I went out yesterday to turn the compost and ended up moving the entire pile and planting a grove of forsythia in its place.
You see, early on in my garden's existence, Mama gave me a small truckload of forsythia from the thicket along her fence. She was glad to be rid of it, as she had neither the sun nor space for them. I had a plenitude of both, having recently bought a house with a backyard that looked like the outfield at the Polo Grounds.
I originally planted the forsythia along the fence at regular intervals, in between the staid arborvitae, but it never worked. Forsythia are too wild and unrestrained to be placed in an orderly line, and they always looked about as happy there as a four year-old in church.
So finally, I dug them up. Even in the Outfield, finding a place for eleven forsythia is not the easiest thing to do. They are a welcome harbinger of spring when they bloom, but are rather undistinguished the rest of the year. The best thing to do with these plants is put them off in an area by themselves where they can go wild, not annoy anybody, and where they can serve a purpose--like hiding that metal thing that the phone company doesn't like me digging around.
They have their own little grove now, and are happily drinking in all of this much-needed rain!