A Plot to Save Miss Forsythia

Dear Miss Forsythia,

     It is my sad duty to inform you that you are standing in the way of progress. The surveyors have tied a red flag to your knobby arm; a sign that your are standing squarely on the rear corner of our property... right where Hubby plans to sink a fence post.
     You see, Dear Forsythia, our puppy Koda needs a fence. She has rope burns on her tender belly from chasing a Frisbee with a 25 -foot rope attached to her halter. And yes Forsythia, I too wish that she could run free; but she hasn't yet learned to play nicely with the neighbor dogs. (And though I don't tell her so, I secretly agree with Koda-pup that those neighbor dogs are a surly pack-deserving of a nip or two.)
     And so, my pretty yellow lady, I have tried to think of every way to save you from the pruner's blade. I've hatched a plan, but it's a risky scheme, and you'll have to work closely with me.  I've cleverly persuaded Hubby that it's too much work to dig you out by your roots. So I'll sneak out and take a few of your strongest lower branches-and bury them under the ground. We'll make sure the ends of them stick out above the dirt a few feet from where the fenceline runs. You'll keep very still for one whole year, and then next spring you'll make your move. Your shoots will suddenly come springing up just inside my fenceline! I'll call Hubby out and exclaim, "Oh look Dear! See how a new forsythia is growing in our yard...how lovely. Do you recall how terrible I felt when you cut down the old one?" And of course he'll let me keep you.
     Just ask Miss Pinky Clematis and English Ivy;  Lady Iris and that pretty old vintage climber, Rose. I saved them all from being whacked by a pair of Hubby's dull pruners; and I'll do the same for you.          
   Have faith, dear Forsythia.
   But you must be brave--very, very brave.

Your friend,

                                                      

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