My garden is disappearing under Bindweed! Last year my neighbour’s landlord cut down a tree. The contractors did not complete the job and left the branches in their garden. There’s nothing my neighbour can do until the branches are removed. Bindweed is adaptation in action, a garden thug!
Bindweed was always present but now it’s covered everything, spreading into my garden. I periodically have a go at it, fill my wheelie bin, turn around to view my handiwork and it’s already grown back …
Adaptation
At least it seems this way. I hate Bindweed with every fibre of my being because it’s developed an evolutionary strategy. It spreads by long tendrils. You pull on them and a mile or 2 emerges from the undergrowth. It’s brittle, so when it breaks some is left behind out of reach. When it encounters something, it climbs and twists around it. My plants get tangled with it.
On top of that it has hideous blousy flowers that people without taste or sense, deem beautiful. I’ve no idea whether it produces seeds or flowers just to be annoying. My theory is there’s only one, so every time you see it, it’s the same plant. Once we all become extinct through climate change, it’ll be there with the cockroaches and the rats.
What Bindweed is Not
It’s Latin name is Calystegia and not Convolvulus as many believe. The former is a word that can be invoked in lieu of swear words when pulling up the dratted thing.
Convolvulus on the other hand is a smaller, more delicate plant, often found in parks and countryside. It’s a smaller flower with a pink tinge. Presumably it avoids gardens to avoid being beaten up by Calystegia. The photo is close to the variety I mean.
This is the third in a series of stories about flowers. The last one was about Michaelmas Daises and the next is: Roses.