If you’ve been out to the woods in the past few years, you may have noticed the expanses of green vines spreading over the trees and forest floor. Sets of five lobe-shaped leaflets branch out from their stems; in late summer, the vines make bean-shaped, fist-sized purple fruits that split open to drop hundreds of shiny black seeds to the ground. Sounds pretty, right? But the plants make a dense network of long vines on the ground, covering and killing other plants. It climbs up trees as well, spiraling around them and constricting them.

Sounds more like a horror movie to me: Attack of the Killer Vines. Akebia, the culprit in this case, actually combines two of the things horror movies rely on to scare us: it’s of the natural world (ooooh, scary) and it’s an alien (yikes!). Akebia is native to Japan, and was probably originally imported as an ornamental. At least one seed catalog I know of still sells it; apparently, the vine has not taken over other areas as much and is not yet seen as a threat to local ecosystems. But the balance of the ever-more-isolated Guilford woods is changing because of its presence. Yep, if you want something to really be afraid of, turn off the late-night movies, and have it out with an invasive, non-native plant species for an afternoon.

Akebia (and honeysuckle and kudzu and bermuda grass) is not problematic simply because it’s “not from around here.” A plant that integrates into one ecosystem may die or wreak havoc in another. Given the rampant spread of the vine, it seems that there are few animals, insects, or diseases here that can control its growth. So akebia has free reign over the Guilford woods, and can crowd out delicate native species (including rare herbs, flowers, and plants that are part of the local wildlife’s diet) and kill trees.

We present-day humans have made ourselves the ultimate foreigners to the ecosystems we inhabit — living with little regard for these systems which, ultimately, keep us alive. As such, it feels a bit hypocritical to be dissing akebia and other non-native plants. Yet humans can choose a benevolent role in helping injured ecosystems to regain their balance, and in balancing our own needs with the workings of our bio-regions.

Last Friday, a friend and I began cutting down and pulling out the akebia vines at the treeline next to the garden. The shade garden we’re building back there will be a space for people to hang out and relax (as well as work). There will be beds of native, medicinal, and edible plants, a couple fruit trees, and benches and a table, all shaded and half-enclosed by the treeline.

We raked the vines away, chopped at them with shovels, yanked out handfuls of them. It took us nearly two hours to clear a section smaller than the steps of Founders. By the time we finished I had a big blister and leaves in my hair, but we had found a good rhythm of working, and had a good conversation. After awhile, my friend took off for lunch, and I laid down mulch to level the ground and discourage whatever roots remained. I began to lay the first stones of a low rock wall that will hold up a small flower bed. The slate was rough and uneven, and I kept having to remind myself that no one will see the top surfaces of the rows, just the side facing out and the very top layer. The lined-up slate looks so pleasing that it’s hard not to judge the wall by it.

I took my time and finished the first layer of the wall. Hungry and tired, I lay back on the cool slate and looked up into the branches. The mimosa trees (non-native as well, they grow in disturbed soil and at the edges of forests) were full of long skinny seedpods, tan against the clear sky. Soon, if we can keep the akebia back, the mimosas will die out and the baby maples struggling up next to them will grow into full-sized trees, making the forest system more stable. The apple tree we transplanted to the edge of the shade garden, now shorter than I, will grow as well. The succession of the treeline will cradle and shape the garden, and hopefully students will continue to tend and modify it — and to lie in its shade and relax.

Anna Lena Phillips is a December English and Environmental Studies graduate.