Years ago I took a division of a shrub from my father's garden at my childhood home in Little Rock, Arkansas. This was just before he and my mother moved to a new house. He called it a dogwood, but I have yet to find a dogwood like it. It looks like a Mock Orange to me, but doesn't have a scent. It gets partial sun in my garden by the lower dining patio and as you can see it still blooms profusely. It has also grown to seven feet. He used to prune it down, but I have left mine to grow up and curve gracefully downward. Regardless of what it is, I'm happy to have it in my Northern garden now that my father is gone. It's a beautiful remembrance of the man from whom I inherited my green thumb.