We do everything humanly possible and try to avoid human mistakes.
But even the best machines broke down.
We then see how great human could be.
We stand back up from every fall we landed.

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Marcel Piekarski

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“Type Cycle”

Today I replant my rose

2016.04.27, UK

I have a rose that grows from a tiny branch. This tiny branch was the size of a toothpick. I picked this tiny branch from a rose bush, which was one of the many I admired. It was in Winter 2011 (Dec 2010-Mar 2011). Unlike many branches that had failed, this tiny special branch developed its first rooting. The roots grew in pure water, with furry white hair, the white colour of an unpolished pearl. 

I was really happy, since then. I came home everyday from school and carefully look at this amazing branch. I counted its every single new roots, making sure that it is ready for its first container.

• The First transplant - First winter

Its first set of new leaves happily grew. These new leaves were absolutely stunning. They are full of green, the green of youth and innocence. They dance in the sun; but they also curl in unhappiness because of the sun. They are fussy, full of selfishness; but they showed to the outside and taught me to observe carefully. I felt like if I stared at this branch enough, the rose would grow even quicker.

The flower bud

• The first flower - First spring

The rose sent its many branches, healthily grew in my shelter over the winter. On the first day of its first spring, a strong branch put forth a flower bud. A rose bud is usually shy, blooming slowly and carefully.  It can take weeks for a rose to fully bloom. And when the first rose bloomed in my care, I thought I must have the whole world. It was just that amazing. There were of course the ups and downs, and I had learnt to understand the neediness of this lovely rose. I know when the rose needs water, wind, and sun. I even know when it is stressed. Above all, I know I was happy whenever I discover any of these little neediness.

The bloom

• The assiduous sprout- Second and Third spring

The rose grows bigger every day. It has a trunk that is the size of my heart (kidding, it is the size of my thumb). It has more branches than my patience for a daily branch counting. It sent me roses every other week. The roses eventually fade, and I happily pick its fading petals, placing them inside my special rose jar. The petals have a distant fragrance, and a deep maroon red colour. This becomes my favourite colour over time.

• The arduous transition - Fourth summer

Rose attracts many things, and sadly many of which are pests. Despite being kept in my shelter, the rose is soon affected, after the three happy springs. I sprayed pesticide but to no avail. I have learnt to accept this as a natural process eventually. On its fourth summer,  I realize I have to move away very soon. I knew that I have to either bring the rose with me, or replant it outdoors. I think the rose is just too weak to go with either plan, especially after the pests attack.

• The fake Fifth winter

The rose almost died on my care over the winter. Those pests are relentless. I was supposed to bring the rose to the outside before the first frost of the Fourth winter, but I did not. I panicked when I saw a withered branch at the start of winter. So I changed my mind, and brought the rose to the inside warmth. I missed  not only the first frost, but the second, and probably the third, over the course of  three winter months. Without any frosting period, pests roam free.

• The last Fifth spring

 Unlike many springs before, there was hail and snow. It was cold and wet. I was ill, and the worst part is that I left the rose surrounded by those terrible pests. They were not simply destroying the branch and leaves, they are destroying the trunk and roots of the rose. I was devastated when I found out that it was too late to do anything. I panicked, tried to kill any pests that I can set sight on within the dying trunk. I kill the pests in resentment, damaging the trunk in the process. Then I saw the fresh and green, alive flesh inside the trunk of my once beautiful rose.

I shed a few tears, replanting the rose onto the ground. Cutting all the branches and leaves, I gave the rose one last shower. I will soon move to a different place, and it is obvious that I cannot bring the rose with me any more. I know that there is nothing else I could do for the rose now. So I walked away.

• The goodbye

I believe I have a responsibility to come and check the rose once in a while. I have spent 5 years with the rose after all. I have formed an attachment. In any case, I realize the checking will neither help the rose nor me. So whilst I am away, I can ask my neighbours to spray the pesticides, I can certainly ask my friends come over and prune it. I do not know what the rose would become. I hope it does not succumb to pests and diseases easily, and I hope it makes friends with the ladybugs and bees. Then I smiled with a thought. The thought that I would come back next spring for a visit, and proudly tell others: "This rose was from a tiny branch, you see, it was that strong!"