I remember my parents ripping yards and yards of morning glory vines out of our fence and from around our mailbox when I was a child. I never understood what they found so offensive about them. They said it was a weed, but I had seen seed packets in every color imaginable at the nursery. I get their frustration now, as I watch these intertwine their way around everything they can get ahold of and choke out my hastas and clematis. It's impossible to keep up with them, but I do allow them to grow between the slats of this gate, as long as they do not seal it closed again.
©2016 deborah gwinn . all rights reserved
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