My rowan tree in the back garden was a seedling from one of my father-in-law’s trees that I planted over thirty years ago. With its pink berries it survives well into winter when my red berried variety is stripped bare by all the blackbirds in the neighbourhood.

A year ago it was dead, deceased, done. I very nearly chopped it down. Now, like Lazarus, it has risen again, soaring above my apple tree, a climbing frame for “Clematis Winter Beauty”. Never give up the ghost. Give them a season.

As to names, I haven’t a clue truthfully. There’s a new variety on sale called “Pink Pagoda” with clusters of berries like a grapevine. But it doesn’t rise from the dead.

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