafted to the briar. On the other hand the dendritic form is
probably more satisfying on the eye - and less effort.

I look forward to the next couple of weeks when the dozens of buds at the
end of each new shoot produce massive bunches of roses, finally producing
just the shape intended.

It has been so exciting to be there when just the solitary rose provided the
vanguard, and the caterpillar gave promise of more butterflies - soon the
late afternoon cool will make the garden more inviting, not lead me,
reluctantly, to seek the warmth indoors.

--
Stranger, here you will do well to tarry; here our highest good is
pleasure.
The caretaker of that abode, a kindly host, will be ready for you;
He will welcome you with bread, and serve you water also in abundance,
with these words: "Have you not been well entertained?
This garden does not whet your appetite; but quenches it."
-Inscription at Epicurus' Garden.