Now I’m a sorry gardener, but I’m not a pathetic one. And it was colder than usual this winter, but not that much colder. Regardless, I seem to have killed the butterfly bush.

How’d that happen? It’s basically just a big weed—and the little weeds all survived. It’s a shame to lose it, too, because the butterfly bush was one of the few plants that grew in the rocky hill bed. Last summer it was huge and towered over the foxgloves like Medusa with its arching branches and bright purple blooms splayed every which way. Now not so much.

I did cut back some broken branches from the ridiculous amount of snow we got in December. But I wasn’t concerned because it’s a butterfly bush. And then I did prune a bunch of deadwood after the big cold snap in March. But I wasn’t concerned because it’s a butterfly bush. And then I did hack on it some more in April because it looked so terrible from the other prunings—like when I trim my bangs and can’t get them quite right and keep snipping and snipping. But I wasn’t concerned because it’s a butterfly bush.

And now there’s just that one little sprout. Go, sprout, go! I can’t believe I killed the butterfly bush.