It's "Earth-is-heating" season

It's the season of thunderstorms, heat and humidity. Butterfly weed is in bloom. Day lilies have started to come into flower, something like a couple of weeks later than I remember from years past. Sheep sorrel has added a reddish tinge to some road sides and disturbed fields. June is about to become July. Days are already about two minutes shorter than a week ago at the solstice. We've started to enjoy this year's occasional sightings of turkey poults and whitetail fawns.

Common Sheep Sorrel (Rumex acetosella)

Photo by J. Harrington

Last week we ordered something unusual, buckthorn honey. It's the first time I recall seeing any beneficial use from this invasive species. There's also a relatively recent report that fungus / fungi can help provide biological control of buckthorn. It seems to me such an approach would be far preferable to the use of chemical herbicides. Finding or creating additional beneficial uses might also lead to better management decisions. I'm far from an expert, but it seems a goal of eradication of buckthorn in Minnesota may be an unrealistic goal.

I was pleased to read that Minnesota's environmental perspective(?) is becoming more holistic. We no longer have "rough [trash] fish" in this state. Even the much maligned carp is now a “regulated invasive species.”

The adjustments to how we practice environmental stewardship are, I believe, critically important because our planetary environment currently is changing at rates faster than historic evolution reflects. We are also a much more significant factor in creating planetary changes than ever before. It's past time we learned how to do it right.

 Salvage 

Ada Limón 1976 –

On the top of Mount Pisgah, on the western
slope of the Mayacamas, there’s a madrone
tree that’s half-burned from the fires, half-alive
from nature’s need to propagate. One side
of her is black ash and at her root is what
looks like a cavity that was hollowed out
by flame. On the other side, silvery green
broadleaf shoots ascend toward the winter
light and her bark is a cross between a bay
horse and a chestnut horse, red and velvety
like the animal’s neck she resembles. I have
been staring at the tree for a long time now.
I am reminded of the righteousness I had
before the scorch of time. I miss who I was.
I miss who we all were, before we were this: half
alive to the brightening sky, half dead already.
I place my hand on the unscarred bark that is cool
and unsullied, and because I cannot apologize
to the tree, to my own self I say, I am sorry.
I am sorry I have been so reckless with your life.

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The roadsides look positively vetching

Lazy, hazy, sleepy, days of summer are here. If anyone stumbles over my ambition, please feed and water it until cooler temps arrive. Then leave a comment here and I’ll come and pick it up. It’s time to return to reading The Subtle Art of Not Giving a #@%! Journal, and to add watermelon to the shopping list.

The bright blue bug ball (for trapping horsedeerflies) is again functional, thanks to the Better Half’s completion of the tedious but essential task of painting sticky goop on the entire surface of the beach ball-size thing. I did the relatively mundane task of stringing and hanging the painted ball. Years of fishing and boating qualify me for spinning yarns, getting strung up, and getting tied up in knots.

crown vetch in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Most of the local row crops, corn and soy beans, are looking decent, except for the field areas under water. Isolated and/or scattered thunderstorms are were briefly back in the forecast. "Isolated or scattered” disappeared sometime between mid-morning and mid-afternoon. Local ditches are overgrown with crown vetch in bloom. I’m very confused (think Vinnie Barbarino) about how and why crown vetch is simultaneously listed as an invasive species and still sold commercially. A case of left hand, right hand, not knowing? 

One other long deferred chore got completed this morning. The live trap set for the chipmunk living in tunnels under the front stoop was cleaned, freshened and placed in what we hope will be a more tempting location. If not translocated, the little critter is liable to put a tunnel near the garage entrance and create minor havoc as the Better Half comes or goes. Until tomorrow about this time .....

Travelling Storm

Mark Van Doren
1894 – 1972

The sky, above us here, is open again. 
The sun comes hotter, and the shingles steam. 
The trees are done with dripping, and the hens
Bustle among bright pools to pick and drink. . . . 
But east and south are black with speeding storm. 
That thunder, low and far, remembering nothing,
Gathers a new world under it and growls, 
Worries, strikes, and is gone.  Children at windows 
Cry at the rain, it pours so heavily down,
Drifting across the yard till the sheds are grey. . . . 
A county father on, the wind is all—
A swift dark wind that turns the maples pale, 
Ruffles the hay, and spreads the swallows’ wings. 
Horses, suddenly restless, are unhitched,
And men, with glances upward, hurry in; 
Their overalls blow full and cool; they shout;
Soon they will lie in barns and laugh at the lightning. . . . 
Another county yet, and the sky is still; 
The air is fainting; women sit with fans
And wonder when a rain will come that way. 

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What’s a role for invasive species?

