My mom was no kind of gardener. I remember a few houseplants and bulbs that she may or may not have put in herself (doubtful) but mostly anything that lived in the landscape around our house were hearty perennials that thrived on plenty of rain and virtual neglect.
In the spring my mom would send me out to cut branches of forsythia with it's playful yellow blossoms for cut flowers in the house. I remember tacking the willowy branches and thinking how silly it was to bring them inside where the flowers dropped down days later. I didn't know it then but I loved the rangy, wildness of those unruly bushes.
It's funny how even now -- several years past grown up -- when I think of plants I'd like to have I still think back to that rag tag collection by our fence -- flowering dogwood, daffodils, and bright yellow forsythia like this young shrub just outside our dining room window. Who knows -- I might just bring some branches inside.