"And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense bearing tree"
In my corner of Ohio, there is a time every year in late May and early June that is as distinct as any holiday. When the honeysuckle blooms it's as if everything draws to a sweet, narcotic halt, and your senses are overtaken by a cloying sludginess that truly signals the beginning of summer. 
Even when I was fairly young, I measured the coming of spring in terms of the smells; Easter came with hyacinths and early magnolias, then the smell of lilacs on the evening breeze - right when you notice the days growing longer. Honeysuckle and locust blooms shared the job of scenting the warm June evenings, but it was always the honeysuckle that was really a knock-down olfactory experience.
It turns out that there's a good reason for this phenomena; Bush Honeysuckle and Japanese Honeysuckle hold two seats in the top ten list of invasive plant species in Ohio. I find a certain irony in the fact that one of my most pleasant scent memories exists primarily because at some point honeysuckle was introduced to my region and decided to play bully with all the other underbrush. Today if I take a walk in the woods, easily 90% of the "non-tree" plant life is bush honeysuckle. While it's all well and good that the stuff smells so nice for a week or so every year, it's also seriously bad news if you happen to have it growing in your landscape.
Bush Honeysuckle is a pernicious space invader. It's no small wonder that Ohio has it listed as an invasive species. In a landscape it has a tendency to crowd out everything around it and more to the point: it won't die. It's like a malignant growth. You can treat it terribly, cut it down to the ground, kick it, scream at it, and it simply grows back. This can be handy if you like having a shrub that rejuvenates itself, but for most of us, it's a tremendous pain.
Last weekend I had the pleasure of removing a small (8" - 12") honeysuckle shrub from one of my landscape beds. It seemed like a small deal. I was using a pick and taking the opportunity to explain leverage to my son, leaning on the handle and prying up the roots, when suddenly there was a loud SNAP and the handle of my pick cracked in half.
Times like this you have to laugh. The lesson in leverage was either totally lost, or incredibly effective. Time will tell. The honeysuckle finally came out of the ground, but not without a lot more effort than seemed logical for the size of the plant. To cap it off, the roots of the honeysuckle had become entwined with a butterfly bush - which I wanted to keep - and in removing one I destroyed the other.
Here's the tool I broke. Maybe there's a lesson here about buying quality hand tools.
Maybe.
What I take from it is that honeysuckle is kind of like a raging keg party - it's better in someone else's yard.