Certainly by this point in June everyone has seen plenty of examples of lush, blooming, boisterous hydrangeas. I’d include a photo but they’re just so commonplace–almost dull. I thought I’d take a different tack. 

I’m proud to have the best example of a dead hydrangea on display in my yard as I am completely responsible for its recent move and, not unrelated, recent demise. Until last week it lived a stressful life in a raised bed where it was getting way too much sun and demanding much too much water to look only so-so, so I decided it had to find a new home. Any resemblance to the long drawn out process of encouraging my mother to move from her large home to somewhere else is completely coincidental. For the record, my mother does not demand too much water.

That shrub was the hardest damned thing I”ve ever dug up. It held on for dear life. I think it had a bad feeling.  It knew I was too willing to pull the plug. And pull and pull and heave and hoe and dig and pull some more. After about twenty minutes digging around this sucker I really thought I would have to give up and go for the clippers. But it finally gave up the ghost and I was able to transplant it to a shadier spot on one of the hottest days in a string of disgustingly hot days. I watered it for three days and it went from looking bad to worse. Bloom where you are planted, I implored. Die where I am dug was its response.

Here's hoping I get better results transplanting my mother