But I don't. Of more than thirty roses I've planted, a handful remain, mostly miniatures which are tougher than you might think, given their diminutive size.
Not that this stops me from window shopping. The latest window at which I've found to slaver is Rogue Valley Roses. What a selection!
It's just as well that I'm not in a buying mood. My tastes continue to run toward the pale colors that are lovely under the grey skies of northwest Oregon, but that wash out completely in high altitude sunshine. Maybe you can take the gardener out of Oregon, but you can't take the Oregon out of the gardener.
I don't think this means I want to be repatriated. It's just that I sometimes long for the cucumbers of Egypt, in the form of lovely whites and palest pinks. So you'll find me browsing Rogue Valley Roses, soberly aware that for me rose growing has become "the glorious unlikely".