Where to begin? After all this time, after all these years, I think it's time that we face the truth. It's just not working.
I don't say that lightly. From the moment I brought you home from the nursery I pinned my greatest hopes on you. You were to be the crowning glory of my garden. I planted you in the sunniest spot. I fertilized you. I watered you. I pruned you.
I loved you, damn it.
And you gave nothing back. Not even a bud.
Remember the aphids? Remember how I tweezed them from your leaves one by one? Some of the little buggers got into my hair and infested my pillow. I had to throw it out and buy a new one. I loved that pillow. I haven't had a good nights rest since.
How about the mites, and the Japanese Beetles that swarmed around you last year? I have a thing about beetles, but still, I did what had to be done and crushed them one by one.
I won't even revisit the Powdery Mildew and the Rust or the three days I spent in the hospital after accidentally breathing in the spray that was supposed to cure it.
I've raised three children, from diapers to high school, and none of them were as needy as you, Rose.
But I'm finally fed up. The only part of you that thrives are those nasty, hooked thorns and I'm tired of getting scratched to shreds, all without ever seeing a single bloom.
So tomorrow, I'm going to dig you up and put a nice, robust, low maintenance, Rhododendron in your place.
I'm sorry that it has come to this.
Copyright 2012 John Lance