Yesterday we promised to share some questions we believe should be answered before any species is officially designated as invasive. We have extracted these questions from a book by Tao Orion, titled: Beyond the War on Invasive Species, A Permaculture Approach to Ecosystem Restoration. See what you think about getting answers to these questions rather than just a decision that a species may cause harm, per Minnesota laws.

dame’s rocket (invasive species) in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Some Questions to Guide Observation of Ecosystem Function for Plants

    • What type of root structure does it have (taproot, fibrous root rhizome)?

    • Does it provide nectar or pollen? At what time of year? Are there other services available at this time in the area?

    • Does it provide shade, shelter, nesting sites, or refuge for any bird,, animal or insect?

    • Does it fix nitrogen?

    • Does it accumulate heavy metals? PCBs? Other toxins?

    • Does it concentrate other nutrients or minerals?

    • Does it provide a significant source of biomass (organic material)? Think of its entire life cycle.

    • Does it provide an edible nut, seed, leaf, root, or fruit for humans or other creatures?

    • Does the plant have any mycological associates? If so, which ones? What ecological function do they serve?

    • Does the plant serve a role in water filtration and purification?

    • Does it help with erosion control or floodwater abatement?

    • Does it ameliorate the  process of soil salinization or other  trends of desertification?

    • What is its successional status? Early, mid, late? How can you tell?

    • What is its ecological history? Does it thrive in disturbed soil, high- or low-nutrient profiles, sun, or shade?

Some Questions to Guide Observation of Ecosystem Function for animal

    • What part of the food web  does it feed in? Is it a secondary, tertiary, or quaternary consumer?

    • What organisms feed upon it?

    • Is it recycling nutrients? Where do they come from? Where would they end up otherwise?

    • Does it accumulate heavy metals or other toxins in its tissues?

    • How is it contributing to the succession of the ecosystem?

    • What potential yields could it have?

The Weavers Were the First to Know

Arielle Taitano Lowe

The invasion came like a whisper,
and the leaves changed shapes, 
and the niyok grew sick.

Coconut trees,
our culture’s tree of life,
dying slowly 
as invasive beetles 
eat their hearts 
like world powers 
devour islands.

Weavers hold culture in their 
palms,
weave tradition into their families,
tuck young palms 
into their fingers,
mold them into 
entities.

But now,
our culture’s tree of life 
has grown ill from 
foreign settlement.

Palms severed,
bent like a salute
the way Chamorros are cut like cards
and dealt in front lines of American wars.

The weavers were the first to know
that our niyok is 
sick,
in need of healing.

The same way our island is 
sick,
in need of healing.

I’ve taken up the craft,
so I can weave
traditions
into the palms of my children.

I can only hope that when 
I master it,

palms will remain
for them

to weave into our future. 

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S'up planting?

Now that yesterday’s invasion of British Columbia smoke has passed through, the Better Half is planting annuals in the planters next to the front stoop. The question is: will we or won’t we have to cover them one or more nights during the next few weeks to protect them from frost? Only time and temperatures will tell.

our patchy back yard

Photo by J. Harrington

Yours truly has adopted a modified No Mow May regime. The back yard needed to get pocket gopher mounds harrowed level. Leaf cover was sparse compared to the nearby woods. We mowed after we harrowed and the place looks better and we can try over seeding bare spots and watch for fresh mounds so we’ll know where to set traps. Meanwhile, in the front yard, No Mow May continues because we don’t want to mow the violets among the ground ivy. I wonder if any native species of ground cover adapted to shade coud outcompete it.

The planting plan we were beginning to develop yesterday has hit a major setback. We can find neither plants nor seeds for either species of Draba we hoped to plant: Draba reptans (Carolina Whitlow-grass) and/or Draba nemorosa (Yellow Whitlow-grass). We’ll keep looking but it is discouraging. On the other hand, trying to sort out better alternatives to non-native turf grasses is kind of fun. I just wish I’d started 20 or 30 years ago instead of relying on benign neglect.

Now it’s time to replant bergamot seeds and see if there's success this round.

Planting the Meadow

By Mary Makofske

I leave the formal garden of schedules 

where hours hedge me, clip the errant sprigs 

of thought, and day after day, a boxwood 

topiary hunt chases a green fox 

never caught. No voice calls me to order 

as I enter a dream of meadow, kneel 

to earth and, moving east to west, second 

the motion only of the sun. I plant 

frail seedlings in the unplowed field, trusting 

the wildness hidden in their hearts. Spring light 

sprawls across false indigo and hyssop, 

daisies, flax. Clouds form, dissolve, withhold 

or promise rain. In time, outside of time, 

the unkempt afternoons fill up with flowers.

