For the first few days that Chinese wisteria is in bloom every year along Piney Woods Church, I find myself guiltily enjoying its decadent bluish-purple blooms with their almost intoxicatingly sweet scent. But as time goes on, and the wisteria keeps blooming and blooming, I notice that it is everywhere I look, draping the trees and shrubs in thick curtains. The blooms on each flower head seem to crowd each other out, vying for my attention, practically demanding that I notice their vigor and profusion. And if there are so many flowers, then what about all the seeds? Wisteria begins to take on a more sinister tone; there is a dark side to its abundant gaiety. And by the time the last flower petals finally fall in another week or so, I will be ready to see them go. About a month later, my humble native wisteria vine that I planted in the front yard will produce a scattering of blossoms, and my appreciation for the genus will be born again.
