About ten years ago, Steve and I camped under a massive oak tree on a knoll in the middle of a cornfield behind a friend's farmhouse. We found a cistern and two yellow roses, all that remained of the original homestead. The current farmhouse was over 100 years old, so the roses were at least that old. The roses were a clear yellow with a wonderful scent, so I talked Steve into digging a start out of the waist high prairie grass. I planted that little slip in my garden, next to the front walk - my prized heirloom rose. It slept that first year and the next year it crept with a few blooms. The third year, it lept. As you can see, this rampant rose grew over the gutters of the house and made it practically impossible to get to the front door. I banished it to the Highlands (tree farm) when we remodeled and this spring I brought over several starts to plant along the fence in the wildflower meadow --far, far from the house.
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