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No news isn’t always good news

I'm using today's posting to share some news that pleased me when I first learned about it and then caused me to wonder why I hadn't come across it sooner. Science appears to be making progress in the battle against buckthorn. For those with woodlands that are buckthorn infested, and that live near state lands that rarely appear to experience buckthorn removal, buckthorn can become a sensitive topic. If we remove it from our property, and MNDNR leaves infestations nearby, their infestations can serve as a reservoir of reinfestation for our property. Plus, we’re not supposed to transport buckthorn and weather doesn’t always cooperate (drought, anyone?) to make burning safe. So, here’s some links to the latest from the University of Minnesota:

• Controlling buckthorn: the who, what, where, when and how
• Minnesota Invasive Terrestrial Plants and Pests Center (MITPPC)
• The Cover It Up Project

female buckthorn with berries

Photo by J. Harrington

I stumbled into these resources because I had been glancing through a book I read some time ago, Beyond the War on Invasive Species, A Permaculture Approach to Ecosystem Management, by Tao Orion, and was frustrated to find the index lacked any mention of buckthorn. So, off to the internet and a search on buckthorn permaculture as key words. We were initially confounded by a number of references to sea buckthorn, but eventually found our way to the linked resources listed above.

The changes in forest management practices may not occur soon enough to benefit me personally, but it is encouraging to see progress bring made that offers some hope for minimizing the threat of buckthorn. Since so much of the news these days is full of discouraging reports, I think it would be great if there were a newspaper or magazine that expounded on the good news rather than extinctions, habitat loss and other forms of ecological crises. Wouldn’t you rather contribute to a successful startup rather than trying to protect another last stand? I wonder if any of the environmental nonprofits have considered a more entrepreneurial approach to project and program funding.

Anyhow, I hope this shows that the world isn’t only full of bad news, because, heaven knows, we need all the good news we can get these days.

Yes! No!

by Mary Oliver

How necessary it is to have opinions! I think the spotted trout
lilies are satisfied, standing a few inches above the earth. I
think serenity is not something you just find in the world,
like a plum tree, holding up its white petals.

The violets, along the river, are opening their blue faces, like
small dark lanterns.

The green mosses, being so many, are as good as brawny.

How important it is to walk along, not in haste but slowly,
looking at everything and calling out

Yes! No! The

swan, for all his pomp, his robes of grass and petals, wants
only to be allowed to live on the nameless pond. The catbrier
is without fault. The water thrushes, down among the sloppy
rocks, are going crazy with happiness. Imagination is better
than a sharp instrument. To pay attention, this is our endless
and proper work.

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Summer doldrums?

No rain yet. NOT A DROP, despite intermittent weather forecasts to the contrary. Lots of storms on the radar to our south, west and northwest. The Better Half even watered out front this morning and that didn't precipitate precipitation. But it has been a cloud-covered sky all day so we’re weary of dreary, at least I am.

Spotted Horsemint (Monarda punctata)

Photo by J. Harrington

The hill behind the house is brightened by several patches of spotted horsemint. Local ditches and marshes are showing more and more blooms of purple loosestrife. It would be nice if the geese evolved to eat the loosestrife and the whitetail deer evolved to eat buckthorn, but that’s not likely to happen in time to be beneficial to the rest of the local ecosystem. Maybe someone could look into crossbreeding goats with whitetail deer? Meanwhile, we’ve reached the time of year when I’ll look for the black berries on the female buckthorn and use the tractor to pull at least some of them, especially when and if the temperatures drop.

Once again I’ve spent more time in the house this summer than is good for me. Smoke, heat, humidity, biting bugs and severe thunderstorms have added up to inhibit my ambitions to be out and about and doing. Now, if only I show enough sense to ease into a more active pattern rather than overdo it and then have to sit around semi-crippled for a couple of days. (Of course the fact that I keep getting older has nothing to do with decreasing energy and ambition, right?) I don’t remember ever looking forward to going back to school in the autumn, but I did, on occasion, develop August ennui some years.

August

by Mary Oliver

When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.

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Who’s the real invasive species?

As close as I can figure out, we have four or five pairs of ruby-throated hummingbird nesting around the house, two or three behind the house and two or three in front. Or, there are only two or three pair in all and they use both the front and back feeders. Looking at the size of a female at the feeder hanging from the deck as I type this, I’m astonished at the distance something that size migrates. Since, in my younger days, I’ve been miles out on the open ocean in a 19 foot boat, I think I have a decent sense of relative size to distance traveled.

female ruby-throated hummingbird

Photo by J. Harrington

I know monarch butterflies also undertake a long migration, but they take several generations to do it in one season, which is also astonishing. Most of the time, unfortunately, I tend to take for granted the wonders in front of me. In part because I don’t get to personally watch the details of those trips, just as I don’t recall my embryonic development, which limits my ability to relate to what goes on in a chrysalis.

