We have a trumpet vine that forms an arbor over our front entry way. In the summer it is lovely. But behind its summer beauty is a hidden agenda.
It is trying to eat our house. The branches don’t reach for the sun … oh no … they reach for the house. It’s as though they are drawn to cedar shake shingles as some exotic delicacy.
Each spring we go out to do battle with the monster that our trumpet vine has become. It sits out there looking like a cocky rock star with too much gel in its hair.
But after an hour’s work we have it looking like an Army recruit with all of its gnarly locks piled high in the wheelbarrow.