tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-307900162024-03-19T00:34:52.405-04:00Princeton Nature NotesNews from the preserves, parks and backyards of Princeton, NJ. The website aims to acquaint Princetonians with our shared natural heritage and the benefits of restoring native diversity and beauty to the many preserved lands in and around Princeton.Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.comBlogger1511125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-11378652766496957122024-03-06T10:35:00.004-05:002024-03-06T15:25:12.228-05:00Princeton Salamander Crossing Brigade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xPHoe2tnCKDnSIHIJxz87CfX1CgP6EYbe6PFgxJqmqJyokzjkGfage2rloonMktkmc-EK55xBhEwLxhbVrtorX-o0EyCCKeCE0Bx3qd7oQlh0mrxqlqoT2p9n0vd3eQFkpHqegSyXxfVHRMJAk0zStFc8DG7598IB4G1dNLLR1sWczAuC-4KWg/s4032/IMG_8129.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xPHoe2tnCKDnSIHIJxz87CfX1CgP6EYbe6PFgxJqmqJyokzjkGfage2rloonMktkmc-EK55xBhEwLxhbVrtorX-o0EyCCKeCE0Bx3qd7oQlh0mrxqlqoT2p9n0vd3eQFkpHqegSyXxfVHRMJAk0zStFc8DG7598IB4G1dNLLR1sWczAuC-4KWg/w407-h305/IMG_8129.HEIC" width="407" /></a></div>Meet the Princeton Salamander Crossing Brigade. They joined together one warm, rainy night last week with a shared mission to help the local amphibians safely reach their breeding grounds up along the Princeton ridge.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3mM3E1EbH70FvpsZv1XrCVfJq69-x3HLTBU9FYmn_arfXT0UWHDLRqUdp_CAUUtlkQ5xmazMIzHfVJZeLEGFZRSfICRuxLfJ5JYaGTBM9SHm2AnVnlawi5rJ3jJnfRK3wyuvZ8fclrtRxch3Zh0qFQfMZtHSQMaRF1w2QAz8AqT566aavugkkw/s644/e95a7714-21c2-4d12-ad0c-75a30096967b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="644" data-original-width="587" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3mM3E1EbH70FvpsZv1XrCVfJq69-x3HLTBU9FYmn_arfXT0UWHDLRqUdp_CAUUtlkQ5xmazMIzHfVJZeLEGFZRSfICRuxLfJ5JYaGTBM9SHm2AnVnlawi5rJ3jJnfRK3wyuvZ8fclrtRxch3Zh0qFQfMZtHSQMaRF1w2QAz8AqT566aavugkkw/s320/e95a7714-21c2-4d12-ad0c-75a30096967b.jpg" width="292" /></a></div>Their objects of affection and devotion are frogs like this one, <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePPToL5ybl2TXX5LDdqtHZRXtT3vMIdx_PGw2G_xjJL0-D4jcRb4Yt__RNrxY_hUBpkW_b2hdqgkq9YtQmzgiOearakmEuTBnZHqKWTf7Kn_DsxmzDgWNoCQVbunAD9wQcmaXrFHLOtHBAalDoFJFLJBGkPsY5mng-9JyFHgXAKJRqHyDaZQ1uw/s3243/IMG_2081.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3243" data-original-width="2381" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePPToL5ybl2TXX5LDdqtHZRXtT3vMIdx_PGw2G_xjJL0-D4jcRb4Yt__RNrxY_hUBpkW_b2hdqgkq9YtQmzgiOearakmEuTBnZHqKWTf7Kn_DsxmzDgWNoCQVbunAD9wQcmaXrFHLOtHBAalDoFJFLJBGkPsY5mng-9JyFHgXAKJRqHyDaZQ1uw/s320/IMG_2081.JPG" width="235" /></a></div>and salamanders like this. Due to land preservation efforts that began with the donation of Herrontown Woods nearly 70 years ago and continue to this day with a critical initiative to save the 90 acre Lanwin tract, there is still enough forest and clean water along the ridge to sustain these charismatic and ecologically important creatures. After long winter dormancy, it's these first warm, rainy nights that stir wood frogs, spring peepers, and spotted salamanders to action. <div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowit7WwihtrhBkHQq4jP9bfh7EooksC9ZUPJ6dteIXx7TDm_3FA0mVNqS858k1isDoRu2sRA0fhGl5gjzKgfbjNC5WkFVnrNkMt-ywxtq3IGsozhijTmhiszPy4sbU8ZKYwJYElqhOqMqvIaDyYCCCIRNRYEg_StjwublJtZrKVumuL7D03FXjg/s4032/IMG_0055.