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Spring tidy and fertilizing

In the succession of flowering times for garden shrubs, the Forsythia comes early, and perhaps because it’s such a bright (or even objectionable, depending on who you ask) shade of yellow, rose growers use it as a reminder to get out there and prune their roses. If you lack a Forsythia, you definitely use the more attractive red-flowering currant here in the Lower Mainland, and it wouldn’t much change your timing. I snapped a picture of my inherited Forsythia this week… and as you can see, I’ll never miss pruning time:

The red/pink flowers in the foreground are quince (Cydonia), another shrub you could use to get nearly the same timing – it’s probably a week behind in my garden.

The reason many rose gardeners wait until this part of spring is that it coincides with roses being ready to break dormancy. By this time, winter kill on the canes (evidenced by black tissue higher up the extremities of your roses) will be apparent, and you will probably be able to see some of the buds swelling.

How to prune them? It depends on the rose, and it depends on what you want. This is your first chance of the season to influence your rose. Cutting harder usually means that the rose will respond with a number of strong shoots from the base, and will result in more flowers this season. A lighter prune allows the rose to grow and harden more canes, and if done properly, will allow some varieties of roses to form into a better garden shrub over the long term.

You can try to use this spring pruning and fertilizing to keep your roses a preferred size in your garden, but your influence is limited. I’ll put it this way: you’ll never make a small rose grow like a large rose by fertilizing, and you’ll never make a large rose grow like a small rose with pruning.

No matter your goals, it’s good to cut out dead, diseased and congested growth. And because roses are heavy feeders, they’ll respond well to a top dress of fertilizer or compost. A moderate amount of pruning and fertilizing will always leave your roses better off, and so I don’t get too hung up on the details… not even which other plants are blooming at the time!

Rosa spinosissima

This tough little species rose has the honor of being the first species in my greenhouse this year to put in a full flush of flowers. Sure, there’s the odd rose that has thrown a flower bud or two, but the Scotch Briar beats them out by filling its branches with flowers and buds. Here it is:

This rose, like many others that have been cultivated for centuries in gardens, has accumulated a few names: Pimpernell Rose, Scots Rose, Burnet Rose amongst others. (See more on rose naming here)

As I grow more roses, I learn to appreciate them for their differences. Unlike the red, soft, fleshy new leaves of a Hybrid Tea, the Scotch Briar grows tiny dark green leaves with 7 to 9 leaflets with finely cut edges, giving it a very different texture in the garden. The stems are dark brown, and the hips, when they set, are a very attractive and distinctive flat black.

Low growing, disease resistant, and drought tolerant, the Scotch Briar is very much a landscaper’s shrub. No wonder its genes have been used in such garden classics as Stanwell Perpetual, and in the breeding of hardy roses like the ones bred by Agriculture Canada

Proliferation!

Hey… this is kinda cool.

It’s late March, so it’s not completely unexpected that ‘Sophie’s Perpetual’ is beginning to bud up. It’s usually my first rose to do so. I saw ‘Scarlet Moss’ racing to keep up this year, but then Sophie did this:

Freaky. When I looked this one up, it seems it’s a deformity called “proliferation”. The green growth inside of the flower makes it look like the plant wants to grow another flower bud inside the first. It’s pretty interesting looking in this case because ‘Sophie’s Perpetual’ has such long sepals that they really jut out from the flower bud.

Sometimes roses do funny things. Last year I found ‘Caramba’ with a whole bunch of buds that looked like they’d had the ends bitten off. At first I thought that a rabbit had done exactly that, but closer inspection showed that the rose wasn’t chewed. It was like the flower had just stopped short of growing full petals. It’s a disorder called “bullheading”. I wish I’d taken some pictures of it. “Bullheading” is apparently related to cool temperatures, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the “proliferation” seen on ‘Sophie’s Perpetual’ were related to cool temperatures as well.

Anyhow, I thought I’d share this coolness. Now if I could only do this on purpose…

Overwintering roses in the Fraser Valley

If you grow roses in BC’s lower mainland, overall you’re pretty fortunate in your climate. Maybe not quite so fortunate as a rose grower in the highlands of Ecuador, but definitely lucky in comparison to a rose grower in Flin Flon, Manitoba. We benefit from a mild maritime climate, four (usually) distinct seasons, and we’re far enough north that our spring and summer days are extended – extra time to enjoy our gardens when they’re at their best! Take that, Ecuador!