Do you suppose the increase in fine particle pollution from Canadian and Western U.S. wildfires will affect birds or butterflies or other critters in more ways than habitat loss? What, if anything, do we know about the effects of PFAS/PFOS on fish, wildlife and invertebrates? I’m pondering these questions after reading several articles on felt wading boots and fly fishers as vectors in spreading aquatic invasive species such as 

"rock snot" (Didymosphenia geminata); a gastropod, New Zealand mud snails (Potamopyrgus antipodarum); and particularly out west, whirling disease which is caused by a cnidarian (Myxobolus cerebralis) of the class Myxosporea. Viruses are another potential threat to coldwater streams. Viral hemorrhagic septicemia (VHS) has garnered the most attention recently but there are other potential viruses that can be considered AIS

The definition of an invasive species usually involves creating some sort of economic or ecological harm to the human species and its environs. Now that we’re in the Anthropocene, haven’t we, by definition, become the only species with negative global impacts? Isn’t there a biblical saying about the qualifications of who should cast the first stone? And shouldn’t we do a better job of remembering that denial is not just a river in Egypt?

Maybe after the current air quality warning ends I’ll be less cranky, if another one doesn’t come along soon.

Prayer for the Mutilated World

By sam sax

what will be left after the last fidget

spinner’s spun its last spin

after the billboards accrue their thick

layer of grit masking advertisements

for teeth paste & tanqueray gin

after the highways are overtaken

by invasive forests

after the ministers give up their gods

& the rabbis their congregations

for drink

after new men rise to lead us sheep

toward our shearing, to make bed

sheets from our hair

after the high towers have no airplanes

to warn away & instead blink purely

toward heaven like children

with one red eye

after phone lines do nothing

but cut the sky into sheet music

& our phones are just expensive

bricks of metal & glass

after our cloud of photographs collapses

& all memories retreat back

into their privatized skulls

after the water taps gasp out their final

blessing

what then?

when even the local militias run

out of ammunitions

when the blast radii have been

chalked & the missiles do all they were

built to

when us jews have given up our state

for that much older country of walking

& then that even older religion of dirt

when all have succumbed to illness

inside the church of our gutted pharmacies

when the seas eat their cities

when the ground splits like a dress

when the trash continent in the mid-atlantic

at last opens its mouth to spit

what will be left after we’ve left

i dare not consider it

instead dance with me a moment

late in this last extinction

that you are reading this

must be enough

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Late June phenology

Sometime yesterday, or early today, the township mowed the shoulders of roads in our neck of the woods. It appears such efforts are consistent with recent (2022) legislation about providing "enhanced roadside habitat for nesting birds and other small wildlife....” The mower missed most of the patches of orange day lilies that are beginning to bloom along the roads. Although I’m far from expertise on this topic, I believe the day lily is classified as invasive, but not noxious, in Minnesota but a USDA plant database search of invasive/noxious in Minnesota by scientific name results in a null answer. I have no idea what’s going on.

orange day lilies

Photo by J. Harrington

For the past week or ten days, I’ve seen more birds than I ever remember before, especially male goldfinches and downy woodpeckers, going at each other in an effort to establish “pecking order(?).” It’s like watching micro fighter planes having dog fights minus machine guns. Meanwhile, the rose-breasted grosbeaks seem to be getting along, as are the red-winged blackbirds and nuthatches, and the red-bellied woodpecker just helps himself to the feeder whenever he wants.

I’d be upset that, again this year, we missed having a brush pile (bonfire) burn in honor of summer solstice, but it’s been so hot and dry I’m figuring it’s just as well we didn’t try. Plus, we used that time and energy to collect some book shelf kits and got one of the two kits assembled. We’re making progress but it’s too early to claim success in bringing order to our piles of books stacked hither and yon. If only I didn’t find so many topics of interest and so many poets worth reading. But then I’d probably be grumping about being bored much of the time.

The Tuft of Flowers

Robert Frost    1874 – 1963

I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,—alone,

‘As all must be,’ I said within my heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’

But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a ’wildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

I left my place to know them by their name, 
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me here the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

‘Men work together.’ I told him from the heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’

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Have Republicans become an invasive species?

If you haven’t already voted early, tomorrow is the Minnesota primary. I’ll wait until the before work rush is over and head down to vote a little before 9-ish. My usual strategy is to skip voting for anyone running unopposed. That will probably serve me well tomorrow, too. All in all, I’ll be very interested to see how the primaries turn out, especially getting a look at the DFL versus GOP total turnout. At least I’m not living in Indiana,  nor, in light of recent votes there, would I.

For the record, here’s the definition of an invasive species:

As per Executive Order 13112 (Section 1. Definitions) an "invasive species" is a species that is:

1) non-native (or alien) to the ecosystem under consideration and,

2) whose introduction causes or is likely to cause economic or environmental harm or harm to human health.

It’s far from clear if Republicans are native to any ecosystem, and it’s really obvious that their introduction causes both economic and environmental harm and harm to human health. Think about their eradication as you vote tomorrow and next November.

presumed, but not confirmed, purple loosestrife infestation

Photo by J. Harrington

I’m sorry to report that, again this year, the Carlos Avery marshes around County Road 36 are replete with what I think is purple loosestrife. I’ve not been close enough to confirm it isn’t swamp loosestrife. As in some years past, there’s a broad band of purple flowers along the edge of the Sunrise river channel just south of CR 36. The water’s too deep to turn loose a herd of goats, as some have been doing with buckthorn, another invasive. The likelihood of eradication is not promising.

