Around here, you are supposed to start pruning your roses after President’s Day.  I’m not sure whether that means  Abraham Lincoln’s real birthday or George Washington’s real birthday, or whatever Monday is a day off for state workers.  I started today.

For my penitential act this Lent, I am forcing myself to prune only a bush a day for two weeks.  That way, I will be absolutely forced to bring my tools inside and disinfect them after each one.  This is supposedly mandatory to keep from spreading disease from one bush to the other.

Failure to follow this rule in the past might explain why I have some diseased tea roses.  It takes more will power than I can usually muster to not stay out there and do a bunch.

I threaten this favorite tea, the fragrant pure white Honor, every year that I am going to rip it out because it is not healthy, but then I can never bring myself to do it.  I pruned it first this year and tenderly sprayed it with dormant oil to arm it against black spot and pronounced a blessing over its head.

And, while I was out there,  I gave the Handsome Man his winter-time crew cut.  Got rid of all those ugly grays.