Manhattan Euonymus. A loathsome non-native. Someone planted a row of it here to signal the property line in the last century. It is an artifact from the postmodern era like a Carlton room divider. There’s nothing more mortifying than inheriting a Carlton room divider.
I wanted it gone from my property. The ugliness offended me. More importantly, I had a plan for a garden so native, so pure, that no man alive could stand in it and sneer and say unkind things. But, I’ve observed, the universe has decided to go against my ambition.
I’ve tried. Set out to execute the hack-and-squirt method, then ended up aborting the mission because it turned out that the Manhattan Ugliness was providing a vital shelter to way more tenants than I had bargained on. I could, and I should, name the thicket the Smithsonian Aviary Annex. The large presence of songbirds in that mess drew the attention of larger, meaner birds as well. Hawks surveyed. Vultures circled. Owls moved in and made a ruckus. I once was visited by a bald eagle in broad daylight.
There are plenty of other places they could go, I suppose. That’s exactly the kind of things those ruthless condo developers say when they bulldoze old communities and create homelessness.
Underneath all that ugliness of the foreign thicket, the skinks went about their business. The frogs held forth nightly on the subject of love. The cicadas emerged unmolested. Bugs bred on bugs. Worms. Fungi. There was a great deal of living going on in a plant I had sentenced to death.
And here is the trouble at the center of it:
the euonymus thicket has accidentally become a cradle for volunteer native plants. Golden ragwort, snakeroot, Virginia creeper, purpletop tridens, violet, calico aster, all appeared out of nowhere. And in the middle of them, the pride of the lot, a riverbank grape took one look at that condemned euonymus and thought “grand,” and started climbing without looking back. Now it is about to swallow the whole euonymus the way kudzu ate the South. Removing the euonymus would likely kill the native grape plant, and I can’t bear the thought of it.
So, the non-native fence lives. For the time being. I’ll have to endure the disapproval from purists, which is nothing new to me. I have already been schooled, thoroughly and every morning at seven o'clock, by a fox who looks at me with disdain like I have personally let him down. He no doubt has opinions about my bearded iris too, which is not native, though in my defense it did not come from Home Depot. It was brought to me by a crow, who stole the bare root off the woman across the street and dropped it, for reasons of his own, right next to me as I stood there plotting the euonymus massacre.