What's the story, morning glory?

You know those little tasks you find to do while waiting for friends to arrive ... too restless to sit down, needing to occupy the time? I spent that space this afternoon harvesting seeds from my very-nearly-defunct morning glory vine along the front walk. I think it's a "Grandpa Ott's" ... a vibrant, iridescent purple one would only expect to encounter on a butterfly's wing or a hummingbird's neck. And a most prolific seeder. I never have to plant a new vine there each year; invariably some of the seedpods will burst before I pinch them off, and bob's your uncle. Toward the end of the season this year I let every blossom just go to seed. I did a rough count on the resultant yield ... counted a hundred and extrapolated by separating the rest into similarly-sized piles. From one or two sprouted seeds ... between four and five hundred. That's not counting the ones still on the vine, not quite crisp yet. Such unprepossessing little packages, like miniscule black mandarin orange segments ... potentially each a source of five hundred more of the same next year. Even allowing for duds, the math gets impressive pretty fast ... where would you find a better miracle?

Ok, so where am I going to find room for several hundred morning glory vines? Seriously, if anyone is interested, I would be glad to share the wealth. They are very well-behaved, requiring nothing but good sun, some water, and something to twine up. No matter how enthusiastic they become, they will perish elegantly with the first frost. Email me if you're interested.