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowit7WwihtrhBkHQq4jP9bfh7EooksC9ZUPJ6dteIXx7TDm_3FA0mVNqS858k1isDoRu2sRA0fhGl5gjzKgfbjNC5WkFVnrNkMt-ywxtq3IGsozhijTmhiszPy4sbU8ZKYwJYElqhOqMqvIaDyYCCCIRNRYEg_StjwublJtZrKVumuL7D03FXjg/w385-h289/IMG_0055.HEIC" width="385" /></a></div>Their goal is to reach the vernal pools that dot the woodlands of the ridge, where they will gather to mate and lay clusters of eggs before withdrawing back into the forest. Only one thing stands in their way. <div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <br /><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbLRL7m4CuplLQLMrxk1MoozPsSoABHpmwLwgruYNpU4boKAhBtSFIiFxcHWgGU6WBXMpgw3_HhP2VVit2RzthgHnn3WBMN4pTY1WVm2KSw62qF3yNktCY9N7GdV9vGeiF2aGUfl8brKnodU99rwRCVMsCqL6UqWnez9wUu-MPVo1N0NLE45uMg/s4032/IMG_0052.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbLRL7m4CuplLQLMrxk1MoozPsSoABHpmwLwgruYNpU4boKAhBtSFIiFxcHWgGU6WBXMpgw3_HhP2VVit2RzthgHnn3WBMN4pTY1WVm2KSw62qF3yNktCY9N7GdV9vGeiF2aGUfl8brKnodU99rwRCVMsCqL6UqWnez9wUu-MPVo1N0NLE45uMg/w407-h305/IMG_0052.HEIC" width="407" /></a></div>Herrontown Road dates back to the early days of Princeton. It rides the top of the ridge, winding around the back side of Herrontown Woods. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of amphibians, seeking the vernal pools in which they were born, unknowingly risk being crushed when they cross this strip of pavement. A spotted salamander can live more than 20 years, so that each loss has consequences for decades to come.</div><div><br /></div><div>Interest in taking action to help the amphibians, many of which are females carrying eggs, has been growing. This is our first year placing signs along the road, in an appeal to drivers to slow down and keep an eye out for the little creatures. Trish Shanley of the Ridgeview Conservancy introduced us to Charlotte Michaluk and her sister Sonja, who have been studying amphibians and received grant funding to make these signs.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8VvUmOOPNrDEb_NgQn_Rx74awnfuOmPN7406Bq5GYQonVWucDRSXUG76bvwXNBmOA451HQAcu3wibvBaXKZyfJHJ2BI6oPle7vTJKt1-p7YVFM9abMHDRTVY2mKN3hpWMEObEUYfk3qSINhXAyC4iS3vQym7-kHuz7VyotSXhOarQcMzZs_svbg/s4032/IMG_2053.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8VvUmOOPNrDEb_NgQn_Rx74awnfuOmPN7406Bq5GYQonVWucDRSXUG76bvwXNBmOA451HQAcu3wibvBaXKZyfJHJ2BI6oPle7vTJKt1-p7YVFM9abMHDRTVY2mKN3hpWMEObEUYfk3qSINhXAyC4iS3vQym7-kHuz7VyotSXhOarQcMzZs_svbg/s320/IMG_2053.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>We also had some signs hand-painted by Boy Scout Troop 43.<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj83UIk5dZpfwyTSzh5UZG-D6Yu8m3I1nhLFXWVJEHKMwHseoAqItg6bv_ct99OFmM9RgNxvBFlk4y2BK_iLu_WZFkc9l2Ve6_XElhlfdsPaIJqHi-fws7In_mCSiqO081S0wdyZ8M1rBbrTiNVbcuB8vezk-RCyclBu6WwZEgB72GtBKQWEOUMlQ/s4032/IMG_7992.