Watching TV

Several years ago I planted a trumpet vine seedling. There are times when I regret having done so, because this plant likes to take over the world. It propagates by sending its roots out in all directions and popping up another vine 15 or 20 feet away, that will grab onto any available structure and proceed to bury it under a profusion of greenery. For the rest of my life I will be hacking back trumpet vine, lest, like kudzu, it smothers every plant around.

If this vine possessed only this troublesome behavior, I would long ago have declared war and eradicated it—much as I succeeded in doing with poison ivy a few decades ago. But the trumpet vine has an endearing quality at this time of year: it blasts forth with the most gorgeous blossoms that attract hummingbirds and big ol' bumblebees.

Over the last couple of weeks I've had the pleasure of soaking in my outdoor tub and becoming fascinated by the beauty of the plant, while watching the antics of visiting hummingbirds. Unable to receive a TV signal out here in the woods—moreover unwilling to have it intrude into our peace and quiet—I instead get much enjoyment watching my hummers dip into trumpet vine (TV) blossoms. I watch my own kind of TV.

The blossoms of TV are aptly named. They are long and narrow, with the ends flared outward. Bright orange, they are “loud and brassy” against the TV lush greenery. The hummingbird's long, skinny bill and even longer tongue are perfect for sampling the nectar hidden deep within the blossom. I love to watch a hummer hover near a bloom, dip quickly into it as its head completely disappears inside, and then quickly pop back out. While its head is buried deep in the blossom, it is vulnerable to predators, so it doesn't stay in for long. A few quick dips and it moves on. Of course, the hummer is doing a good deed for the TV, as it gets its head coated with pollen, that it then spreads to other blooms. The hummingbird is participating in TV sex!

I watched a fascinating display put on by two hummers the other evening. My attention was drawn by the sound of one hummingbird strafing the top of the TV several times—zooming at high speed across the vine. I soon realized that it was the resident male seemingly threatening a female, who I saw dipping into TV blossoms. She kept snuggled down into the vine, to avoid his attacks—which were like the bombing runs of a fighter plane.

Why was the male acting so aggressively? I think it might be that the mating season is over, so the male need not attract the female, like he did back in June, when his aerial acrobatics were more like a frenetic dance, done in front of her, as he worked hard to dazzle her and hopefully mate.

Now she seems to be just another competitor for trumpet vine blossom nectar. I think he's being far too selfish. With all the rain we've had this year, the vine has an abundance of blooms. Why be so stingy? Whatever his motivation—and I don't claim to understand it at all—I do very much enjoy watching my kind of TV lately.

Clarion Call--Part 2

The first English colonists to land in Virginia in the early 1600s were enchanted by the flashy trumpet vine blooms. They sent seeds back to England—presumably earning the enduring enmity of the fussier British gardeners. The vine is native to southeast United States, but like kudzu, it happily and obnoxiously thrives in many foreign sites. When I surfed the web for information on the vine, nearly as many websites offered suggestions for eradicating it, as described its attraction for hummingbirds. I like it because it masks the view of the ugly outbuildings, but also looks very attractive—to say nothing of the enjoyment I get watching pollinators come for a nectar sip.

Nectar is a sugar-rich liquid that many blossoms secrete, to attract hummers, bees, butterflies, and other pollinators. It is much more than the bland sugar water that we fill our hummingbird feeders with. The plants have evolved a clever technique of adding smelly chemicals to the nectar that emit attracting aromas to flying critters who have a sweet tooth. But nectar has even more goodies: a complex blend of many amino acids that constitute protein. So a hummer not only gets a sugar high, but ingests crucial protein. When a hummer’s sweet diet consists primarily of human offerings of sugar water in a feeder, the bird must supplement this diet by finding tiny spiders and insects for its protein. I doubt that I could come up a balanced diet as good as nectar, even if I were to try to find some way to add a pinch of amino acids to my feeder.

Of course, the flower’s sweet gift is not solely a generous gesture to pollinators. It requires some energy on the part of the plant to manufacture nectar—something it really doesn’t need for itself. But it does need to have its pollen transported from bloom to bloom, in order to inseminate its reproductive structures, and it hasn't yet evolved to fly. The (humming) birds and the bees do that for it. When the hummer ducks its head into a blossom, it withdraws it coated with pollen. When a bee waddles down inside, it must brush against the flower’s reproductive organs, coating itself with pollen in the process. It’s a wonderful example of one of nature’s symbiotic relationships—an interaction between two different organisms, to the advantage of both.

The bloom time for the trumpet vine is just a few weeks in late July. There is no other nectar-offering plant close to my outdoor tub. I think I’ll want a bath more often at this time of year, just so I can get more of the aerial pollination show.

Clarion Call--Part 1

By mid-July the trumpet vine is in full bloom, with its brilliant orange-red blossoms, a full three inches long—beckoning all pollinators to come feast. The blossoms on this vine are well named, as they are narrow and long, with the outer end flaring, much like a trumpet. The call goes out, in the form of attracting aromas that entice hummingbirds and bees to come for free sips of nectar, in exchange for the satiated creature passing its pollen to adjacent flowers.

I sit in the tub in the evening, watching the aerial visitors stop by for a drink, just before dusk settles in. A mere 10 feet from the tub is a gorgeous, massive trumpet vine that completely covers and hides a homely storage shed. I watch a hummingbird visit a blossom, hovering like a mini helicopter, while the bird’s extremely long tongue dips deeply, seeking the sweet nectar. He sips twice, three times, then acrobatically zips over to the next bloom. While feasting, he remains on alert, knowing that when his head is plunged into the trumpet, he is temporarily blinded. He frequently pops his head back out, surveys the area for any potential predators, then dives back in for another drink.

I watch him for a few minutes, flitting from bloom to bloom—dipping only once into some, but going back a dozen times to others. Do some blossoms offer more nectar than others? Is the nectar sweeter in some? Has another hummer beaten him to the prize and already sucked up most of the offering in some of the blooms? On occasion, when he’s looking around for any threats, he turns my way and his brilliant ruby-colored throat flashes at me, dazzling me for a brief moment.

A little later a stout bumble bee wanders into the realm of the vine, drawn in by the sweet aroma. Rather than hover, the bee lands on the trumpet flare and waddles down inside—disappearing from my view. A few seconds later she emerges, coated with pollen, and flies to another bloom—thereby inseminating it.

The trumpet vine—also called the trumpet creeper and the cow itch vine—is an aggressive plant that, once having achieved a toehold in your yard, will threaten to become the one-and-only foliage in the area. It grows incredibly fast—adding several feet to its reach each summer. It wants support (being a member of the vine family) and will accept most anything stiffer than it is: a tree, a wall, a fence, or even a cow, if it doesn’t move fast enough. In fact, the moniker “cow itch vine” stems from the leaves of the vine causing a skin irritation. Cows are apparently especially susceptible... especially when they don't move.

One does not want to plant a trumpet vine within reaching distance of a vegetable garden. If you do, within a few short years you’ll have the vine choking out all the veggies. They send out roots, resulting in tiny vines popping up like mushrooms after a rain. If these little babies are not quickly nipped in the bud (I’ll take that pun), the area will soon be awash in trumpet vines. Sometime in late winter I ruthlessly prune back the vine to a size that will keep next year’s new growth contained.

More on trumpets next time…