I got my Wisteria vine from a place near Evelyn Forrest’s cottage. It’s in the yard in Toccoa and I don’t think I will be able to move it again. I’m worried that it’s fate will not be a good one. It always blooms in the spring; but yesterday, I noticed there was a small bloom in the center of the vine, and I decided to take its photo. Evelyn loved Wisteria so I named this plant for her. (I’ve posted photos of it often.) I like to think she would enjoy having things named after her. For as long as I can remember, Wisteria roamed the hillside near her house on the Toccoa Falls College campus. In recent years, it has been removed— pulled out and cut down.
I rescued this small clipping from the hillside below her house in 2007 and planted it at my home in Atlanta. Then when I moved to Toccoa a little over three years ago, I dug it up and brought it with me. But now I’m back in Atlanta, and I think it’s getting too big to transplant. The root system is well established and besides it is back where it belongs. It’s home—in Toccoa. Recently as I carefully trimmed it for the last time, I fought back tears. “Such a silly thing!” I thought. “Why am I crying. It’s a plant—a bush—no feelings just a representation of something once deeply loved and deeply felt.” In walking away, I caught myself instructing it to “be strong and not to grow roots to China! “Don’t draw attention to yourself,” I said, “except in the Spring time when you can show off like mad!! Maybe then you will be able to escape the landscaping shovel or blade or whatever!”
I have no idea whether Evelyn will survive or not, but I know my memory of this vine and the stories surrounding it will linger for the rest of my life.