I like to save small bottles, or better yet, find antique bottles in an old trash dump, for putting snippets of colorful flowers on the window sills or the center of the table. The amber color of vanilla bottles, clear fingernail polish or perfume bottles, and even the blue bottles from a certain antacid, all look pretty whenever the sun shines through them. So when my husband found this old brown bottle yesterday while working on a fence row, he picked it up and brought it to me. "I brought you a bottle," he'd said, and this morning I filled it with blossoms from that fragrant vine, honeysuckle.
Now it all depends on one's point of view whether this vine is friend or foe; it can be both for us. We love to smell its sweetness at sunrise and sunset; we detest the invasiveness of it,