Meanwhile, we miss the flocks of Canada geese that used to hang out on the road shoulders near the bridge at the Sunrise river. The county rebuilt the bridge and extended the guard rails along where the geese once loafed. It’s probably less hazardous for both geese and motorists, but it’s also frustrating how relatively easy it was to eliminate the native waterfowl and how challenging it usually is to eliminate an invasive species. I wonder of we could get Congress to repeal the law of general cussedness.

Today’s poem is from Field Guide to Invasive Species of Minnesota by Amelia Gorman.

Norway Maple

How funny—
               My name is samara
               just like your favorite tree.

How funny—
I grew up across the street from you and the paper mill,
it closed before I could work there.

Now you and I tolerate pollution
as well as the trees
only a few tar spots on our lungs,
felt gall on our skin.

Platitudes won’t kindle fires
but heartwood will after we take out the spline.

We’ll tell stories about the Crimson King,
his adventures with
Schwedleri and Drummondi
and the Pendulum.

We’ll learn dead hobbies like
turnery and touching. 

We’ll get drunk on Norway syrup all winter
it isn’t sweet like the sugar maple—
no, it’s something better.

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Some like it hot!

I think the vetch  growing in our fields is hairy vetch (Vicia villosa). It's coming into bloom, as are more and more of the large beardtongue. All in all, though, I doubt we'll see a lot of wildflowers among the grasses this year. It's not like some past years when the sandy soil benefitted from lots of spring rains preceded by winter snowmelt. The current, extended, unseasonably hot, dry, windy period isn't helping either.

hairy vetch

Photo by J. Harrington

According to the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, "The average number of days in a year to reach at least 90 degrees is 12.9." We've exceeded 90℉ on June 4, 5, may reach it today, and are forecast to exceed 90℉ Monday through Friday next week. That would yield 7 or 8 days of at least 90℉ before mid June. It's no wonder the "spring" yard work is taking longer to get done this year. I think we've missed a planting window for the three sisters garden we wanted to try, but after I knocked down lots of pocket gopher mounds and cut the grass, the Better Half scattered some wildflower seeds we've been accumulating onto the bare earth where the gopher mounds used to be. We'll see if anything grows this year or next.

dame's rocket

Photo by J. Harrington

The dame's rocket flowers have been visited by bumblebees, hummingbirds and butterflies during the past few days. This gets us into the question of distinctions among non-native plants. The Minnesota Department of Agriculture is responsible for the Minnesota Noxious Weed List which includes: 

State Prohibited Noxious Weeds listed as either

• Eradicate
• Control
• Restricted, or
• Specially Regulated

Then there are separate county and federal lists. Dame's Rocket isn't listed on the Minnesota Noxious Weeds lists. Buckthorn is and yet the state seems to do little to control infestations in state parks or wildlife management areas. Plus, the implications and adaptations to climate breakdown have the potential to disrupt most of the efforts to stabilize plant communities through restoration efforts. It's once again time to dig out and refresh our memory on Beyond the War on Invasive Species, A Permaculture Approach to Ecosystem Restoration.

Native Trees

By W. S. Merwin

Neither my father nor my mother knew

the names of the trees

where I was born

what is that

I asked and my

father and mother did not

hear they did not look where I pointed

surfaces of furniture held

the attention of their fingers

and across the room they could watch

walls they had forgotten

where there were no questions

no voices and no shade

Were there trees

where they were children

where I had not been

I asked

were there trees in those places

where my father and my mother were born

and in that time did

my father and my mother see them

and when they said yes it meant

they did not remember

What were they I asked what were they

but both my father and my mother

said they never knew

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Is MNDNR's role on invasive species just information and enforcement?

Have you read the recent article about a new invasive species that threatens Minnesota's forests? ("University of Minnesota botanist discovers feared invasive Japanese stiltgrass in Wisconsin") It appeared shortly after I took some pictures of nearby wild cucumber and Joe Pye weed and some other local wild flowers. On the way home, I noticed some purple / lavender streaks in the rushes along the Sunrise River in Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area South  of County Road 36. I fear the streaks may be made by sizable stands of purple loosestrife.

is that a purple loosestrife stripe?

Photo by J. Harrington

I've noticed over the course of a number of internet searches, that the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources [MnDNR] provides lots of information to Minnesotans to help us manage invasive species, but I've yet to find a description of their own invasive species management programs for state parks, wildlife management areas and similar public properties for which DNR is responsible. And yet, since we live at the edge of a large wildlife management area, and near several state parks and Scientific and Natural Areas, we frequently see stands of buckthorn and loosestrife(?). According to one of DNR's web pages

Common buckthorn and glossy are listed as Restricted noxious weeds (link is external) in Minnesota. It is illegal to import, sell, or transport buckthorn in Minnesota.

