Cotoneasters do not transplant easily. And it’s not like I don’t know that. Google “cotoneasters” and you will read this over and over again. It’s not one of those conservative gardening rules either. People attest to it in forums, and I myself know it’s a fact because I transplanted (i.e. killed) three a few years ago. I even have photos of the withered carcasses to prove that it was not a figment of my imagination.

But still I’m transplanting the cotoneasters.

And it’s not like it’s an easy transplant. First, I have to build a new bed. At the edge of the yard. Where the rich dirt that grows our lawn tapers off to native soil so arid and rocky that I bent a tine of the garden fork. Where my nemesis the creeping buttercup is so dense that I have to patiently pull up its pernicious roots. Where the garden hose doesn’t reach unless I drag out the 100ft extension.

But still I’m transplanting the cotoneasters.

And it’s not like the cotoneasters aren’t doing well where they are. If anything, they’re doing too well. I’d envisioned their lovely, arching branches filling the space beneath the tall bedroom window. That they did—and then some. Not a hint of fireblight either.

But still I’m transplanting the cotoneasters.

And it’s not like I know what I’m planting in the empty spot that will be left under the window. So, in all likelihood, that very conspicuous spot will be very conspicuously empty most of this year while I wait for inspiration as to what to plant there and finally throw up my hands and say, “I should never have moved those cotoneasters!”

But still I’m transplanting the cotoneasters.