I remember when we planted the roses. We had been living here less than a year. Owen built us a garden by hauling boulders out of our woods to support the earth and I bought (and ordered) far more plants than that limited area could support. Among the plants I ordered were six rose buses. I think I didn’t entirely understand the kind of roses I was buying. They were described as “miniature roses.” I thought that meant little roses that looked like tiny versions of big roses. I had seen these tiny rose bushes. Unfortunately, these were single, not miniature roses. They are the kind of roses they used to plant on estates around houses because these roses are like barbed wires. They are relentless growers. The roses may be small, but the thorns are not, nor are the bushes. We cut them down every year and they come back every year, huge and ferocious.