Godzillavilla sits in the most beautiful of landscapes. With pear and fig, a bounty of delightful wild irises, and a billowing cloud of cherry blossom in the spring, it’s hard to believe that evil lurks in their very midst. I could be talking about the biancaspine (black locust). I will actually talk about them another time.
But no, this form of evil is such a good actress, the first time I saw it as a small vine I thought, my how delicate and pretty that is. Such innocence.
It was very hard to imagine, when I first laid eyes on this sweet thing, that it bore any relation to the Tarzan-sized vines that dripped from all the trees, right to their crests, the stalks the width of my arm. But, like Rosemary’s baby, these young mites grow into true horrors.
This weed, which the locals call glycine (wisteria) but which looks more like a clematis with super powers, had plenty of time to take over the property before we bought the place and began our machete war against its tyranny. My mother, who was a master of the quaint phrase, would no doubt refer to our feeble efforts as ‘farting against thunder’.
None-the-less, we hack away every year with the intention that it at least won’t get any further. Despite the obvious futility, it feels noble.

Waves of evil: what looks like ground cover is actually the vines that have formed a canopy over the entire orchard, killing everything underneath.
Ain’t nature grand? That willingness of the land to produce the lush growth we prize for our loveable plants turns out to be completely without bias; it nurtures the nasty just as vigorously as the lovely. Some day we’ll pay someone who has the proper equipment – full vegetation hazmat suit with face screen, and a diesel-powered weed-whacker with a deadly steel blade – to get rid of it totally. Until then, we grab our machetes and think noble thoughts.
This makes my crab grass complaints look fussy and churlish…
Those weed trees could give the Evil Vine a run for its money though.
Hopefully all this rampant growth arguers well for the plants you love Shelagh. I’m glad to know a solution exists for when you can afford to really wage war. Sending you noble thoughts till then my dear!! Jx
The plants I transplanted from my Milan garden are in fact thriving despite almost total neglect, so it does rub both ways.
We have also declared war on this vine which we also know as ‘Russian Bride’. Rather than machetes, with the help of our trusty Land Rover and a heavy duty strap, we literally rip (with immense satisfaction) metres and metres of the menace out of the trees. Mind you, the pace of growth is relentless and after a day of ripping and hacking, it still seems that we still have acres of it to get through. We realize that along with the house, removal will be a long term project, along with the blackberry bushes everywhere.
However, a huge satisfaction this spring was to see the cherry and hazlenut trees which we thought had been strangled to death by this devilish vine, sprout new growth!
Oh that’s so encouraging! And the idea of literally ripping them from the trees – and the ground, the way they reroot themselves everywhere – is fantastic. Heavy rope and Dino’s tractor…I feel a plan forming.
Wisteria has gorgeous lilac flowers that hang in clusters in spring. It drapes itself beautifully on balconies and walls. It is rampant and can take over if not checked. Is this another type of wisteria?
Ivy is another pest that grows all over trees and eventually kills them. I often drag lines of ivy off trees on my walks through the forests around Bagni di Lucca and there will be a big push to remove it from my trees at the Vergemoli house when I go back.
This doesn’t look like wisteria at all to me – the leaves and the flowers are both different (although the stalk is similar) so taxonomically there’s no way. I think that’s just a local misnomer. Winnifred says she knows it as ‘Russian Bride’ – that tells quite a story right there!