As mild a climate as we Lower Mainlanders usually enjoy, we need to be aware of the occasional arctic outflow wind. These weather events are the most dangerous time of year for roses in your garden. Here’s a meteorological definition. If you work outdoors in the winter weather, you’ll notice when the wind begins coming in the wrong direction, from the east instead of the west or south. There’s a particular chill to that wind that will tell you something ugly is on the way.

Some of these arctic outflow storms can be vicious, in a relative way, of course. We’re accustomed to gentler weather conditions here. Maybe someone from Edmonton would scoff at this kind of storm, although I dare say that at the worst of times, when the arctic wind is whipping snow and ice sideways across the Matsqui and Sumas flats, even our brave Edmontonian would rather be inside.

They may happen only a few times a year, there are a few problems these arctic outflow events pose for our roses.

  1. They can come unexpectedly, any time in the winter or even late fall, before our garden plants have really decided to take winter seriously. If your roses haven’t “hardened off” for the cold season, they’re more susceptible to damage.
  2. Low humidity. Cold air holds less moisture than warm air, and wind sucks moisture out of plant tissues faster than still air. The result is that rose canes, especially younger longer shoots, will become dessicated by the wind. This is what causes those blackened shoots when the spring comes.
  3. In addition to sucking moisture faster, the winds also mean that any snow cover that would have been moderating the soil temperature is probably blowing right past the neighbor’s house. Times like this, a little bit of tree cover as a wind break is much appreciated.

I mentioned that roses need to “harden off” if they’re to avoid winter damage. For roses grown outdoors, you don’t have much control over this, except that you probably chose the roses in the first place, and some do a better job of it than others. I went out to the garden today (Nov 20, 2012) to see how the roses are doing. We’ve had a mild fall, and as expected, there are a few roses that are pushing it a bit, still putting up succulent new growth rather than going dormant.

In many roses, bright red stems and leaves mean new growth. ‘Anisley Dickson’ here is also throwing several new flower buds. It’s a bit of an issue with the repeat blooming genes that breeders select for… the rose will continue to put on new growth to support flowering, even when those flowers are unlikely to finish. For roses that don’t know when to quit blooming, an outflow wind can be devastating. The only control you have is to choose your roses varieties carefully.

‘Veilchenblau’ is a tough rambler rose. Even if it takes some damage through winter, it’ll put on a good show next year. In this picture, you can almost feel how soft this wood is. This is an example of a rose that’s so vigorous, it can go ahead and risk continued growth because it’s strong enough to thrive even if winter knocks it on its butt. What I’d rather see:

This is ‘Emily Grey’, a whichuraiana climber. This rose is in an exposed position along the back fence of our farm, and it looks like it takes the threat of winter seriously. Remember I wrote earlier that the color red in rose stems can indicate new, soft growth. That’s not the case here – this rose variety has wood that matures to this handsome mahogany color. Notice the buds are tight at each node, and ‘Emily Grey’ has even dropped it’s leaves.

Not all roses will drop leaves before the winter. Here’s one that has fully hardened, but is still holding onto its foliage:

You’ll have to take my word on it that the stem this specimen of ‘Complicata’ is completely hardened off. I show this to emphasize that the leaves don’t need to drop for a rose to be ready. The firmness (maturity) of the wood is what counts. Don’t be tempted to strip the leaves from your roses. It’s not only unnecessary, but probably does more harm than good by depriving the rose of the chance to finish the season in an orderly manner. When the leaves drop naturally, the attachment point is protected. Human hands pulling off leaves may cause injury, and give disease organisms a nice opportunity to get in.

So what do you have control over?

