Forsythia

 I have learned in nearly twenty five years of marriage that it is not a good idea to rush my husband into precipitate action.  That is why we have two forsythia bushes sitting in capacious blue supermarket planters on our front drive.  They are waiting to go into the two holes in the front shrubbery that he dug last week.  

In a replay of our gardening days we went around the corner to J's house on Monday and he dug up two good sized ones and a further two that J had chopped away at.  This happens when we are minded to dispose of a plant we don't like but J refrained from the final blow and these latter are destined to be hidden the wildlife glade in the park.

The weather on Monday also reminded us of the occasions when we had a fine period to accomplish a task.  The wind blew continuously, soughing in the trees, but the rain did not come until my husband had tidied up, cleaned the paving stones, patched in bits of turf and helped J to load the bushes wrapped in a plastic sheet into the back of her car.  J offered to pay us but we declined.

Then it was home and into the two blue pots he had prepared earlier.  The aim is gradually to replace the wind-scorched yellow privet at the front with forsythia - both the full grown ones we acquired this week and the cuttings we took from the bushes  we planted behind the shed in the glade when we arrived.  Had we thought, back then in 2014, we could have re-used the rather straggly forsythia that was growing along the wall where we now have our blackcurrants grown from cuttings.  But then, as J remarked, we were not to know that.