But, apparently, there is no requirement to eradicate it although a number of responsible conservation organizations do organize buckthorn removal activities.

Perhaps it's just me but I find it more than mildly annoying and hypocritical that DNR' s aquatic invasive species [AIS] program is focused on enforcement of the prohibition of transporting such species, but DNR does not seem to feel obligated to remove AIS, or terrestrial invasive species, from their own properties. As long as major reservoirs of invasive species exist in Minnesota, we'll constantly be playing catch up and our efforts to manage invasive species are likely to be further hindered by the effects of climate breakdown.

Japanese Knotweed Killers 

By Jan Wrede

We smote and killed.

No broken needle.

Some chemical remains.

Needle too large for small stalks.

Injector refill problematic.

 

Victim mortally wounded.

Time for mercy

And finishing spray?

When is the coup de gras?

Killers are ready

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Buy two, too!

There's an old saying to the effect that "if you find something you really like, buy two before they stop making it." I've done that for a few things, some of which they're still making. For those that aren't being made anymore, I've managed to still have two, apparently due to karma. If I had only one I'd have lost, broken, worn out or otherwise ended up with none. What does this have to do with a day near mid-July?

For the past several weeks I've been wearing a light-weight, synthetic cloth bug-shirt. It came permeated with permethrin. Wearing it on occasion for fishing seemed to work well. This Summer I've been wearing it while doing outside chores. It helps with the  deer flies but it doesn't breathe. The ventilation panels in the sleeves and torso are inadequate for this Summer's humidity. Each time I wear this shirt for more than five minutes, I end up soaked in sweat. And the deer flies still attack my ears and  the back of my neck.

buckthorn with berries

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning that all happened again as I was dismembering a large buckthorn bush that had lots of berries on it. The bush pieces are now on the brush pile to be burned later. The bug shirt ended up in the wash and, when walking the dog at mid-day I dug out a different fishing shirt that's mostly cotton. It's off-white and felt much more comfortable than the synthetic cloth and the light color is less attractive to deer flies and the material is just heavy enough to keep them from biting through it. Unfortunately, the company that made it no longer offers it, so I can't buy two. Fortunately, I've found something similar, polyester in a mesh weave, with a hood to protect ears and neck, that should be delivered today. If it works well at deterring bugs and "wicking away moisture," I'll do my best to order another later this Summer. That may help "protect" my mostly cotton fishing shirt too. There's a real timing challenge to owning something long enough to be sure it works well for you and that you really like it so you can order another before they're gone.

Fork with Two Tines Pushed Together

Nick Lantz

It's fast and cool as running water, the way we forget
the names of friends with whom we talked and talked
the long drives up and down the coast.

I say I love and I love and I love. However, the window
will not close. However, the hawk searches
for its nest after a storm. However, the discarded
nail longs to hide its nakedness inside the tire.

Somewhere in Cleveland or Tempe, a pillow
still smells like M_____'s hair.
In a bus station, a child is staring
at L____'s rabbit tattoo. I've bartered everything
to keep from doing my soul's paperwork.

Here is a partial list of artifacts:
mirror, belt, half-finished 1040 form (married, filing jointly), mateless walkie-talkie, two blonde eyelashes, set of acrylic paints with all the red and yellow used up, buck knife, dog collar, camping tent (sleeps two), slivers of cut-up credit cards, ashtray in the shape of a naked woman, pen with teeth marks, bottom half of two-piece bathing suit, pill bottles containing unfinished courses of antibiotics, bank statements with the account number blacked out, maps of London, maps of Dubuque, sweatshirts with the mascots of colleges I didn't attend, flash cards for Spanish verbs (querer, perder, olvidar), Canadian pocket change, fork with two tines pushed together.

Forgetfulness means to be full
of forgetting, like a glass

overflowing with cool water, though I'd always
thought of it as the empty pocket

where the hand finds
nothing: no keys, no ticket, no change.

One night, riding the train home from the city,
will I see a familiar face across from me? How many times
will I ask Is it you? before I realize
it's my own reflection in the window?

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Are we really trying to control invasive species?

Over  the past few days, the Better Half and  I have been trying to identify a "new" plant with pinkish flowers that's suddenly appeared in the township roadway easement along part of our property. Today we agreed that it appears to be spotted knapweed, an invasive terrestrial plant according to the Department of Natural Resources, a prohibited plant according to the Minnesota Department of Agriculture. It is not until or unless one clicks on the link to the MDA Spotted Knapweed Fact Sheet that the phrase "Spotted knapweed is listed as a Prohibited – Control noxious weed in Minnesota" appears. Now I'm not a lawyer [INAL], but, the consistent use of proper, accurate terms seems significant when looking at Minnesota statutes noted below. There doesn't appear to be any reference to "prohibited weeds" in either 160.23 or 160.232. (Maybe state agencies should be mandated to hire  the revisor's office to edit regulations for consistency.)

