harryshoe: I live in NJ (central/Northern) and we have had the same weather that you describe, and I can see the buds on the roses. I am SO excited to unwrap them and start adding compost! I put burlap around them for the winter - not for cold protection but DEER protection. I am afraid to unwrap them since I haven't installed the auto sprinklers that scare the beasts away. They freeze up at night. But this weekend I am taking the plunge!!!

Because of my soil, many of my roses are in containers. I asked a friend of mine the other day, who stole October? where had it gone? Then she pointed out that because of the continuing drought, that I had spent about a month more doing nothing but watering. True to form, yesterday, before we went for Thanksgiving dinner, I spent the day watering again (the soil is also bone dry now). A friend of mine in Kansas is closing her plant nursery because of the drought. The stock animals and the wild animals are in bad shape. So what does my DH choose to show last night after dinner. A taped recording of Ken Burns the "Dust bowl"....... The drought will end one day, but until then do what you can to save the plants. I was told once that droughts go in groups of 3 years, 7 years and 10 years. Let's hope it's the 3 year cycle this time.....Maryl

Sammy, colors can be so powerfully evocative, and that's probably why the rules don't always apply. Your history is not my history, but some experiences are universal to all humanity, and that's when colors can tell a story. Pair up blue and green, and you've created an oasis of tranquility. Pink with orange, playful and fun. Red and yellow, hot, hot, hot. In the Garden of Forgotten Dreams I wanted to create a magical world, an abandoned garden -- long forgotten and overgrown. The experience: a reawakening, hazy like a half-remembered dream. Rich with memories of laughter and tears. I groped for colors that were dreamy and harmonious; neighbors on the color wheel that would play well together in a quiet way. No blaring trumpets to jar the journey's dreamlike state. I used the deep burgundy-red of Tradescant for love and loss and soulful introspection. The chalky pink of Alnwick, not unlike white lipstick over pink lips; redolent of warm sand under bare feet, sun-pinked cheeks, and girlish giggles. And then Carding Mill with its pinky-apricot dash of impish fun, like the high-pitched squeals and laughter of children scampering through the garden in a round of hide-and-seek. The result of this color triad: exactly what I hoped for. For me, color is always a part of the story. And the most moving part? When you recognize the experience is shared. . . . . . 
Visits to Humpty Dumpty House on facebook are much appreciated during this difficult time. If you like what we do, please give us a page "like". This simple act can help us get the gardens and our work back up and running during my absence due to an injury. ~Thank you! https://www.facebook.com/HumptyDumptyHouse Facebook for Humpty Dumpty House

Rugosa's are a good example (not all of them). Much like the invasive orange daylily they send roots that roots that are thick and can go far from the original plant to come up and start a new plant. Had one that in its second year I noticed little rugosa's coming up some 5 feet from the mother I pulled and dug a little and it ran back to the mother plant. Mom was removed along with all the babies. Ramblers do this also by increasing quickly closer to the plant ( I think ).