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="417" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj83UIk5dZpfwyTSzh5UZG-D6Yu8m3I1nhLFXWVJEHKMwHseoAqItg6bv_ct99OFmM9RgNxvBFlk4y2BK_iLu_WZFkc9l2Ve6_XElhlfdsPaIJqHi-fws7In_mCSiqO081S0wdyZ8M1rBbrTiNVbcuB8vezk-RCyclBu6WwZEgB72GtBKQWEOUMlQ/w313-h417/IMG_7992.HEIC" width="313" /></a></div>Inge Regan of the Friends of Herrontown Woods created a series of signs that add up to a message, inspired by the Burma Shave signage that once dotted American roadsides. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>We can hope drivers will respond to signage, </div><div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7k2f9xnN9SyKlP386tn7vpBDr32NKMa9WoPWZTJsQVEld2LPkFq9Rl5aJIwUigo4GFCY_XVxs2DKHwABEKu2LAJ3Lmi1QWP6q88aUL7RgAaDlJbacat5L9ItP_X3MQHRk1OZECcqjqd8kZwg5d9SPmG1JYH6SOKyJrao_BGVARhXj-AT5Ew5FTA/s973/0bea3f39-a099-44b6-b65f-35ec7edb0c3d.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="847" data-original-width="973" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7k2f9xnN9SyKlP386tn7vpBDr32NKMa9WoPWZTJsQVEld2LPkFq9Rl5aJIwUigo4GFCY_XVxs2DKHwABEKu2LAJ3Lmi1QWP6q88aUL7RgAaDlJbacat5L9ItP_X3MQHRk1OZECcqjqd8kZwg5d9SPmG1JYH6SOKyJrao_BGVARhXj-AT5Ew5FTA/w399-h348/0bea3f39-a099-44b6-b65f-35ec7edb0c3d.jpg" width="399" /></a></div>but all too frequently, the result is this, </div><div><br /></div><div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwE5qlWsgZHo4tv-n3FDU3QhtTqiRzumzZN8lwbuxkOjnMlQd3h5vyvs4vQ20OwA70dKdNxUj7INBDf88HMWf40YOqCCr7gpCqPgEnQ2vFY2BxcfMtCjbAk_cj7K54dD5nWIUfdjw2hj1FYg_wHXsf_iwcDyrc7fKdV_POfb5GE3UBWyofYT6z8g/s4032/IMG_2060.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwE5qlWsgZHo4tv-n3FDU3QhtTqiRzumzZN8lwbuxkOjnMlQd3h5vyvs4vQ20OwA70dKdNxUj7INBDf88HMWf40YOqCCr7gpCqPgEnQ2vFY2BxcfMtCjbAk_cj7K54dD5nWIUfdjw2hj1FYg_wHXsf_iwcDyrc7fKdV_POfb5GE3UBWyofYT6z8g/w276-h368/IMG_2060.JPG" width="276" /></a></div>and this. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwrwoiBiLP81RBb1jMFY3SnRXw6xqBDx1rZQrr4_5RVjYg0YDKRSTfrU_fDlvgPUZQu4k9mDgNvdm7Isd6VDJT5xeXMWB5OzkN1qFCQFzzkkG0bHqMxll9vnkpmGF5DdPi5Uz8iVBpiSjLZLt9QpHA3RO8RTyLluCiwUEeRJqE64rvLCAI295TJQ/s1042/2f1a6e64-a28f-4cc1-805b-8e178731a8ba.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1042" data-original-width="971" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwrwoiBiLP81RBb1jMFY3SnRXw6xqBDx1rZQrr4_5RVjYg0YDKRSTfrU_fDlvgPUZQu4k9mDgNvdm7Isd6VDJT5xeXMWB5OzkN1qFCQFzzkkG0bHqMxll9vnkpmGF5DdPi5Uz8iVBpiSjLZLt9QpHA3RO8RTyLluCiwUEeRJqE64rvLCAI295TJQ/s320/2f1a6e64-a28f-4cc1-805b-8e178731a8ba.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>Even the most careful driver is unlikely to see this little frog, a spring peeper. Much of the damage done to nature by human activity is unintentional. Good will and good intentions are not enough.<br /><div><br /></div><div>In some places in the state, roads are closed on these first warm, wet nights so that amphibians can cross safely. It's also possible to build tunnels under the roads. But none of this is as yet possible for Herrontown Road.