This afternoon, while wandering around my garden, I came across this enchanting sight within the wild rose hedge at the edge of our woods.

The plants seen here are Rosa multiflora, a highly invasive species, one of the Top 10 Undesirables here in South Carolina for its aggressive way of claiming the land and setting up an impenetrable thicket that allows no natives root room.  I probably shouldn’t love this wild foreign rose with its very bad manners.

And yet I do.

I look forward to the bloom season of this invader, knowing I’ll see thousands of charming clusters of single-flowered roses dangling from long arching canes almost everywhere I go for two weeks at the end of April and the beginning of May.  It’s a pleasure to see the froth of creamy blooms outside my bedroom window first thing in the morning, to let my gaze roam along the wild hedge while I do dishes, looking out the kitchen window.

I’ve harvested some of its millions of bright red hips as the growing season winds down, and I’m not the only one happy to partake of this undeserved bounty.  Birds and chipmunks munch on the nutritious red hips, too, the whole winter long.

Last fall, I was charmed to discover two tiny nests deep within the maze of canes, once the foliage dropped and I could peer within the labyrinth.  This year, I’m almost certain a pair of goldfinches is nesting within its tangled, green canopy.  When threatened by predators, small songbirds often retreat into its thorny, protective embrace, as well.

Rosa multiflora in my backyard is a source of food, shelter, sanctuary, and beauty.  But really, knowing what I know, I should probably be petitioning the landlord to rip it out immediately.  That would be the kindest decision to make on behalf of the land here.

At least, it would be if I could ensure that native flora would take its place.  Unfortunately, that’s not really a safe bet around here.  As like as not, one of the many other non-native invasives in the area would take hold.  Perhaps wisteria, nandina, mimosa, ivy, or even the dreaded kudzu. They all tend to do very well in disturbed spots with sun, like the edge of the woods here.  I frankly don’t know if I could handle knowing the hickories and oaks and tall, slender pines were going to be strangled to death (wisteria) or slowly starved of sunlight (kudzu) because of a decision I made, even if it was the ecologically responsible decision to make.

I don’t know what I should do.

This Earth Day, then, a recognition that hey, it’s complicated out there.  It’s not always — or even often — simple to know which is the right choice to make in our increasingly environmentally compromised world.  And once you’ve made your choice, to make the changes required in our own landscapes and lives isn’t a simple task, either.

As Kermit the Frog would say, “It’s not easy being green.”

I honor those of you who are continuing to ask yourself what you can do to make a difference, nonetheless.  Let’s all keep educating ourselves and doing the footwork of getting to know and love our places, both the land and the community, well enough to make these hard decisions when they confront us.  Let’s not be tempted to give up when the choices are hard, when the follow-up is hard.

Above all, let’s take heart.

Namasté, y’all.

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