I am no gardener. I have no idea what I am doing most of the time. However, I seem to be able to produce beautiful blooming roses. Especially the climbing sort. At the old Coach House, the courtyard wall was a spectacular array of pinks, oranges and yellows, reaching right up into the eaves.
My only trick, or tip, is to find the strong, key stems, the ones climbing tall or wide. Anything else, anything flimsy, flaky or going in the wrong direction, I cut right back.
I have found that over time, while it can seem rather harsh and look rather bleak for a while, in time and usually, during the following season for flowering, they completely flourish, with more life, more blooms than any time prior.
As I took my lethal secateurs to the climbing roses at the front of our new home, I reminded myself of this act of pruning for future strength and growth. And while both the bay window and our social circumstances feel rather bare, I know my labour will bear fruits and flowers in the next appropriate season. I know I have surrounded myself with the strong and reliable stems that have always been there and I look forward to the fireworks of colour to come as we continue to grow.