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoSw1cka_5pkO1-J9PgYi4X9VzprWr7N0QlRZy7RZSfLmejCXgLC57AytrCrRKU3HItw8KHXeASGoh5xu9MdPlZXtV7GzBsogSnAXSrlrbDBvniigOklQc0xztE5a18f-0sCBtHZKa_N-EzTGjS8A2AGHVqbk6y0E6S6ZdwoeltXotWgoEJ6j-w/s4032/IMG_8126.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoSw1cka_5pkO1-J9PgYi4X9VzprWr7N0QlRZy7RZSfLmejCXgLC57AytrCrRKU3HItw8KHXeASGoh5xu9MdPlZXtV7GzBsogSnAXSrlrbDBvniigOklQc0xztE5a18f-0sCBtHZKa_N-EzTGjS8A2AGHVqbk6y0E6S6ZdwoeltXotWgoEJ6j-w/s320/IMG_8126.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>Thus, it was time to don reflective vests, acquire strong headlamps and good raincoats, and gather at dusk to help the amphibians survive their road crossings. </div><div><br /></div><div>We first received training at a workshop led by staff of the Sourland Conservancy, ConserveWildlifeNJ, and Somerset County Parks Commission, who taught us basic safety protocols and how to pick up the amphibians. First and foremost, get off the road when a car is approaching, and it's important not to have any hand lotion that could harm the amphibians' sensitive skin.</div><div><br /></div><div>Over time, FOHW board member Inge Regan has brought together a passionate group of experts and novices, students and teachers, neighbors and FOHW members, all of whom communicate by text via a whatsapp group, sharing knowledge and photos, planning action, and generally cheering each other on. Hopewell teacher Mark Manning and Princeton native Fairfax Hutter have been lending their expertise, along with Lisa Boulanger, a neighbor who has essentially adopted Herrontown Road, regularly picking up litter and protecting the wildlife. Also a font of knowledge is Princeton High School teacher Mark Eastburn, who along with his students has gotten involved. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJaM1g4ECnfSiH2qJY76IJWC0x57RMsP8zjMEt25sH6EmEKnZBrCN5h9WG8a_nFAL2ZjKzbVDAPoQMCr09a0mrjoduXZiZG0gNzAEmEXIyDU-BVv9wtSVJVJQV2VMRGsOZINOzR4zQs8xFQYhb0wO0998yIwPUW6iRj6GT02vsxqK4DVnnn_AtnA/s4032/IMG_8106.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJaM1g4ECnfSiH2qJY76IJWC0x57RMsP8zjMEt25sH6EmEKnZBrCN5h9WG8a_nFAL2ZjKzbVDAPoQMCr09a0mrjoduXZiZG0gNzAEmEXIyDU-BVv9wtSVJVJQV2VMRGsOZINOzR4zQs8xFQYhb0wO0998yIwPUW6iRj6GT02vsxqK4DVnnn_AtnA/w256-h341/IMG_8106.HEIC" width="256" /></a></div>One PHS student, Bhavya Yaddanapudi, is conducting research on vernal pools in Herrontown Woods. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNL5O0MefrL5a_a9U2a0TVsk3cgNgT0RS8Kb0TdXqWclzoJoRTWMPll1OyKoPDRNVAp-RVKf6-iobLLTQAvMH01YXeyybQ9Udu31hvU9Ndx_1D7e1tgs_Q2e2jtr28h_FHE6ShpO3QBXZDdKXXTGIDDTqO3knKGsbznHIBsMww7ttLAo-Y_fQ_A/s4032/IMG_8110.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNL5O0MefrL5a_a9U2a0TVsk3cgNgT0RS8Kb0TdXqWclzoJoRTWMPll1OyKoPDRNVAp-RVKf6-iobLLTQAvMH01YXeyybQ9Udu31hvU9Ndx_1D7e1tgs_Q2e2jtr28h_FHE6ShpO3QBXZDdKXXTGIDDTqO3knKGsbznHIBsMww7ttLAo-Y_fQ_A/s320/IMG_8110.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>Helping with the crossing, as Daniela Gonzalez of PHS discovered, offers a chance to get up close to animals that are otherwise elusive, spending most of their lives hidden under leaves and logs in the forest.