There are many signs that the season is changing but none tell me that summer has ended as sweetly as the hydrangea.

Around here, big old tree hydrangeas are a pretty common sight. In mid-August, they bloom with great, white, puffy heads that are made up of hundreds of indvidual blossoms. Then, in early September, the petals begin to turn until by the end of September the blooms are a dark pink.

I love how at the beginning, they droop heavily in thick, abundant clusters but then by the end as they desiccate into roseate and russet, they are light and fragile-- perfect for a bouquet of dried flowers. (Although I never do dried flower arrangements anymore since in feng shui it is "sha" energy).

Our house didn't have a hydrangea. We had tons of old lilacs and forsythia that someone had planted years and years ago-- but no hydrangea. So, I planted two bushes in the front yard and waited for the magic to begin. And waited. And waited. In about the fourth year, T asked if he could dig them out because they looked lousy.

"No," I said. "They're growing."

"They're not growing and they don't look right," he said.

But the hydrangeas stayed. For eight years. NEVER growing.

So last June, as we were doing our version of "Curb Appeal" in an effort to get the house ready for sale, T took it upon himself to dig out the two bushes and put them together into one hole in the corner by the driveway.

I watched his misguided efforts with the tremendous scorn only a pseudo gardener can muster. Pah. Moving bushes in Spring--- they will die within a week. Feh. Putting them near the driveway. They will surely languish. But, I shrugged, we were moving and he was doing the curb appeal and I would let him learn the hard way.

And yes, as you all guessed paragraphs ago, how they BLOOMED as they have never blooomed before. How they THRIVED in their new location. They never looked as strong and healthy as they did this summer.

But it's okay. I do love me some crow.

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