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[personal profile] bojojoti
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See that tiny red rose in the blue pot?  It's the best smelling rose in my garden.  Francis Dubreuil is far too tender to live here, but I buy him as an annual and keep him on the deck so that I can easily smell his blooms when I walk by.  Our garden smells heavenly this time of year!

But I brought you here to introduce you to the Gargoyle Garden, which you can see in the upper left of the photo.

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The show-stopper of the Gargoyle Garden was meant to be Clair Matin.
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He is supposed to be a big, robust rose.  I planted him in the back of the bed and encircled him with three petite roses.

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I knew the three roses to be small in stature, because I'd grown them for years.  Pure Poetry (left) and Hawkeye Belle (center) grew at our front door for many years.  They both grew about knee high.  For some reason, when we transplanted Hawkeye Belle, she became a monster!  Her canes are as big around as my wrist.  She may be six feet tall by now and she totally has Clair intimidated.

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I've had Hawkeye Belle practically since I started growing roses, so I'm not going to uproot and move her, as it's evident she likes her spot.  She's a healthy girl and has fine blooms (even though I think she smells a bit like an ashtray; Heirloom Roses claims she is "extremely fragrant with sweet perfume," but mine isn't).  The only drawback to Hawkeye Belle is her tendency to ball in the rain.  Once we're out of spring, Kansas doesn't have much rain, so it isn't that big of a problem for me.  Also, since she is a creation of my revered Dr. Griffith Buck, she laughs at plunging winter temperatures and her stout canes aren't phased by prairie winds.

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If you take an aerial view, you can sort of see Clair Matin peeking from behind Hawkeye Belle.  Next to the gargoyle is the practically invisible rose Fame!  My one-cane wonder is amusing me, because I sing:

Baby, look at me
And tell me what you see
You ain't seen the best of me yet.
Give me time,
I'll make you forget the rest.
I got more in me,
And you can set it free
I can catch the moon in my hand
Don't you know who I am?

Remember my name. Fame!
I'm gonna live forever
I'm gonna learn how to fly--high!

My Fame! is not going to live forever.  It may not make it through this summer.  Poorly named, Fame!  This is why I don't, as a rule, grow hybrid teas--fussy prima donnas.  I don't spray fungicides, and Fame! needs them.

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I moved Pure Poetry from the front door, too, and she has settled in but retained her petite stature.  She will always have a place in my garden, because her blooms are stunning.
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Sometimes, her blooms are golden, sometimes brilliant orange, and, other times, they're deep pink.  Depending on the time of year and heat, she can be pastel or very bright.
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She isn't big or prolific, but I love Pure Poetry.
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Mr. Bojo and Bojojr built our shed.  To the left of the shed is the working area of our yard with our compost bins and yard waste.  It's a work in progress.  Maybe we'll see it next.  Thank you for visiting the Gargoyle Garden!
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