07/01/2007

The View from Sunnybank

Polygonum grows like stink!

By Dee Blair
Local columnist
dblair@
voyager.net

Read Dee's past columns here
Read Dee's Good Dirt blog

Ahh…My feet and arms ache from balancing precariously on a tall, unsteady stepladder to amputate long, strong tendrils oozing from the mile-a-minute vine (a.k.a silver lace), parked in the alley.

It has effortlessly climbed the fence, and is peering into the garden from two feet higher than the eight-foot-tall fence railing. Polygonum aubertii is a right stinker. It manages to grow so fast I can't keep up with it. Just four days ago I did this job, and already it wants doing again. When I feed the nearby roses, I try not to let it have a taste, but somehow it manages to grow at a shocking speed, just from licking the crumbs.

Visitors entering the garden encounter it blanketing the long arbor, but growth is slower there. Yellowing leaves indicate annoyance; that location offers less sun. (Sweet autumn Clematis would love it, but I'd have to wait three years for it to establish, and really embrace the place. Hmmm…)

Alley-Poly's leaves are a rich green, even though I sometimes forget to water it. No bugs seem interested in dedicated munching. I speculate they worry they might explode, as it just keeps a-growin'.

Insects don't dawdle on leaves, either, because they won't be in familiar territory in five minutes. Diseases wandering by are usually too slow to worry it; only its annoyed minder stands between Poly and world conquest. (What a heady thought, think I, snapping my pruners; everyone likes to feel important.)

Today Poly had seized the huge alley Miscanthus zebra grass nearby, twining around its high blades with a grip that defied my attempts to tear it away. I snarled with frustration, pulled hard, then jerked fiercely, but alas! Dying, that tendril took the eight-foot grass blade with it. Poly makes pythons look bad.

Last year it nearly split the fence's corner pillar top. Today, from the ladder, I noticed a deep crack where it had oozed through and expanded, straining wooden seams to the breaking point. Furthermore, it had romped along and over the neighbor's fence, and clambered into his little ornamental tree. I had to go over there last fall and carefully unwind the wretched vine, muttering threats: I'd kill it dead! I Had The Power!

It ignored me.

This year I'm determined not to let it gallop away. But I wouldn't bet on my success.

Does all this whining sound familiar? (Remember the wisteria?)

Why DO I keep it?

Well, shucks. Poly turns softly feminine about August, producing innumerable tiny white, perfumed flowers along her enormous length. She's simply alive with bees, who learn what impossible means as they try to sample every glorious blossom. I can go right up to them and practically peer into their storage pouches without being stung. They're drunk with delight, getting an outrageous buzz from all that hundred-proof pollen.

Weeks later, in late September, Poly mimics snow as the billion exhausted petals flutter to the ground, coating the area. Throughout winter her bare, voluminous, tangled honey-colored stems blanket a great expanse of alley fence top, collecting snowflakes in enchanting designs amid nature's white mantle. From the kitchen, she's a gasper, a 10 on a scale of 1 to 10.

In spring, I chop her down to a skinny stump, leaving perhaps three feet of naked, cigar-thick sticks. Whoosh! She's off for another frantic season of fun in the sun.

When people ask me why I put myself through all the upkeep Poly requires, I quote one child's comment, which sums it up perfectly: "Mrs. B., that big vine sure looks 'n' stinks nice!”

Yep.

Dee Blair's private Traverse City secret garden at Sunnybank (325 Sixth St.) is often open to visitors daily from around 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. It's best to check the sign to be sure, or if planning a group visit, call ahead (231-929-4351) to avoid disappointment. She can be reached care of the Record Eagle, or via e-mail at dblair@voyager.net. Also, see her blog, which often elaborates on columns, at blogs.record-eagle.com.