State Prohibited Noxious Weeds have two categories: eradicate and control. Spotted knapweed was added to the control list in 2001. [There are separate lists for: Restricted noxious weeds; Specially regulated plants; County noxious weeds; and, Federal terrestrial and parasitic listed noxious weeds.] It might be helpful if someone, someday, added a reference to the "official?" Minnesota Noxious Weed List to appropriate sections of chapter 160.

does this look like spotted knapweed to you?

Photo by J. Harrington

Following MnDNR's recommendation, we duly reported our "discovery" of what we think is knapweed (neither the Better Half nor I are botanists nor invasive species experts) via email to ArrestThePest. It will be interesting to see what, if any, followup occurs.

In the process of trying to sort out who might be responsible for destroying what may be a noxious weed, I checked the Minnesota Statutes. That revealed a potential additional concern since mowing as a control measure for knapweed may be limited or prohibited under 160.232. It's almost as if no one wanted to make it easy to manage roadsides and noxious weeds. Do we have too many entities involved in invasive, noxious plant management as we have way too many entities involved in managing water quality and quantity and uses in Minnesota? (See the Minnesota Water Sustainability Framework.)

160.23 MS 1953 [Repealed, 1957 c 943 s 72]

160.23 DESTRUCTION OF NOXIOUS WEEDS.

Road authorities, including road authorities of cities shall cause all noxious weeds on their respective highways and streets to be cut down or otherwise destroyed or eradicated as often as may be necessary to prevent the ripening or scattering of seed and other propagating parts of such weeds.

History: 1959 c 500 art 1 s 23; 1973 c 123 art 5 s 7 

160.232 MOWING DITCHES OUTSIDE CITIES.

(a) To provide enhanced roadside habitat for nesting birds and other small wildlife, road authorities may not mow or till the right-of-way of a highway located outside of a home rule charter or statutory city except as allowed in this section and section 160.23.
(b) On any highway, the first eight feet away from the road surface, or shoulder if one exists, may be mowed at any time.
(c) An entire right-of-way may be mowed after July 31. From August 31 to the following July 31, the entire right-of-way may only be mowed if necessary for safety reasons, but may not be mowed to a height of less than 12 inches.
(d) A right-of-way may be mowed as necessary to maintain sight distance for safety and may be mowed at other times under rules of the commissioner, or by ordinance of a local road authority not conflicting with the rules of the commissioner.
(e) A right-of-way may be mowed, burned, or tilled to prepare the right-of-way for the establishment of permanent vegetative cover or for prairie vegetation management.
(f) When feasible, road authorities are encouraged to utilize low maintenance, native vegetation that reduces the need to mow, provides wildlife habitat, and maintains public safety.
(g) The commissioner of natural resources shall cooperate with the commissioner of transportation to provide enhanced roadside habitat for nesting birds and other small wildlife.

History: 1985 c 127 s 2; 1986 c 398 art 27 s 1; 1989 c 179 s 1; 1Sp2005 c 1 art 2 s 137

The Lost Colony

By Susan Stewart

They never learned to tell

one bird from another, a shrub

from a weedy sapling, 

or when the season had

forced a flower’s bloom, not 

even if a berry

had ripened into poison.

And yet they drew endless

distinctions between

colors and polish and

coarseness of weave, 

and would not let

their daughters 

marry out.

They didn’t keep

their children, though they

gave them tests and fed 

them. They were known

for meticulous records, for 

trophies and peeling stars.

They burned things up

or wore them down, had ranks

and staff and lecterns, 

machines that moved them

from place to place, bright 

jewels and playing cards.

They were old when they could 

have been young, and young

when they could have been old. 

They left a strange word

in a tree: croatoan,

and a track in the dust of Mars.

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Summer's harbingers

Today the air feels sultry. A classic case of "it's not the heat, it's the humidity." I've been in Sun City, Arizona, in the Summer and know what a "dry heat" feels like. What we have in East Central Minnesota today isn't it. There have been scattered, very light sprinkles of rain, not even what  I'd consider showers, but no real thunderstorms or rainfall overnight or today so far.

ladybug on hoary alyssum

Photo by J. Harrington

Roadside fields, those not planted to corn, soybeans or sod, are showing nice colors of white (common boneset, I believe, or, maybe, hoary alyssum) and lavender (crown vetch, probably). The days are already getting shorter (about one minute less than solstice). Hoards of mosquitos and deer flies continue to harass dog walkers and their charges. Some local dog, more likely the black border collie cross than the yellow lab cross, has been sneaking both kinds of biting insects into the house. (Insects are more noticeable by far on blond dog hair, so they can be, and usually are, removed before the dog is allowed into the house. Noticing deer flies on black border collie fur is a fool's errand.)

