The wicked wisteria vine finally redeemed itself. We were disappointed in its blooming for three years, beginning with the year we bought the house. You’ll say I expected too much of it. You could be right, since it wasn’t due to bloom for another month that first time. I watched for blooms the next year and saw none. Last year there were a few miserable little clusters hanging on the underside, like they were hiding. I had it in for that invasive plant. It frothed green all summer and looked like bare bones the rest of the year. All it was good for was taunting me to trim it. Murder was in my heart. I wrote about it five times last year, none of it complimentary. It grabbed neighbor Logan’s airplane, attacked an innocent butterfly bush, mocked me when former neighbor Amy added a nice bench and a lovely birdbath under it, and exploded in wild growth whenever I wasn’t looking. Oh, yes! I had it in for that creeping monster. This year buddy, this year OR ELSE.
I looked at the wisteria and walked outside to examine it. There were suspicious growths on the ends of sticks. Five blooms came out, followed by a hundred or so the next few days. I’m not going to recant. I meant every ugly thing I said about it, but I’m willing to put that in the past. John and I are looking out the kitchen window whenever we pass and commenting on its beauty. The final blessing came when a rainbow arched over it.