  • Your choice of roses. Hybrid teas are some of the tenderest varieties, and many gardeners in the rest of Canada don’t even attempt them. Look up the rose’s profile on helpmefind.com and look for the climate zone of hardiness. Most of the lower mainland is comfortably in zone 7 or 8, but you may want to choose a rose that’s good to zone 5 or 6 if you have an exposed site.
  • Location within the garden. You’ll have trees, shrubs, fences, hedges and buildings to take into account when you choose a spot for your roses. Remember that the worst of the outflow winds will be coming from the east, so place your tenderest roses to the west of something that can dampen the wind. I haven’t mentioned a whole lot about moisture in this posting, but if you’re choosing a site for a rose anyhow, be mindful of where there’s decent drainage. Even a hardy rose won’t stand a chance if it’s sitting in a puddle all winter.
  • Pruning and fertilizing. I tend to do most of my rose pruning in the early spring, when I can take out any canes that have been damaged by the winter. I keep on pruning most of the summer, shaping and tidying whenever I’m walking by a rose and have the pruners in my hand. Somewhere around August I ease off. It’s best to give this year’s growth some time to harden off. If you cut back too hard late in the season, the rose will likely respond by sending up more soft shoots. Likewise with fertilizer. A well-fed rose wants to grow and bloom, so I cut off the food supply in august as well.
  • Mulching. I put a 3 or 4 inch layer of oak leaves ( I just happen to have a fairly large oak tree on the driveway) at the base of my roses. It moderates the soil temperature. In the spring it can be chopped and worked into the soil to add organic matter. Most any loose mulch will do. I’ve seen recommendations for tender roses to build a wire mesh cage around the entire plant and cover with a foot of mulch. It might work, too, but my initial thought is that if you need to go this far, you’ve chosen the wrong rose.
  • Protect your containerized roses. It’s just a matter of choosing the best location you have available, and making it work. My cold frame greenhouse works pretty well, but not everyone has a greenhouse. A friend of mine (who has many more roses than I do) overwinters his container and tree roses in his garage, and it works beautifully. Do you have a back deck with some shelter from the wind? Can you collect them together under an outdoor stairway, or in the corner of the yard where they’ll get protection from the hedge on two sides? If you keep them outside where there will be wind, keep them bunched together so that they’ll provide some protection for each other. If you do find an indoor/greenhouse space, just be cautious about watering. Wait until the pot is relatively light and dry before watering fully. They’re not going through much water when they’re (semi) dormant, so don’t drown them.

All right. We’ve done what we can. Fingers crossed everyone?

Don’t stress. Roses are a lot tougher than they look.

What’s in a (Rose) Name?

What’s in a (Rose) Name?

Imagine I’m hosting a quiz show. I have a panel of noted rosarians ready to buzz in. I unveil cuttings from a rose variety for their inspection and challenge them to “Name that rose…”

After clicking furiously at his buzzer, contestant #1 pulls at his facial hair, shifts his baseball cap, and answers with a question: “Well which name do you want?”

And for most varieties, he’s absolutely right to ask.

For those of you who aren’t interested in my rant on the way roses are named, off you go! Read no further. I’ll leave you with a picture of a rose with a very straightforward name: ‘Just Joey’. Life is easy and uncomplicated. Have a nice day!

Just Joey
Photo by Geoff Penaluna

Now for those who choose to read on, I’ll level with you now. It’s a bit of a mess.

The problem is long-standing one, and old garden roses are not innocent in this. ‘Chapeau de Napoleon’ is also ‘Crested Moss’ and ‘Centifolia Cristata’ and several other variations including the words “moss”, “crested”, “Provence” in varying orders and languages. ‘Rosa Mundi’ and ‘The White Rose of York’ are famously named roses, but those aren’t their only names. By virtue of having been around for a long time and being grown in many gardens, these centuries-old roses tend to acquire a number of names to travel with.

So you’d think, based on that, that modern roses would be an easier issue. Not so much.

You knew ‘Peace’ would get in here somewhere. It was very successfully marketed and is well known in North America under the name ‘Peace’, but it was sold elsewhere under the names ‘Mme. A. Meilland’, ‘Gloria Dei’ and ‘Gioia’. The extra names in this case are marketing names, customized to the languages and preferences of the countries the rose will be sold in.

‘Peace’ Rose by Geoff McKay CC BY 2.0

So you’ll never guess the solution that the breeders came up with: they added another name! And here’s the kicker. The “true” registered name of many (but not all) new roses is a nonsensical denomination with a three (capital) letter prefix followed by a some letters that may or may not have any descriptive value.

How about an example?

‘Hot Cocoa’ is a beautiful floribunda rose with a distinctively rich red-brown color, so the common name is nicely descriptive. The rose has the “real” registered name of ‘WEKpaltlez’. Much better. I’m glad the breeders took the initiative to clean this thing up!

Seriously. How would you pronounce that?

Wek – palt – lez. Or Week – pal – tleez. Take your choice. Either way, it appears to be purposely nonsensical.

