Field Note: Late Summer Loping Of Vines - OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!

Late summer is when the vines reveal their intentions.

The passion vine was a surprise.

WHAT A NICE SURPRISE!

I had wanted it. I had nurtured it. I had apparently failed to explain what I meant by it.

By late August it was in the windmill, up the tulip tree, through the yew bush—

over the hills and through the woods, to Grandmother's house we go—

and still traveling.

Purple blooms looking backwards.

Look how far we have come! Won't Grandma be pleased!

I stood looking at it for a while because this was different from the other vines. I actually wanted this one.

And now it was trying to cross over the path.

It wanted the WHOLE area.

The wisteria I'm used to acting like this. And it requires constant negotiation with my husband, who would prefer that none of it remain.

I'll never understand a Southerner's distaste for a vine that is resilient, stubborn, and always threatening to dominate.

It's like football in the garden.

I would prefer that some of it remain. The wisteria, naturally, prefers that all of it remain, plus additional wisteria.

This negotiation continues annually.

English ivy receives its own such consideration.

Once a year I buzz-cut it back into the ranks.

Hup two three four.

You live here.

Not there.

HERE.

The passion vine, though.

What to do with the passion vine?

It was beautiful. It was vigorous. It was flowering. It was also apparently attempting to connect every vertical object on the property into a single transportation network.

Then I remembered the wisteria.

Trim with confidence.

That was the answer.

Keep what is beautiful. Keep what is wanted. Keep enough wildness that the vine still gets to be a vine.

But the tulip tree does not belong to you.

The yew is not an annex.

The windmill is not public transportation.

Over the hills and through the woods—

SNIP.

Not today.

There is a particular pleasure in the late-summer garden when you finally stop asking every plant what it needs and begin informing certain plants where they live.

The passion vine may stay.

WHAT A NICE SURPRISE!

But it will need to learn the property lines.

SNIP!

Hey! What about Grandmother's house?

Not today, you rascals.

Off with your heads! says the Queen.

She wanted red roses, not white, and she wanted....

Well.

She wanted the milkweed beetles and whatever boring-whatever-it-was to have been less inclined to digest her sunflowers and butterfly weed.

But we have pretty purple flowers! Look at our display!

Every six feet of vine, yes.

And you pulled over the arbor, pulled down a feeder, and I'm scared of where to step when leaving the porch.

You don't appreciate a pretty and passionate thing when you see it.

SNIP!

Passion will be there in the morning.

Haircut now.