Kudzu goes back to its roots

By Bob Martin

Never mind that Pennsylvanians are already terrified of al-Qaeda, anthrax and avian flu. Now the state Agriculture Department is asking us to be on the lookout for an Asian invader known as Pueraria lobata.

You may know it by its street name: kudzu.

Due to its robust health and a growth capacity that would put Barry Bonds to shame, the luxuriant vine has earned the No. 6 spot on the Pennsylvania Noxious Weed Control List. (Marijuana remains Public Weed No. 1.)

The rap on kudzu is that it's the latter-day version of the monster that ate Detroit. It has been enveloping land, trees, houses and even cars down South for decades. It's reputed to grow as much as 60 feet in a growing season. And now it's infiltrating the Keystone State, where 23 locations have enrolled in the state's pilot kudzu-eradication program.

But what's the problem here? Are bureaucrats worried that our terrain will soon be sprouting green monstrosities that look like Chia Pets on steroids? Or is this just Harrisburg's age-old anti-Philadelphia bias all over again?

I say the latter. Look at the historic evidence: Kudzu first appeared, quite legally, in this country during the 1876 Centennial Exposition right here in Fairmount Park. It was part of the Japanese garden and drew raves from spectators for its beautiful leaves and sweet fragrance.

In time, this immigrant plant took root in the United States in ways as diverse as they were utilitarian.

A Florida couple developed kudzu as feed for farm animals and began selling it by mail order. The Civilian Conservation Corps of President Franklin Roosevelt's New Deal grew kudzu across the South to control erosion. To that end, farmers were paid up to $8 an acre to plant the crop. These days, entrepreneurs have turned kudzu into baskets, paper, jelly, syrup, hay, quiche and tea.

Despite these stunning tales of American resourcefulness, our government's policy on kudzu approximates its long-term relationship with Osama bin Laden.

As noted, kudzu was once the friend of the federal government. By 1953, though, the government stopped advocating its use. By 1972, it declared kudzu a weed. Pennsylvania hopped on board in 1989. Now it's a crime to grow, transport or sell the vine in the commonwealth.

Pennsylvania needs to see the light on kudzu. Philadelphia must lead the way. Think of the positive effects on Southeastern Pennsylvania:

With kudzu, dusty, vacant, windswept city lots could be turned into greenswards. Abandoned cars and buildings could become oversize topiaries - a sort of urban Longwood Gardens. Graffiti could be concealed under a thick, leafy cover. Deer could dine on a sumptuous salad bar of excess vines, leaving expensive ornamentals unmolested in our backyards and business campuses. Sound walls on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, Blue Route and Interstate 95 could be adorned with kudzu to deaden the noise. Citizens Bank Park's outfield walls could imitate those of Wrigley Field in Chicago, except with kudzu, not ivy. The Pennsylvania Department of Transportation and the city Streets Department could use the woody, durable vine to shore up structurally deficient bridges. And Mayor Street, noting kudzu's historic roots here, could plant sprigs of it along the shoulders of the Vine Street Expressway before adoring media.

But, alas, it is not to be. Savvy politicians would see the green giant as usurping their turf. Kudzu would be accused of harboring a hidden agenda - of plotting to take over the Philadelphia Parking Authority, gain a seat on the SEPTA board, and wangle free irrigation from the city Water Department. Taxpayer-funded studies would assert that kudzu was promoting global warming in its quest for a longer growing season. And federal prosecutors would begin probing kudzu for amassing more power than Vince Fumo.

So if you know what's good for you, kudzu, don't come creeping around here. And don't be deluded into thinking the state's Growing Greener II is an affirmative-action program for vegetation. Your U.S. birthplace may have been here, but for now, you don't have a friend in Pennsylvania.