The Cry of a Strangler, “Feed Me, Seymour!”

Photo by Will Cook 2007

I know plants. My grandfather was a horticulturist and taught me so many valuable lessons about them. I know plants. I took college courses on Plant Propagation and Introduction to Horticulture. I DO know plants. I worked with two horticulturists on a multitude of gardening jobs. Yes, of course, I know plants. I am a trained  master gardener who worked  in two garden centers and started her own small, perennial gardening business: The Petal Pusher. So why did I plant Trumpet Vine (Campsis radicans) in my garden? Why? WHY?

Hmm . . . I do recall trying to lure the hummingbirds to the garden. Yes, I remember it well. But I must have forgotten a garden I worked in one summer where the sneaky, Jafar-of-sorts strangler snaked underneath the pool to the side garden thumbing its nose at the marble, tile and concrete it had bypassed. Yeah, I must’ve forgotten how vigorous it can be.

Now this Dick Dastardly, Cruella de Vil (it’s so evil it must be asexual) of a plant has curled itself around one of my tallest Eastern Red Cedars–I try hacking it down at the base but it seems to have turned epiphytic! I find it’s bright red tendril tips poking through the lawn, through the garden beds, and see those tubular flowers atop a 30-foot cedar–what next–the parking lot across the street?

©Teresita Abad Doebley All rights reserved 2009-2011.

Quote of the Day for YOU: Hatred is one long wait.   ~Rene Maran


8 thoughts on “The Cry of a Strangler, “Feed Me, Seymour!”

  1. Good grief! One of my neighbors planted one and it wrapped itself around his home, the shrubs in front of his home and the electrical poles on the street, you name it… Funny that I so wanted to plant it in my garden but it refused to thrive… Phew. I was saved by nature. 🙂

  2. I have to hand it to you garden folk. I’ve never raised one and after reading of this plant and its big fat ego and razor sharp cunning, I think I’ll stick to indoor plants from here on out.

  3. I too am amazed by its tenacity. The day I found it peaking through the vent in my first floor sewing room was memorable.

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