The dream didn't come suddenly. It ripened over the years, like a bud on a thin stem. Once, in childhood, I saw a rose of unparalleled beauty at my neighbor's through the fence. Purple, with velvet petals, it smelled so strongly that it made my head spin. I asked for a cutting. The neighbor smiled: "If you grow it, you'll be a hero." The first cutting dried out. Then came the second, the third. But the passion didn't fade. Now, thirty years later, I can't imagine life without roses. They have become my cause, my pain, my pride. And today I will tell you how a simple hobby turned into a destiny.
The sixth cutting survived. It was a miracle: I soaked it in honey, wrapped it in film, placed it on the southern window. And one day tiny leaves appeared. And two months later — a bud! It was crooked, pale pink, without a scent. But I cried like a child. I realized: I can. It was with that rose, which I called "Hope," that my collection began. Now I have over four hundred varieties. But I still remember the first one. It died of black spot in a harsh winter, but it remains in my heart.
For a long time, I worked as an engineer at a factory. Roses were my sanctuary. In the evenings and on weekends, I dug in the soil, grafted, pruned. My colleagues rolled their eyes: "Found something to do." But one day I calculated: selling seedlings and bouquets brings as much as my salary at the factory. I quit. It was scary. My wife supported me. I rented a plot, built greenhouses. At first, I made mistakes: bought sick seedlings, lost crops to frost. But I learned from my mistakes. Now I conduct master classes, people come to me from all over the region. Roses feed my family and bring joy.
Roses don't like hustle. They need a routine, love, and cold calculation. The main rule: good drainage. The roots should not be wet. Second: sunlight for at least six hours a day. Third: pruning. Without it, the bush becomes wild. I use only organic fertilizers: manure, compost, ash. Chemistry kills the scent. And I talk to the roses. Yes, it sounds strange, but they feel the mood. On a bad day, the leaves turn yellow. On a good day, they bloom more lushly. And most importantly, patience. Some varieties bloom on the third year after planting. But it's worth it.
"Gloria Day" — a classic cream-yellow with a pink edge. The scent is strong, sweet. It blooms until frost. "Pierre de Ronsar" — climbing rose with large cup-shaped flowers. Ideal for arches. "Black Magic" — dark purple, almost black. For those who love mysticism. "Leonardo da Vinci" — soft pink, with dense double petals. Similar to a peony. "Vesterland" — orange-rose, with an incredible fruity scent. Each variety requires a special approach. But all of them are beautiful.
I often remember that boy who looked at a stranger's rose through the fence. Today I have my own nursery. In June, when the garden is in bloom, I turn on soft music, sit in a wicker chair, and breathe in the aroma. It's happiness. I didn't become a millionaire, but I am free. I do what I love. And people value my flowers. They come to us for weddings, birthdays, just for a bouquet of mood. I realized: growing roses is not just work. It's a way to speak with the world in the language of beauty.
Don't be afraid to start with one bush. Plant a tea hybrid rose "Flammentanz" — it's not demanding. Buy a good secateur, don't skimp. Learn how to do winter mulching. Straw, spandex, dry leaves. Don't water it. And don't listen to "experts" who say that roses are difficult. Everything is difficult until you try. The main thing is the desire. And the memory of why you do it.
Black spot, powdery mildew, aphids. These are my enemies. I don't use pesticides — they kill bees and useful insects. Instead, I use garlic, tobacco, ash. If the infestation is severe, I remove the sick leaves and burn them. It's important not to overcrowd plantings — air should circulate. And water under the root, not on the leaves. Diseases often come with purchased seedlings, so I have been taking cuttings only from trusted people for many years.
At first, my wife was jealous of the flowers. She said: "You spend more time with them than with me." Then I involved her in the business. Now she herself makes bouquets, manages social networks. The children grew up with roses. They know the difference between floribunda and ground cover. My granddaughter already wants her own bush. Roses have brought us together. We have overcome drought and the infestation of aphids together. We celebrate every new bloom together. This is our family value.
I dream of breeding my own variety. A dark blue rose with a vanilla scent. So far, it's not working. But I am experimenting with cross-pollination. Plans include expanding the nursery, launching an online store for seedlings. And definitely writing a book. About how a simple hobby became the whole life. To make others believe that dreams come true. Not immediately, with pain, with losses. But they do.
Growing roses is not a hobby or a business. It's a dialogue. You give the earth labor, warmth, care, and it gives you a miracle. A miracle that smells and touches the soul. I am happy. I have found my own. Look for yours.
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