One longtime volunteer in the yard is a big shaggy heap of arching thorny stems that turns into a charming Pasture Rose covered with sweet, pink flowers. They only last about a week or two, and every year it startles me with how suddenly they appear. All spring it’s a hairy mess keeping me away from that side of the hill, one of my excuses for not weeding thoroughly. Today, it’s a lovely shrub inviting me to come take a closer look.
Bees visit it. I think I see signs already of aphid eggs, which hopefully mean ladybugs to come. It’s possible that leafcutter bees are nesting in the stems, but it gets a little awkward in there to try to confirm it. And in the fall, the rose hips form, all bright red, only to slowly disappear over the winter as the birds eat them.
For me, what counts is that week of bloom. I can look at it now, not with grudging acceptance but open pleasure.