Staring out the kitchen window this morning, I noticed the forsythiae blooming in the garden.  As has been the case for the past six or seven years at least, rather than the big blaze of color one hopes for, they have come out again in rayther half-hearted, anemic handfuls of yellow flowers.

My fellow port-swillers, I tell you truly that I am sick and tired of this hedge.  I know all about how forsythia blooms on new wood.  I have tried hogging it back in mid-spring, I have tried leaving it alone.  I have tried feeding it and I have tried not feeding it.  It’s not that the plants themselves aren’t healthy – they regularly grow to twelve feet and leaf out very thickly.   It’s just that come spring they just don’t seem to feel like putting any effort into flowering.

Bloody welfare cheats.

Pondering this lack of enthusiasm, I resolved that I am going to take sterner measures this year.  Usually, I’ve cut them back to a height of about four feet or so after they’ve finished blooming.  Evidently, this is not enough, so this time around I’m going to raze them right down to within a foot or two of their lazy-behinded root systems.

See if I don’t.

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