I don’t argue with the purpose of having a single official registered name. It makes sense. And it would make even more sense if breeders and marketers acted with goodwill and wisdom when they chose the name. How about this? Take a good descriptive name that you really like, in whatever language you first introduce the rose, and keep that as the registered name. Any names acquired by introduction elsewhere would be footnotes, but the real name could move proudly on with the rose for as long as it’s cultivated.

This, by the way, is what International Code of Nomenclature for Cultivated Plants was meant to do: create a single name made up of “a word or words in a modern language other than Latin” in order to avoid the “the use of names that may cause error or ambiguity or throw the above disciplines into confusion”.

So why, then, did many plant breeders and marketers decide instead to resort to nonsensical names that are so atrocious that they are useless for the purposes of exhibition, garden identification, and publication? They confuse rather than enlighten. They are a burden rather than a help.

Greed. Or so goes the theory. If you have a few minutes, go on and read a more detailed article at this website. The author of the article, Tony Avent, gives way more insight into how this weirdness happened.

The short version is that some plant breeders give the nonsensical coded name to roses so that they can continue to collect royalties even after their plant patent expires (or without applying for a patent at all). Most countries will allow a breeder to patent their new introduction for somewhere in the range of 20 years as compensation for their work. After that, growers can propagate the plant without paying royalties.

The idea behind the nonsensical coded name is that rose buyers, authors, exhibitors and nurseries will use the “trade name” (like ‘Pope John Paul II’) because it’s, well, let’s face it… a lot easier, more attractive and more descriptive than the coded name (in the case of ‘Pope John Paul II’ it’s ‘JACsegra’). Then, if the rose continues to be popular past the patent period, the grower/marketer goes thermonuclear, and begins threatening everyone to pay royalties if they want to use the trademarked name.

Photo by Hiroaki Kikuchi CC BY-SA 4.0

You see, ‘Graham Thomas’ was never the name of that rose, goes the breeder’s logic. It was always ‘AUSmas’. This whole time, we were graciously allowing everyone to publish and exhibit and discuss the rose under the trade name, but that was always just a “brand” of the ‘AUSmas’ rose. Rose buyers value the brand, goes the logic, because they know that the ‘Graham Thomas’ brand of ‘AUSmas’ is grown better than all of those generic ‘AUSmas’es on the market. It has value because it distinguishes a high quality ‘AUSmas’ from a lesser quality ‘AUSmas’. Now, you could go ahead and grow and sell your ‘AUSmas’ as a generic, but if you want to use our brand name, you’d better pay up.

Now I’m not going to go on and say that this is underhanded. Heck, the pharmaceutical companies do this kind of thing all the time, and if you can’t trust big pharma to set the standard for moral behavior then…

But it doesn’t seem to me to ring true. And I say this as a nurseryman who works for a company that uses trademarks extensively, and properly I might add. Here’s how the wholesale nursery I work for uses trademarks:

My employer sells many varieties of perennials (mainly). Much of our business is in three trademarked brands. There’s a main brand of perennials, a brand of groundcovers, and a brand of alpine plants. They are sold in distinctively colored pots with large branded picture labels, and are often displayed in the garden centers with supporting marketing materials. My employer also adds value to these brands by maintaining a website on perennials, which provides information on the specific plants, as well as articles and videos and all sorts of other information for the gardener.

The idea, I think, is to add value with the brand. Long before I took the job, I looked for those distinctive pots in the garden center as an indication that I would find a large plant, a quality plant, an interesting variety, and an informative label. I’m not trying to make a commercial here. I’m just saying that the trademark did its job in this case… the job of distinguishing the plants grown by one producer from the plants grown at another, even when the individual varieties of plants may overlap.

To use a trade name as the name of a specific plant in publication, exhibition and gardens, so that in everyday usage it becomes the common name of the variety, and then to claim that it was never a common name… well, it doesn’t seem to meet the test. I don’t think, at that point, the end customer is looking for a rose marketed by a specific company when they say ‘Bonica’. I think they’re just using the common name to ask for a rose they’ve seen and enjoyed, regardless of the producer. The trademark adds no value and distinguishes nothing.

