The Return of the Honeysuckle

Flowers

It's Back! 

Some plants become part of the identity of a house. Not in a grand estate-garden sort of way, but in the quiet, lived-in way where you stop noticing them because they simply belong there. Honeysuckle was one of those plants here at 173.

For years we had a honeysuckle climbing along the side of the oriel. In summer it softened the lines of the house, and every now and then the breeze carried that unmistakable sweet smell through the yard.

And then one day it was gone.

I still remember the evening we noticed it. We were sitting down to dinner when I looked outside and asked, “What’s wrong with the honeysuckle?” Practically overnight it looked tired and gray. Within a short time, it was dead.

A couple years later we tried again with another honeysuckle. That one didn’t make it either. Gardening has a way of humbling you like that.

But apparently we still believe in honeysuckle.

So this week we brought home a new one.

The plan is to plant it next to the back gate where it can grow up and over the trellis. Once everything fills in during summer, that area already feels a little secret-garden-ish, and I can picture the vine softening the wood and weaving across the top.

Digging

Even small planting projects become productions. First there’s the plant itself. Then there's the digging.  Sometimes the digging can take a bit, but this time if was pretty easy.

Anyway, first, we took out a bed of day lilies and yellow bearded irises.

Thankfully, one of our neighbors is always interested in flowers we're removing, which happens on occasion. Always happy to give them away rather than tossing them out. 

Then it's was time to just start digging, the post-hole digger, which was one of the best investments made here at 173 a couple decades ago, made pretty quick work of it!

Then we mixed in some organic fertilizer because the soil could always be “a little better..."

And just like that... she was in the ground, ready to start growing!

Oh... And This is What We Got!

The honeysuckle itself was reasonably priced, about $43, but gardening has a way of making the supporting cast cost more than the starring role.

There’s always optimism in planting something new. You stand there dirty and tired while imagining what the space might look like three or four summers from now.

The new arrival is an Alabama Crimson Honeysuckle Vine, technically Lonicera sempervirens ‘Alabama Crimson’. It’s a native cultivar, which appealed to us because over the years we’ve tried to make the yard at 173 a little friendlier to birds, bees and pollinators whenever possible.

The bright crimson trumpet-shaped flowers are favorites of hummingbirds and butterflies, which alone makes it worth trying again.

A Little Honeysuckle History

Historically speaking, honeysuckle has been around gardens for centuries. The name comes from the sweet nectar hidden inside the blossoms, something generations of kids sampled by pulling the flowers apart for a tiny drop of sweetness. European varieties were often planted near cottages and gates, and in Victorian flower language honeysuckle symbolized affection and devotion.

Of course, not all honeysuckles have the best reputation these days. Some imported varieties became invasive in parts of the United States, which is one reason native coral honeysuckles like this Alabama Crimson variety have become more popular.

Nostalgic... Fits Right In

One thing I’ve always liked about honeysuckle is that it feels slightly old-fashioned. It belongs in the same category as lilacs, peonies and climbing roses; plants tied to memory and old neighborhoods.

That feeling comes up a lot around here at 173.

Over the years I’ve written about backyard paths, old garden projects and the strange way a yard slowly becomes connected to memory itself. None of it was professionally landscaped. Most of it happened one small project at a time with leftover materials, modest budgets and spur-of-the-moment ideas. Somehow those are the projects that end up meaning the most.

Honeysuckle

The smell hit me before the memory did.

Wild honeysuckle growing beside a roadside ditch,

sweet in the evening heat,

and suddenly I was a boy again...

barefoot behind Grandma’s house,

knees dirty from gravel,

standing in that narrow alley

where the fence leaned crooked

under all those vines.

We’d pull the blossoms slow,

pinch the stem just right

until one drop of sweetness rose up clear.

That was enough back then.

Cicadas grinding in the trees.

A screen door slamming somewhere down the block.

Grandma moving around in the kitchen

with supper on the stove

and dishwater running.

The alley stayed damp after rain.

Broken brick.

Trash cans rusting in the weeds.

Nothing special.

Just summer.

Still, I remember the way evening settled there,

slow and warm,

like it had nowhere else it needed to be.

Years later,

I caught that same smell again

walking past a ditch at the edge of a parking lot.

And for a minute

the whole tired machinery of adulthood

went quiet.

I could almost hear Grandma calling me home.

The house is gone now.

Probably the fence too.

But every summer the honeysuckle comes back,

climbing whatever it can reach,

blooming out along roadsides and fences

whether anybody notices it or not.

There’s something comforting in that.

The way certain things in this world

keep returning

without asking permission.

GBS, 2017

So now the new honeysuckle joins the story.

Right now it’s still small enough it was fitting  comfortably in its nursery pot, but hopefully, in a few years, it’ll be climbing and wandering and making itself look like it was always meant to be there.

Here’s hoping this one decides to stay awhile.

Hey,  thanks for stopping by - see ya' next time!