Wisteria Hysteria

A friend of mine recently coined the phrase Wisteria Hysteria. I loved it. We have a love/hate relationship with these southern vines don’t we? I was talking with a lady recently about the first signs of spring in the low country. Honeysuckle, Wisteria and Jasmine. I told her I loved the smell of Wisteria. I was dumbfounded when she asked "Does it smell good?" Honeysuckle,the same thing. You have never experienced anything until you walk down a country road at dusk when the heat of the day has vaporized the droplets of the tubular Honeysuckle plant and a soft breeze wafts the heady aroma into your path. Pure Bliss. I imagine that it was this aromatic euphoria,aided by inebriation that caused Washington Irving's character Rip Van Winkle to drift into a twenty year induced sleep in the woods. Several years ago I visited a plant store in the spring. I purchase this non-assuming sprig, Wisteria Sinensis, winding up a 12 inch stick. Getting home I wind the little sprig through the post of the first stairway. It climbed like Jack's beanstalk. Second year,it topped the stairwell at 14 feet, I thread it back down. Third year,the steps are encased with heady purple blossoms and then the honey bee's come. Don is allergic to bees,so year three, Wisteria is gone. About a month later,we plant an arbor on the other side of house and Don landscapes a dog leg shaped garden. With all the tilling done and soil prepared we head to the plant store. Don walks by a potted flowering vine that smells delicious,he puts it into the buggy. The tag says Wisteria Sinensis, hmmm..where have I heard that plant name before? We plant it at the base of the arbor and it takes off. By the end of the summer it is covering the top. By the next spring, It bends the arbor and is shooting 20 foot into the air searching for another structure to climb onto. We can't drive the lawnmower through the arbor anymore. I come home one afternoon and the Ford f-150 is full of tangled arbor. A chain saw, pruners and a chain that looks like it should have a cargo ship anchor attached adorn the ground. Minutes later the chain is attached to the truck. The tires struggle for grip and tear into the lawn as Don tried to pull the Wisteria root from the ground. We never got to the bottom of it. Don pours root killer on it's nubby stump and hauls off the arbor and vine to the dump. The best smelling load of garbage in the landfill that day. Before we moved back to SC from NC two years ago, we were still cutting tendrils of hope sprouting from the Wisteria stump in search of new footing. I don't cut the grass anymore,smiling as the landscapers cranks up their mowers, hedge trimmers and blowers. I don't plant large gardens anymore,but enjoy fresh local veggies from local vendors at the Farmer's Market's. On a quiet evening not long ago I walked the wood's edged, grass path around the pond at the condominiums. A breeze sways the moss, tiny tendrils of purple are on the sandy pathway. There it is, Wisteria. Pines and oaks are wrapped with gnarly thick vines, deep purple flowers sprout from the maze in the dark swampy terrain. I stand for a few minutes with eyes closed and may have accidentally snorted a petal as I inhaled. I clip several of the clusters and bring them home to put them in vials of water and place by my bed for ~sweet dreams~ While reading in bed. Don comes in the room, sniffing the air. "What's that smell?" he asked. I point to the Wisteria. He lifts the vases. I watch the petals seek his nostrils. "You need to cut a lot more of those" he says. I smile.... I spy with my eye...Jasmine and Honeysuckle on the Vine...Next weeks bedside vase.