I spent a Saturday picking annuals and browsing bushes at the greenhouse. I came across False Spirea and liked it immediately. When I came home, I evaluated the plants in our front yard. They are out of proportion: two cedar bushes are overgrown and leggy, there are no medium plants to bridge their size to the small flowering annuals and perennials.

The cedar that has overgrown the low fence that frames our sidewalk will be cut down first and replaced with False Spirea. I like the way it fills out like Goatsbeard and Astilbe. Their flowers are a spray of white.

I’m grateful to the cedar for the time it served, for the greenery it provided in picture backdrops. I’m grateful for the fragrant smell of its branches as I cut them down one by one with pruning shears and fold them into paper bags.

I’m excited for the landscape change; “Why didn't I think of this before?” I chastise myself. Things come in their own time... at some point the diminishing returns of a thing you enjoyed are outpaced by the sum of critical glances that tip into disappointment and subtly sap your energy.

Still, I wanted to say, “Goodbye Mr. Cedar! We appreciated your stay.”