Down the street there is a vacant lot that the owner uses to grow mainly roses. I have been told he grows them to show in competition. There are a few other plants like dahlias and an iris growing there too. It is not a garden, just a plot in the middle of a dirt field with wire fencing around it and the most beautiful roses you could imagine. I have driven by when his truck is there and I have noticed the containers of insecticides and the chemical fertilizers all over the place. It is quite an operation.
I was walking by the other day on my morning walk and ventured in to take a closer look at the amazing roses. Remarkably there was not a spot or hole in any of them. They were all perfect. "Stepford" roses, so to speak. But there was something missing. The sounds of the garden. There were no birds, no bees, no rabbits, no life. It was eerily silent.
It was reassuring to walk back into my garden, full of movement and sounds, everything that takes place in a comfortable, natural setting, and smile at the signs of life, however frustrating they can be at times. My plants will never look perfect like my neighbors roses, but to me it could not be more perfect than the way it is.