Morrow’s Honeysuckle, it’s Complicated
Morrow’s Honeysuckle, pruned as a topiary. Credit: Amy Gastelum
I hate the way Morrow’s Honeysuckle doesn’t play fair. This invasive shrub is one of the first plants to emerge in spring, building her reserves before anyone else, then shading others out. As if that weren’t selfish enough, she then squirts a chemical into the ground around her which prevents other plants from growing. Rude.
Because of the way she takes over, her introduction from Japan by Dr. James Morrow in 1852 as an ornamental is responsible for the loss of diversity in so many forest understories here in the eastern and midwestern U.S., blasting our native ecology down the line from plant to insect to bird to mammals. She’s bad, ya’ll. And she doesn’t care. You’ve probably seen her all perky in April like, ‘what?’
But it’s hard not to admire her tenacity, her aggression, and good gracious, her smell. She’s clever and adaptive, thriving in nearly every soil type, sun or shade. She tricks the birds into eating her bright but nutritionally empty berries, spreading her seed in their poo. She also spreads underground by rhizomes, making her a worthy opponent.
I cut down a thicket of Morrow’s Honeysuckle as one of the first tasks I took on in my own garden after I bought my house years ago. At first, I took a handsaw and loppers to her before I got brave enough to buy a small, electric chainsaw - a choice that forever changed my life and how I feel about power. Now that the shrubs are out and the stumps are ground, I practice constant maintenance through mowing, pulling seedlings and chopping at the neighbor’s bushes that push through the fence on two sides of my property. Our relationship is contentious and consistent. I know what to expect from her and she laughs at me, popping up all the time, everywhere.
Morrow’s Honeysuckle is hated thoroughly by eco groups, University extension programs and gardners.The Woody Invasives of the Great Lakes Collaborative provides easy to understand resources for how to identify and remove invasive plants in our region. I deeply enjoyed this video they linked to about bush honeysuckle from the University of Wisconsin- Madison mostly because Brendon’s sideburns are unmatched.
To be fair, this shrub, which I include in a group I refer to as fascist plants (along with wintercreeper and callery pear trees) also covers little chickadees who only see shade and a branch. This is arguably better than a paved parking lot for them, plus Morrow’s Honeysuckle admittedly exchanges gases like any plant, trading oxygen for carbon dioxide. They are one of the earliest flowers in the spring to provide nectar for bees.
Given all of that it’s probably not fair to call them fascist plants, because fascism doesn't do any of that. Real Fascism is a far right, authoritarian political ideology characterized by a dictatorial leader, centralized autocracy, militarism, forcible suppression of opposition, belief in a natural social hierarchy, subordination of individual interests for the perceived interest of the nation or race, and strong regimentation of society and economy.
If I see Morrow’s Honeysuckle in my garden, I kill it, but allow me for a moment to complicate my relationship to the shrub further. The truth is, my first memories of being happy in a garden include building a bomb ass fort I made in these weedy shrubs with my older sister, Tina. Our mom was a driven, brilliant and busy single parent so we spent hours outside in a thicket of this invasive, weedy plant growing in our backyard in Enid, Oklahoma.
In early spring, we used to pull off the blooms and bite the back off so we could taste the sweet pinprick of nectar. This year, I showed my four-year-old that trick. When he tasted it, he looked up with sudden surprise - the emotional opportunity we needed so that he could fully download the information that came next: that tiny drop of nectar is what all the bees are collecting! That is why they run from flower to flower and that is the base ingredient of honey! Mind blown.
The fort Tina and I built in the shrubs was a secret hideout and so there was a password, of course, gendered bathrooms (even though no boys ever came over), a kitchen, and bedrooms. There were roles and responsibilities and strict rules about behavior. Tina, being the oldest, brought most of these concepts into our play. Apparently, we had a lot to process. I’m not sure the play ever helped us understand why in real life, the boys on the playground wouldn’t let us be ninja turtles like them and insisted that, because we were girls, we would have to play April O’Neal. You remember April (or maybe you don’t), she was the plucky red headed reporter in a skin tight yellow jumpsuit whose only job was to write stories about the teenaged turtles’ adventures. Even typing that now I am frowning.
I feel disdain for Morrow's Honeysuckle’s rude and biologically devastating takeover, but I can’t entirely separate that from the positive memories of having a green canopy overhead and bare soil for our free movement as small children below. It was a thicket of sweetly scented, lush, hardy shrubs that no one was precious about and I’m grateful they were there for us.
I still attack Morrow’s Honeysuckle with furor in my garden, and I can think of a dozen alternative hardy, eco-friendly shrubs that children could play under, but it made me smile when on a recent walk around the neighborhood I saw that someone had turned this weed bush into a pruned topiary. It is both ridiculous and understandable and I love a complicated scene.
If you are interested in engaging your garden but want someone to bat ideas around with or you have questions about tools, safety in the garden, local resources for materials, hardscaping, or native plant resources hit me up. I work with garden DIYers who want affirmation or instruction. I’d be happy to walk with you on your journey to understanding your plants and your site so you can make exactly what you want, even if it’s a thicket of Morrow Honeysuckle so you can make a bomb ass fort. No judgement. ;)
