Wisteria in Maine

As long as I can remember, the wistera has filled my senses with spring. The smell, the color, the soft feel of the buds before they opened, and yes, the feel of the tight buds in my mouth. I remember the enjoyment of sucking on them. Perhaps they were poison, but I'm still here after 76 years.
The fragrance from the clustered blossoms would permeate the old home place where it twined over the porch swing. Green snakes used to frequent the heavy vines and when you were sitting on the swing you weren't sure if the thing touching your back was a tendril from the vine reaching out for another hold, or a tiny snake.
The swing hung from the top of the porch on chains. It was made of wood and had ample room for two adults and a kid to sit. I often sat between by brother Merkle and his wife Mary. It was the center of the gathering on Sundays when people came to visit. Dad had a large rocking chair and mother used a smaller one. Again, they were hand made.
The porch was two feet off the ground, so other visitors would line the porch or steps when the swing was taken. You didn't use the rocking chairs!
The wisteria brings back lots of memories and I am so glad that I have continued to bring a piece of that Mississippi vine to every home I have ever had. Now it will rest in Maine with me.