And while I’m belaboring the point, consider this comparison to literary works. It’s not a perfect comparison, but I think it’ll make my point. Authors have a right to profit from their work. So do plant breeders. Authors use their creative talents to create something new, say a novel or short story. So do breeders… in this example, a unique new rose. The law provides an author protection (copyright) so that they may profit from their work for a reasonable time frame. The law does the same (with plant patents) for breeders of plants. If a book continues to interest readers after this copyright period, it stays in the public domain, free of copyright. Same with plants. After the patent period is over, a rose may be freely propagated.

So the ploy of claiming a rose’s trade name is not it’s real name would be, in this example, like claiming that a book’s published title isn’t it’s real title. Imagine that authors and publishers caught onto this trick long ago, and Herman Melville were able to register “Moby Dick” as “MELwhldck” on some official book registry. Now, his publisher allows reviewers and schools and libraries to use the trade name “Moby Dick” so long as they add the coded “MELwhldck” in brackets somewhere in the reference. At some point, years after Mr. Melville has passed away, the copyright on “Moby Dick” comes to expire. A wonderful novel passes into the public domain, now free to be published by anyone into the future… its classic status assuring that it will nearly always be in print.

Not so fast… the publisher was still making a modest profit on printing “Moby Dick”, and now they decide to drop the bombshell. The book was never titled “Moby Dick”. That was just a trade name for a particular publisher’s whale novel, properly titled “MELwhldck”. Now everyone has to pay royalties ongoing, and that silly coded name becomes the real title of a literary classic for all time. Would this muddy the waters? Would this cause confusion? Would this cheapen literature? Would this seem dishonest? You know my opinion.

That’s my view, and it doesn’t much matter if it matches legal reality or not. My argument is not a legal one. It’s a moral and a practical one. We shouldn’t burden ourselves and future rosarians by littering these garbage names into the descriptions of entire generations of roses. Breeders, I submit to you that it would be simple decency and goodwill to give your roses a real name for general use and posterity. I know some lawyer might tell you differently, but I’m the guy on your other shoulder.

My rant is over. Just to be fair, I don’t think that every breeder is using the coded name system in order to extend patent protection. Some are simply using it because that’s “the way it’s done.” The way I read the registration instructions there’s no requirement to use the wacky coded denomination system.

Commandant Beaurepaire

This rose was bred at a time (the 1870’s) when the hybrid perpetual class was giving way to modern roses, the closely related hybrid tea that still dominates in rose gardens. ‘Commandant Beaurepaire’ was bred from a hybrid perpetual, but because the breeder wasn’t convinced the rose would bloom after the initial flush of lowers, it was classed as a gallica. This stunningly striped rose would be every bit worth a place in the garden (perhaps as an absolutely stunning hedge rose) even without reblooming, but when ‘Commandant’ was established in the trade, it was observed to be a (stingy) rebloomer, so the breeder reclassified it as a hybrid perpetual. He also renamed it, but I bought it as ‘Commandant Beaurepaire’, and I’ll keep it with that name.

Commandant BeaurepaireThis rose has large flowers, and they have a nice strong old rose fragrance to them. ‘Commandant Beaurepaire’ grows to a dense shrub to about 4 feet tall and wide. It sometimes takes on some powdery mildew, but doesn’t seem to mind it much.

Something about striped flowers can look a bit gaudy, but this rose combines a lighter and darker pink together, with some darker (purplish) and lighter (whitish) splashes… and it works beautifully. When in bloom, it’s one rose I always get comments about.

Own Root or Grafted Roses

Own Root or Grafted Roses

It’s mad science, I tell ya… take the head of a cat, and put it on a greyhound. Good running companion, and already litter-trained! It sounds outrageous with animals, but it’s standard practice for most roses. Some species roses (Rosa multiflora and Rosa fortuniana) and some hybrids (‘Dr. Huey’) are notably vigorous, adaptable, winter hardy, or disease resistant. Grafting is usually done when rose growers want those qualities bestowed upon a slower or weaker or less hardy variety. This is accomplished by taking a bud from the scion (the rose you want to grow above ground) and implanting it under the bark of the rootstock variety. When it sprouts, we chop off the head of the rootstock, and presto: two plants conjoined, one growing above the belt and one below.

For just a bit of background on the rootstocks themselves and their advantages, here’s a video on the topic:

Last year my employer began selling tomatoes produced almost this same way, but there are no buds involved. It’s a fun process. Two tomato seedlings are grown to about the same size – small, under 3 inches tall at the time. Snip, snip. Throw away the roots you don’t want and the ‘head’ you don’t want. Hold the stem of the rootstock to the ‘head’ of the scion with a little rubbery clip, and within days the graftling heals up the graft union, and continues (very) vigorous growth.

