In the Weeds, with Matthew Gallaway: The Hyacinth Bean Vine

While there are many vines in our Washington Heights garden, the Hyacinth Bean Vine (Dolichos lablab) has emerged as the most frightening intriguing as we head deeper into the fall season. Not only does it continue to grow vigorously, sending out blood-red tendrils and wide emperor-green leaves that seem to sway (and perhaps beckon) even when the wind isn't blowing, but it still blooms with equal potency, with many new inflorescences adorned with clusters of pink flowers that will soon mutate into shiny purple seed pods.

Though it is an annual—at least here in New York City—which means it will almost certainly dieâ„¢ not long after the first frost, I sometimes have my doubts; what I can report is that the seed packet in which it was delivered to us last winter accurately (if somewhat ominously) described the plant as a 'VERY unique addition to your garden.'

In years past, we were plagued by a spot where nothing seemed to survive, or at least flourish. This 'Bermuda Triangle' was specifically located against the back wall of the house, which means that—thanks to the southern exposure and brick façade—any plant in the vicinity must survive extremes of light and (more problematic) heat and humidity. Initially we tried climbing roses, but these became straggly and diseased—hardly reminiscent of the 'English cottage' aesthetic we longed to achieve—and then switched to a Black-Eyed Susan vine, which also succumbed to the torpor of August and failed to flower.

Enter the Hyacinth Bean Vine, which—as one botanicamonstroligist has noted—is also known as 'Indian Bean, Egyptian Bean, Lablab purpureus, Bonavist, Chinese Flowering Bean and Pharoah Bean.' Equally terrifying noteworthy is the fact that, even though its seeds are highly poisonous, 'it is widely grown in Africa, India and Asia for use as food for both humans and livestock.'

Although the vine has recently risen to prominence after achieving an unprecedented 'trifecta' in the 2008 Plant of the Year Awards (winning top honors in individual categories of vines, edibles and annuals), its use in the United States extends at least as far back as Thomas Jefferson, who grew it at his farm in Monticello, while Edgar Allen Poe wrote the first draft of 'The Pit and the Pendulum' in ink made from its seed casings. In France, the great JK Huysmans—writing in 1884—described its flower as 'a little winged bell of faded lilac, an almost dead mauve…with the odor of toy boxes of painted pine; it recalled the horrors of a New Year's Day.' Some have speculated that the plant was also—at least in part—the inspiration for Thomas Pynchon's inscrutable epic 'Vineland.' (Note that everything in this paragraph may or may not be fabricated.)

We planted our vine in a small pot placed at the base of an unsightly drainpipe, this wrapped in chicken wire to allow it to climb. (I recommend a black plastic variety that is infinitely more attractive than the more traditional metal.) Hardly deterred by the torrential rains of June, the plant quickly soldiered up the drain and soon covered it. An initial wave of flowers and pods in July gave way to a slight August slump—there was a slight yellowing at the edges of some leaves—after which the vine rebounded in September.

The Hyacinth Bean Vine is best viewed from a safe distance, where—if you are anything like me—the act of contemplating it will send you back into the realm of lost memories and improbable events. In my case, I am reminded of an afternoon many years ago in Paris; standing on a sidewalk—this in the Sixth Arrondissement, not far from _____—I found myself in the middle of an onslaught of screaming schoolchildren just getting out of a nearby lycée. As I stood paralyzed, I was struck by the stream of blue jeans, backpacks, sneakers and sweatshirts—i.e., American clothes that the older generation of Parisians viewed with disdain—but which nevertheless managed to preserve a distinctly French character by way of a deep green and (rock on) deep purple present on every item, a garish juxtaposition of tones that—again, in the words of Huysmans—had been 'loaned by nature to humanity to allow each society to create its own monstrosities.'

Previously: The Protest Garden

Matthew Gallaway is a writer who lives in Washington Heights. His first novel, 'The Metropolis Case,' will be published in 2010 by Crown.