This twenty-year-old clematis can still kick 'en out!
At the bottom of the fence you can see this year's crop of Morning Glory coming up. Give it another month and you won't see the fence.
I am a notorious gardener. I don't enjoy scrabbling in the dirt and pretty much everything remotely delicate in constitution withers away when counciled for lacklustre performance of duty by the old infantry sergeant.
I do take comfort in some level of neatness and colour, though, and this particular clematis continues to stand proud, as do a couple hardier varieties of rose bush and the fence of Morning Glory. In early spring there are yellow, white, red, and black tulips from Holland; gifts in the division colours of the 101st in remembrance of the Market Garden drops.
Anything that requires a gentler hand falls into the purview of the Lady of the Manor; I am only permitted to admire them quietly and from a safe distance. Grin!