I was surprised by the variety of reactions from customers to the tomatoes. Most thought it was pretty cool. Some were even aware that most greenhouse vegetables in BC are already grown on grafted plants. But a small minority reacted in horror. A comparison to Frankenstein’s monster even came up in one of those conversations. And if you were going to choose a famous literary monster to sum up the situation, Dr. Frankenstein’s creation is probably the most apt analogy. But get a grip!

This isn’t like the genetically modified organisms (GMO) debate, which is the other topic which often provokes the Frankenstein comparison, and which, I think, is a much more legitimate cause for concern. In grafting, we’re dealing with genetically unmodified plants, and the practice is so ancient and commonplace that any health or environmental concerns can be effectively ruled out. Try this: find a commercial apple grower who uses ungrafted trees!

(On an aside, although GMOs in agriculture are commonly dubbed “Frankenfoods”, I think  Dr. F’s monster better fits the comparison to grafting. The movie monster that best fits the whole GMO thing might be “The Fly”. Just sayin’…)

Back to roses though, there’s been a bit of an upswing in recent years of “own root” roses, and they are mostly what I sell. If you search up “own root roses” on the internet, you’ll get a lot of opinions, some of which are very negative about grafting.

Here’s an earlier video where I put together an more complete comparison of why you might choose own-root vs. grafted roses (or vice versa):

What you see in this picture is a relatively young (say 4 year old) grafted rose. The variety is ‘Falstaff’. The shoot that I circled in red is a sucker. It comes from the rootstock variety. If you’re not paying attention, and especially if the sucker arises closer to the base of the plant, the sucker may get pretty large before you figure out something’s wrong. It’s annoying, and I got stung by it one time early on into growing roses. I’d mulched the bases of my plants, and didn’t notice that a couple of suckers had emerged at the base of ‘Complicata’. By the time I figured it, the more vigorous rootstock shoots had dominated the growth of the shrub. Cutting them back down left me with a sad little plant. Oh well. Lesson learned.

So, getting past the annoyance of suckers, I’d like you to notice one other thing about the above photo. The big knobby growth at the base of ‘Falstaff’ is a the graft union. This is a young plant. When you see the graft union on an older rose, it’s usually much larger. The “scar tissue” around this graft union bulges and cracks, providing a good place for the plant to break or become diseased. Ultimately, it limits the useful lifespan of the rose.

Here’s an ungrafted rose stem:

Stem of own-root rose

New basal growth can emerge near or below the soil line to renew the shrub, and there’s no pesky rootstock variety to take over. There’s also no graft union to weaken the plant over time. This variety is ‘Altissimo’, and I’ve never had any problems with vigor on its own roots.

One more picture:

Rooted cutting

What you see here is a rooted cutting of ‘Sally Holmes’. Since I’m not doing much grafting, I thought you might like to see what I’m doing instead. When you come to think of it, though, rooting from cuttings is a bit of mad science too! Cut off a section of stem, stick it in the right conditions, and it grows new roots and shoots. In the background you can see some other cuttings getting started more or less the same way, except that they’re more or less dormant now (hardwood cuttings). The one that’s rooted already was taken earlier in the season as a semi-ripe cutting.

You might take it from what I’ve written that I have a preference for own-root roses. Not so. I simply have more practice producing roses this way, and the results for many roses are quite good. There are the advantages I’ve noted above, but the disadvantage is this: for some roses, you will probably never be happy with what you get on its own roots. My example is ‘Anisley Dickson’. Maybe someone has had success growing this one on its own roots, but for me, the rooted cuttings began sulking and they’re still doing so. Meantime, I tried grafting earlier this year, and have a massive new shoot of ‘Anisley Dickson’ emerging from the roots of Rosa mulitflora.

This jives with the experience of some of the more experienced rosarians I’ve quizzed on the matter. Some roses will perform fine on the vigor of their own roots right away, and some will take a little time, but some will never grow as nicely as you want on their own weakling roots. So for those, I’ll be experimenting with grafting.

