The last time I was drove south, the kudzu was but just brown, hard vines curled like steel wire around telephone poles and trees. I didn’t get to see it all green and lush so, when I passed one of those kudzu valleys, somewhere in Virgina, I was dumbfounded by how utterly beautiful it was and how heavy it must be to the living things it consumes. The trees looked as if they were drowning.

Kudzu crept into my dreams when I started reading southern literature of questionable merit at 14, 15 years of age. I heard William Christenberry tell his stories about the crawling plant. Seeing it with my own eyes, however, that was fantastic.

I exclaimed wildly about kudzu on my drive through Virigina, via text message to A. He said to me “Yeah there’s a reason they thought it’d be a good idea to plant” and after traipsing through it a few times in the early morning light to make some pictures, I totally saw why. It’s blossoms were sweet smelling and though I know it’s a menace, it’s hard to ignore just how gorgeous it is.

There is not much else to be said about this  plant, with it’s long hanging tendrils and fat leaves that hasn’t already been said. It’s beautiful and weird and mean and lovely.

Comments are closed.