But into the color palette of my garden, I was not, repeat NOT, going to allow any orange:
This is clivea. I've already got it lurking in a corner of the garden. It's exuberantly, unapologetically orange. The only reason I don't "hoik it up," as the famous gardener Vita Sackville-West used to say, is that it thrives on absolutely no attention.
So it can stay.
Awwww, man! I let it in. Sort of.
When we planted the roses late last year, the nursery didn't have enough yellow-flowered bushes in stock. The Husband suggested we just leave empty spaces where more yellows would go, when the nursery got them. (Good idea, hubby!) A month or so later, the nursery contacted my gardener and said the yellows were in. He, or the nursery, picked out the actual plants. They were in the "bare root" stage, which means they're little more than a bundle of sticks. No flowers, hardly any leaves, in sight.
And somehow it didn't occur to me, trusting soul that I am, to check the little metal tags that come on roses to be sure I was getting the varieties I wanted.
So an orange rose snuck into my garden.
It's "Chris Evert," and it is verrrrry orange.
What is it about orange flowers that makes me turn into such a softie? Why do I let them violate my "no-orange-ever" rule?
...orange in Nature is--I have to admit--really pretty.
And it looks so good in the powder room.
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