By Harvey Feinstein

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . . it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

“A Tale of Two Cities” (1859)

Summer floated in, light as jetsam on the sea. We’d had the requisite spring rain, and it was welcome after a meager winter snowfall, which hardly covered the ground or fed the garden during her long sleep. The summer of ’06, ah, that was a time. If you were growing roses, you had a bumper crop. You had good reason to be proud, living close to the sea on the East End of a sand bar.

To me, there is nothing more wonderful than rising early, walking barefoot into the garden to see the roses, to be confronted with pink perfection covered in mist and dew, and, pressing my nose into a bloom, to inhale its perfume.

Growing roses is no easy task. Living here, we have the advantage of the winds blowing in from the sea that protect us during harsh weather. And the peculiar light, unique to our area, gives the garden its certain glow. We pay for that with humidity on balmy evenings, which breeds mildew and blackspot, and the mites and thrips that eat the leaves, and the good ladybugs which eat the mites and the deer which eat the roses.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that rose or any rose, so conceived can long endure.

With Apologies to Abraham Lincoln

Summer lingered with us last year and the garden was fragrant and in bloom for months. Then it waned into fall and slipped away, light as deer trampling bluebells. Long days were lost in flight, sampling cool, buccaneer red autumn. The roses came back for a final flush, which lasted past Thanksgiving. Finally the garden was put to bed by lightly cutting back the roses to keep them from blowing in the wind or cracking under icy snow.

January 5 found me in the garden in a T-shirt and shorts, transplanting mums. (The thermometer registered more than 60 degrees.) We wondered if winter would ever come, and if this was global warming, I said I would take it. But on Jan. 20 came the first blast of frigid air, portending no good. (It was 8 degrees in Bridgehampton on Jan. 26.) Nevertheless, those people, “they” who know things, say it was the warmest winter since 1959 (or was it 1995?). There was lots of damage in the garden, as the false spring in January forced the roses to send up leaves. I had reports of lilac suddenly bursting into bloom, and daffodils so confused they too began to send up shoots. As for those mums I transplanted — who knows if they ever had a chance.

Rose gardening is becoming easier than in the past. The cultivators have finally recognized that although people love roses and want to have them, the upkeep is daunting. What we want in our gardens are winter-hardy roses that have an above-average resistance to insects and common rose diseases. For the novice and the experienced rose grower, easy-care roses ensure success.

There is a group of very hardy roses that is excellent for growing in our area. You’ve seen them on the beach, or walkways along the sand. How did they get there, or have you never wondered? Of course, by birds eating the rose hips during winter and dropping the seeds. If you live near the beach I recommend the species called Rosa rugosa. They are sometimes called beach roses. You can grow them in your garden as freestanding plants or as a fence or against a wall or along a path leading to the beach.

Rugosas have wrinkled foliage and are heavily thorned with arching stems and unimportant blooms. They are not made for cut flowers or for exhibition. But they make up for it with their hardy (do I dare say indestructible?) growth, and the scent will infuse the whole garden. But you’ll need good soil to plant them in, as sand itself doesn’t offer many nutrients. Remember: They’ll be there a long time.

Before you plant any roses this season you will want to prepare the bed for them. Dig a hole wider and deeper than the container the plant came in. Fill the hole with packaged topsoil already mixed with composted humus, then add some peat moss to hold water, gypsum to aid drainage, and break up any clay you might find (in our area it’s almost endemic), and good dehydrated cow manure.

Build a mound of replenished soil at the bottom of the hole and spread the roots of the new plant over the mound. Make certain the grafted part of the new rose is below soil level. That way it won’t freeze during the winter. Half fill the hole with soil. Water. Wait for it to be absorbed before adding more soil to about one inch below ground level, and water again. Don’t stamp soil down. Pat it down with your hands.

By leaving a depression around the newly planted rose, the water won’t spill over in future watering. Remove the metal tag that’s attached to the new rose. The metal will cause a chemical reaction that will kill the cane on which it’s attached. Instead, take the tag and attach it to a tongue depressor (ask your doctor for a few), and stick it in the ground next to the rosebush. That way you will never forget the name of the rose. If your doctor wants to know why you need a tongue depressor, invite him or her into your garden in June.

Rugosas are the first roses to bloom in early spring, usually in mid-May. They will make a repeat performance in midsummer and fall. Some varieties are always covered with blooms and also clean themselves As one flower fades and drops, another takes its place. A little deadheading may be needed if you are really into neat. In autumn, rugosas burst forth with orange hips full of vitamin C, which make excellent rose-hip jam. When snow is on the ground the birds have a ready food supply.

For gardening by the sea, rugosas are my first choice. The canes are so pliable that in the spring they can be twisted and woven into one another to fend off animals (and children). My favorites in this class were all propagated before World War I, and they are easily available at most local nurseries.

Blanc Double du Coubert has showy, white, large double flowers, heavily scented with a hint of gardenia. It blooms early in May and then continuously into autumn. It will grow up to six feet tall with an equal spread, and needs the old wood cut back in the second year or it will get too leggy.

Frau Dagmar Hastrup has pointed buds and flesh-pink blooms. (I cannot account for the alternate spelling in the accompanying illustration.) A point of interest is that the hips will form from the earlier blooms while new buds are still about to open. This presents a vibrant color attraction to the bush so you have the best of all possible worlds — hips and blooms at the same time. The bush grows to five feet and is fragrant in the classic style.

Roseraie de l’Hay is denser than the previous two and perfect for live fencing as you can intertwine the long canes. The purple buds open to five inches, and the bush can reach to seven feet if not controlled. (A point of interest: both the first and the third rugosas were cultivated by the founder of the Galleries Lafayette, in his garden at l’Hay outside Paris in the 19th century.)

Two additions for good seaside gardening are just-minted roses that will be perfect inland too. When Julia Child was advised that “they” were thinking of naming a rose after her, she said, “I don’t care what it looks like, as long as it’s the color of butter.” The rose was unveiled last summer, and it is the color of butter. It has a slight scent of licorice, grows to about three feet, and makes a show-off of itself in the garden, as it is never without blooms. One drawback: The blooms fade quickly but just as quickly other buds opening.

And the newest of the new is Hot Cocoa, a floribunda, which was awarded the Member’s Choice Award for 2007 by the American Rose Society. It is described as “mysterious, indestructible, elusive. . . . It has pointed buds of deep rust, which unfurl to reveal a chocolate haze of velvety smoked tones, set against glossy foliage.” With that description I think it deserves at least two in your garden just to see how your guests react. And if you’re up for it, I would put Hot Cocoa next to Julia Child!

Now there’s a combination. Straight out of the kitchen. And not only because the idea just seems right, but if you plant the yellow flowering Julia behind Hot Cocoa they would display themselves to perfection. They will grow to three to five feet, with a high degree of disease tolerance. You’ll either love it or hate it.

Years ago I planted a Christian Dior next to a Helen Traubel. He did nothing for her. So I moved Helen and replaced her with Arlene Frances. Eek! Also not so good, but you have to keep trying.

Harvey Feinstein is past president of the Southampton Rose Society, a master gardener, a docent for the Parrish Art Museum, and a director of the Horticultural Alliance of the Hamptons. He is a resident of Greenport and Waikiki, Hawaii (where he doesn’t grow roses).

source : www.easthamptonstar.com

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