Around the garden ran a hedge of hazelnut bushes, and beyond it lay fields and meadows with cows and sheep; but in the middle of the garden stood a blooming Rosebush, and under it sat a Snail, who had a lot inside his shell – namely, himself.
From The Snail and the Rosebush by Hans Christian Andersen
The rosebush, left to its own devices for way too long, has sprawled wildly and sideways. The stalks grow too close together. There are no blooms. Without the aid of something more than a wimpy pair of gardening gloves and clippers that have been left out in the rain one too many times, my battle is lost. I mentally declare my gardening career over. My clippers and gloves fall to the ground. Turning on my heels I leave the frame, probably in search of something new and shiny.
This was a dream, but it could have just as easily been real. I actually own a rosebush just like this one. A few springs ago, I approached gardening as something for which I could be avid for around 5 minutes. I was going through something.
Without setting out to, I’ve killed most of my rosebushes through neglect, and now only two stalwarts remain. Increasingly they bother me with their unattractive and aggressive enthusiasm. But I have no interest in committing a murder/suicide with my inferior equipment. If only rosebushes could be shot.
The Dream Moods A-Z Dictionary tells me that “to see a rosebush in your dream, foretells of a period of prosperity. To see a dead rosebush in your dream, denotes misfortune and illness to strike you or your relatives.”
I choose the one about the prosperity. It seems to me there is a vast gray area between prosperity and misfortune that is filled with fodder enough to feed one of my oldest addictions. Over-thinking. Dreams and gardens provide no closure – I hate that.
I’ve come to terms with my gardening limitations. Flowers in my world are best admired in gardens cared for by others or bought from vendors on street corners in Europe or at Costco. I like them tied at the stems, and wrapped in crisp white paper or shiny sheets of plastic.
This weekend the something shiny I’ve got my eyes on is this:
Maybe this dream just means I should dig up the damned bush.
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{ 15 comments }
I think Lily will have murdered the rose bush in time. For some reason she has something against our rosebushes, and now she must eat them. We find disembodied rods of thorns all over the house.
Great post! Don’t worry Lily has taken over all gardening responsibilities.
I so want to have a garden, or even a yard with living plants. I am the kiss of death to plants (even bamboo, and that is hard core black thumb….)
I choose rose bush = prosperity here. Beautiful imagery.
Mmmm, flowers. Munch, munch. Burp. Munch.
Hey, my word verification is “oftled” which about describes my goat life.
I’m with Vic… I kill every plant I touch. It’s funny because my parents love it and have a gorgeous garden… oh well, I suppose it’s not really condusive to city living anyhow.
Lily loves flowers!
How did you kill a rose bush? They are like THE EASIEST plants in the world to grow. Keep in mind, you have to cut them way back before winter because they go rather dormant. But, when they come back in the spring, the only thing you have to do is water them and make sure that you are spraying them for pests (a mixture of water, cooking oil and dish soap works great….).
Oh… I wish you and the rosebush a recovery!
One of these days I’m going to take a picture of the garden when I bought the house and the garden now. You’ll feel better.
This is so funny! I’m hopeless with plants too. That’s why I usually only grow ‘native’ plants. I throw them in the ground and yell “Now grow, damn it”, hopeing they can care for themselves. If they can’t, it’s tough toenails. For some reason my yard has many casualties every year. [lol]
ps, can you believe Lily’s anger towards those bushes? Maybe she’s picking up on my feelings.
vic, prosperity all around. I killed my husbands childhood cornplant our first year of marriage. I want to want to be be a gardener, but black thumbs are hard to bypass
pricilla, I am oftled way too easily.
Lilu, one of my grandmothers was a gardening legend. She grew everything imaginable in a plot of tar and gravel with a little dirt thrown on top adjacent to her apartment. I didn’t get one drop of this.
Sheri, Yes, I’ve managed to kill rosebushes. The two that refuse are gorgeous when they bloom, but they grow all wrong just to anger me. They’re like something out of the Alien trilogy.
blueviolet, but you can grow violets? I’d love to see those two pictures. That would make at least a small, but loyal percentage of your 5000 followers feel MUCH better if you blogged them.
sparky, I think entire yards should be wildflower projects as first advocated by Lady Bird Johnson. Why did they have to stop with interstate medians?
You might like a bonsai plant. I don’t care what they say. Mine are still alive and I don’t water sometimes for over a week!
I used to have quite a nice…garden…of my own, but the less said about that, the better. Anyway, don’t overlook the pleasures of plastic flowers.
Yep – go with prosperity. And the rosebush. Clip away and it will be blooming again in no time.
I choose prosperity! My garden is hit or miss and when it gets hot out I give up and the weeds take over!
Hit 40, I’ll have to try that. And everyone will think I’m avid if it stays alive.
Shawn, why do I have an Alfred Hitchcock kind of feeling about this garden of yours?
MuseSwings, You’ve given me hope that maybe I do just need better clippers and gloves.
Banteringblonde, I love having the wicked Southern heat to bother for everything- not just gardening related- around here too!
Lily defentatly (sp?) is acting as stand in rose decapitating tractor.
Ha Ha I love this and may have to borrow that line when I’m speaking to Hubby later
“If only rosebushes could be shot”
Too funny.
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