One of the local avian critters has built a nest (of twigs) in the restored bluebird house. One day soon we'll take a peek and see if anyone is actually home. Any cleanout can wait until after Autumn migration. Unlike the current regime in Washington, D.C., I don't believe in breaking up migrant families.

daytime firefly(?)

Photo by J. Harrington

The Better Half informed me this morning that there were observable fireflies in the fields behind the house last night. With the outside chores I've been getting caught up on the past few days, I was too tuckered out to see them. Maybe sometime over this weekend I'll have the energy to stay alert and bushy-tailed (or is that bushy-taled?) enough to enjoy a show of fireworks without the bangs.

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

—Mary Oliver

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#HappyFathersDay!

Last night's solstice was duly celebrated with a backyard "bonfire" after dinner. We lucked out with a brief period of showers ending at 4:30 pm or so and friends we'd not seen for awhile showing up. As we were watching the fire, I wandered into the field behind the house and noticed, for the first time this year, that the sheep sorrel has matured and is about to start flowering. When that happens it will add a nice reddish tone to the fields.

Summer solstice: torching the brush pile

Photo by J. Harrington

On the North side of the brush (mostly buckthorn) pile, I noticed a few poison ivy vines that had started growing. Usually, poison ivy grows at wood's edge, not in the midst of a grassy field. My speculation is that birds had fed on the poison ivy berries; subsequently perched on the brush pile branches; defecated the seeds from the berries, and the ivy got enough shade / edge effect from the brush pile to feel right at home. Fortunately, I avoided stepping in it or burning it yesterday. Today I sprayed it with poison ivy killer. The same seed deposition pattern would explain a cluster of poison ivy I've already sprayed that "magically" appeared in a field near the road next to a telephone pole. To paraphrase Joe Cocker, "like a bird on a wire..." helps explain the magic of those new strands of poison ivy.

Sometime this week we'll start rebuilding a brush pile in time for another fire to celebrate one or more of the feasts of Lughnasadh (August 1), the Autumn equinox (around September 21) or Samhain (Halloween). There's more buckthorn to be pulled and burning seems the most straightforward way to get rid of it.

May all of you, and your fathers, and your grandfathers, and your sons and daughters and wives and mothers enjoy a healthy, safe, happily memorable Father's Day that carries through the Summer.

Digging

By Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb   

The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound   

When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:   

My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds   

Bends low, comes up twenty years away   

Stooping in rhythm through potato drills   

Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft   

Against the inside knee was levered firmly.

He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep

To scatter new potatoes that we picked,

Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.   

Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day

Than any other man on Toner’s bog.

Once I carried him milk in a bottle

Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up

To drink it, then fell to right away

Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods

Over his shoulder, going down and down

For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap

Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge

Through living roots awaken in my head.

But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb

The squat pen rests.

I’ll dig with it.

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In June the blooms come soon #phenology

The roadside South of the house is about to burst into bloom after bloom of bird's-foot trefoil. There are a few spiderwort plants in bloom behind the house. I managed to avoid mowing them down the other day. Some sort of vetch is starting to develop flowers. A few red clover plants are now in bloom. I'm sort of pleased with how many local plants I've learned to identify. But...

bird's-foot trefoil in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Other than knowing what a plant looks like, and its name, and, maybe, if it's considered invasive or noxious, or both, I know little about the roles our local wild plants may play. As an additional source of irritation, I can't decide if that's a noteworthy deficiency on my part, or not. Most of the little foraging I do requires me to identify fruits, not flowers, although I have noticed a number of "blackberry" bushes that have come into flower recently.

red clover blossoms

Photo by J. Harrington

I've also started to wonder how our ancestors learned about the different uses of plants; what's good to eat; what to avoid; how to treat a toothache or stomachache; what makes a good dye and similar matters. Gary Nabhan has written about the loss of such functional botanical information by a number of indigenous cultures, maybe one of his books will do more to provide insights on where the knowledge originated. I've not yet found a reasonably full description of how such knowledge was first acquired. Braiding Sweetgrass, which I've read several times, doesn't deal with the initial acquisition of such knowledge.

Innocence

By Linda Hogan

There is nothing more innocent

than the still-unformed creature I find beneath soil,

neither of us knowing what it will become

in the abundance of the planet.

It makes a living only by remaining still

in its niche.

One day it may struggle out of its tender

pearl of blind skin

with a wing or with vision

leaving behind the transparent.

I cover it again, keep laboring,

hands in earth, myself a singular body.

Watching things grow,

wondering how

a cut blade of grass knows

how to turn sharp again at the end.

This same growing must be myself,

not aware yet of what I will become

in my own fullness

inside this simple flesh.

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