During summers when I was young, we lived at the foothills of Burleson Mountain, edged by pines that rose skyward toward the mountaintop, hidden behind these green giants were caves. Below the mountain a rich southern greenery grew, it covered buildings, fences, tried to climb up the side of the cliffs. The fields only escaped because the “field hands” chopped at it daily around the cotton, corn and sugarcane.
Visitors driving through would take pictures and if you heard them talk, it was an amazing plant and they marveled at how it covered sheds, houses and barns. This kind of thinking usually came from “Yankee’s”; to a Southerner it was a pest that would not go away.
The vine attaches itself to anything, not being particular. It is worthless, you cannot eat it, Southerners tried and it grows so close to whatever it covers that it does not even make a decent shade. Yet, it does have its own beauty as its greenery cascades over the side of the rocky cliffs and caves.
Oh well, it does add beauty to the sides and tops of tarpaper shacks scattered throughout the South. People who live in the South have made their peace with the dark green plant called Kudzu; they understand its fight to survive. It is engrained deep in the South’s history and when a Southerner thinks of Kudzu their thinking of Dixie.
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