Complicata

The simplicity of this rose makes me think that it’s close to a species rose, but nobody knows for sure. It’s classed as a gallica, maybe for lack of better information. While most near-species roses are nicest grown as a free standing shrub, I think you’ll find it rewarding to give ‘Complicata’ something to climb. You’ll find nicer pictures out there, but here’s one I snapped in the garden (aphids and all!):Rosa 'Complicata'

The blooms are dark pink at the edges, white nearer the center, with prominent yellow stamens. What you can’t see here is how large they are! The only other single I know to compete on bloom size is ‘Altissimo‘. The large size of the flowers, their simple form, wonderful scent, and the fact that it blooms in one main flush of flowers makes this a stunning shrub (or better, a climber) in early Summer.

‘Complicata’ can grow to 10 feet with some support, or to a lax shrub of 6 feet or so. It also sets hips after blooming, for fall/winter interest.

Old Garden Roses

How old is old enough to be called an “Old Garden Rose”? As old as Canada. Yep. Any class of roses defined before 1867 is considered an old garden rose. Why 1867? It didn’t have anything much to do with Canada. Canada’s largest contributions to rose breeding came much later. It had more to do with France. Or, at least, with the rose ‘La France’, which was the first hybrid tea – the first modern rose.

But let’s get to the guts of it. Why should anyone care about the difference between a modern rose and an old garden rose? The line is completely arbitrary, when you think about it. But somehow, the label stuck. So now, every class of rose defined after 1867 is modern, and any rose belonging to an older class (even if the rose is quite new) is an old garden rose.

Some common characteristics of old garden roses:

  1. For the most part, they are tough enough to face cold temperatures. This applies to albas, gallicas, centifolias, damasks, but not quite so much to the chinas and the china crosses (such as bourbons and noisettes).
  2. Many of the old European varieties (again, the albas, gallicas, centifolias, damasks) are strongly scented. Chinas tend to lack scent, but some of the intermediate classes are fragrant.
  3. Most of these shrubs are strong enough to grow on their own roots. I view this to be a good thing, however, some of the best rose gardens in the world choose to grow them grafted instead. That’s because some of these roses, notably gallicas, will naturally sucker and form thickets instead of tidy shrubs.
  4. Like the species roses, many of the old garden roses will bloom once, often in great abundance, and then set to work on developing hips and hardening off for winter.Rosa mundi Pictured here is Rosa mundi (aka Rosa gallica var. veriscolor) which blooms profusely, with these amazing pink-splashed-with-pink fragrant blooms in early summer.
  5. This may sound a little obvious, but old garden roses are, well… old. Aside from newly bred roses in old classes, most any old garden rose is now closing in on 150 years of growing in gardens. Many are much, much older. This means that their worthiness in the garden has been tested, and the fact that they are still grown means that they’ve passed. Now look at that shiny new rose in the catalog this year. Yes, the marketing guys can write quite a description, and it takes a nice photo, but let’s talk again in 400 years to see if it really passed the test.
  6. Think pink, darker pink, almost red, purplish-pink, and white. There are exceptions, but pink and white are the basic palette of the old garden roses. Also, the bloom is often many-petaled, and globular, cupped or quartered in form. Here:Rosa centifolia
  7. Aside from the hybrid perpetuals, the old garden roses would seem out of place as bedding plants. My personal opinion is that modern roses look a bit weird in a dedicated bed as well, but at least they’re bred for it. Old garden roses are for the most part too large or too “shrubby” to be forced into that mold.

A word on disease resistance. I’ve read in a few places that old garden roses are less prone to disease. As big a fan as I am of old garden roses, I can’t completely agree. Maybe there are some modern roses that have serious susceptibility problems, but old garden roses are far from immune to blackspot and powdery mildew in my garden and greenhouses. I know a couple of hybrid perpetuals that mildew like crazy, and blackspot has nearly defoliated Zephirine Drouhin every year. There are also some very tough old garden roses that seem bulletproof to these fungal diseases. It’s hit and miss. What I can say is that they all seem to tolerate their problems well, and once well-established, a little bit of leaf spot doesn’t slow them down much.

If only for the sake of interest, anyone who grows roses should try an old garden rose or three. And for those who are just getting into gardening, or just considering their first rose to plant, don’t be so quick to choose a “bargain” bagged or bucketed modern roses at one of the big box stores. Roses have an amazing history in gardens. Consider choosing a something with a bit of a story to tell.