It always takes me a few weeks to get up the guts to snip the first roses when they come back in the spring. I know very well that they will be growing out of my ears and armpits come summer, but the first ones seem so fragile, like they are struggling to find the strength and courage to appear, hoping to be greeted by the sun, but always risking the unpredictable spring weather which could turn cold and swipe the life right out of them. Therefore, the first roses of spring are safe from the snippers in my yard. Brave souls they are, the ambassadors, the scouts--sent to test the waters for the rest of the roses who are just waiting for the signal that the coast is clear. "The coast is clear! The sun is up! It's gonna be a beautiful Spring, come on out everyone!" And they deserve to reign on high once they have spread their daring petals to worship the blazing sun.
The first ones. Anything after that is fair game.