When I selected the bushes five years ago, my criteria, in descending order of importance, were: climbing, disease resistant, fragrance, then color. The first two years, I thought I'd done well - they got established, started growing, and produced a beautiful array of fragrant peach-colored blossoms.
Then, the disease gods struck, and I went out one day to find the leaves covered in black spots. The first year, I used some commercial fungal treatment with some degree of success. But then, to my dismay, I was told the product made the flowers toxic for the bees. The bees are important to me, so off the list that stuff went.
Well, if you're not going to use the anti-fungal stuff, the only remedy recommended by the internet is to pick off the diseased leaves, and then hope for the best, which is what I've done the last two summers.
It's kind of hard to watch. The bushes are hardy, and as long as I'm diligent about pulling off the diseased leaves, they've been right behind me, shooting out new leaves. But after a short time, the fungus affects those new leaves, and the whole process repeats.
This year, the bushes started out with vigor, covered with healthy green leaves and beautiful flowers. Then, the rain and the heat came in together, and (I think) reactivated the fungus, and I've been back out there this week, my heart breaking just a little, beginning the process of pulling off leaves for a third year.
My landscape architect friend has watched all this with some dismay. She's one of the best plant people I know, and even she just shook her head when she stopped by one day. She recommended I just give the plants a shovel-upgrade. (i.e. Let nature do what it's gonna do, and just dig them up and replace them.)
I've given her suggestion a lot of thought, she does know of which she speaks, but I haven't had the heart to follow through, at least not yet.
The bushes have become a physical metaphor for me; they represent my fears surrounding all the hard stuff in the news. Wars are looming, disease is still rampant, we've missed the window (I fear) on climate control - and those are just the top three. It's bleak, but I'm not ready to give up yet.
Where there's life, there's hope. As long as my bushes are willing to fight the good fight, I'll do all I can to help them along. As long as there are people in the world willing to fight back against fear, I'm on their side. Unfortunately for my peace of mind, it's a lot harder to know what to do for the latter.
The bushes are easy. As long as they have enough oomph to produce new leaves, I will pull off the diseased ones. And should they run out of oomph, I will be able to hold tight to the memory of the beauty they brought to my little corner of the world while they were here.
Knowing what bit I can do to save the world is harder. But I'll keep working, in the small ways I work, to help Good as best I can, because I can.
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