Monday, March 30, 2009
This forsythia put out a mere two yellow blossoms the spring after I transplanted it to Rockaway. It started out in a feta-cheese barrel in Astoria, spent a season in Little Italy, and here it is now. There are gardeners who, in such a tiny yard (two square yards, actually), would not give so much space to a plant that blooms so briefly, but that first yellow is worth it to me after the winter. It ignites the spectrum.
I hope the forsythia will set an example for the wisteria, which bloomed for the first time last Labor Day, out of season: a single fragrant chain of an indescribable color for which there is no precise word that doesn't rely on some other flower (violet, lavender, lilac, heather, hyacinth, hydrangea ...). It's a well-established plant: the vine climbs over the roof and leaps to the house next door, and its roots snake under the house and shoot up on the other side. That freak late-summer blossom came after I had cut the vine back, so this spring I pruned severely, hoping to scare it into wisterical bloom.