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYMoWouLZAOeEVbaXnNWAIJwAwS7Vyy01c39CwAZiSzrHxysmHMc7eUi2Nj7R8egpibtJfYNPcBWlLUuY8PK-MR81nB54pbCdHYcREbNcVVwLhEYePSAyRcrf2n8F43pKIYOK2l_Y3ysFDEigDVw5HlMy9dbhUR-T_a71kFtnvTHhv9P2U1zKKA/s4032/IMG_8119.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYMoWouLZAOeEVbaXnNWAIJwAwS7Vyy01c39CwAZiSzrHxysmHMc7eUi2Nj7R8egpibtJfYNPcBWlLUuY8PK-MR81nB54pbCdHYcREbNcVVwLhEYePSAyRcrf2n8F43pKIYOK2l_Y3ysFDEigDVw5HlMy9dbhUR-T_a71kFtnvTHhv9P2U1zKKA/s320/IMG_8119.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><div>Inge Regan's son Dylan also lent a hand, highlighting the multi-generational nature of the enterprise. As Inge reported in an email: "On our biggest night, 2/28/24, we had 15 volunteers out. We had over 121 passing cars, and we were able to save 40 amphibians. There were 49 DORs."</div><div><br /></div><div>DOR stands for "dead on the road" -- amphibians run over by vehicles. </div><div><br /></div><div>The following day, Bhavya's father, writing on the WhatsApp group, captured the sentiments of everyone involved:</div><div><br /></div><div>"Was great to see so many come together last night. The DOR stats are startling to say the least, witnessing was even more painful. Pls count me in for any efforts to bring change to our town policies that can minimize this carnage. Thanks again for including us." </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlRvqPDdc6k_Qoz5GaqPDkzIz-yctGZwSoTmkOTIrRgRYApXXM3BAddez4s0nVUrnpBf6aUK61L8mq9Vyy-pmwisejtKFqGR1XpyDqrjMTV3g1zQAtaEyIffxvIgkDjjAz8Xkp6UZ48KXzH-m0VtN3uRceFJKcFgotEbwuGYWC65Y91Ra3vkykQ/s800/Nicole-Salamander-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlRvqPDdc6k_Qoz5GaqPDkzIz-yctGZwSoTmkOTIrRgRYApXXM3BAddez4s0nVUrnpBf6aUK61L8mq9Vyy-pmwisejtKFqGR1XpyDqrjMTV3g1zQAtaEyIffxvIgkDjjAz8Xkp6UZ48KXzH-m0VtN3uRceFJKcFgotEbwuGYWC65Y91Ra3vkykQ/w319-h425/Nicole-Salamander-edit.jpg" width="319" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6TcVZO_3QrweYxP-74nqxFRRgk2sbLYkIhDP3Q_ye4Y3E4FBICxn2egzBQuvabs2dW1xo1H2Hb9_2nV8U1FIsVxiXjfPt55WIWI7Sym9mGhPSGiEKlMIlEdwXNPU3iK5zl1XF9rMeeePsupc8TD20XVExKiXGNEV0uRhTaHcBLoB-uDRbfWp2Q/s4032/IMG_0056.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="568" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6TcVZO_3QrweYxP-74nqxFRRgk2sbLYkIhDP3Q_ye4Y3E4FBICxn2egzBQuvabs2dW1xo1H2Hb9_2nV8U1FIsVxiXjfPt55WIWI7Sym9mGhPSGiEKlMIlEdwXNPU3iK5zl1XF9rMeeePsupc8TD20XVExKiXGNEV0uRhTaHcBLoB-uDRbfWp2Q/w426-h568/IMG_0056.HEIC" width="426" /></a></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-27160537994611423252024-03-04T15:16:00.001-05:002024-03-05T09:22:45.699-05:00Are Bubbles Trouble for a Tree? <p>One of the students in a class I was teaching about rocks at Herrontown Woods noticed something decidedly un-rocklike on a black oak we were passing by.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjM8JQHhyanaYbaK3Okx-PD6r81RjNkvD4h60mXsyn0xxfymdRRoewXqGkJyL29YqGmqw-eFCD2tXxJ_6ePgPOrHoum47ZZe6jNLTeC-OiFgvMu3I7KyCSL__C_TLsz8P65403c4mwuQoYxrDVKUFC5eVKkeKrOy-ZcunMxqnViAiLcaE3HPpLA/s3029/IMG_0099.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3029" data-original-width="2101" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjM8JQHhyanaYbaK3Okx-PD6r81RjNkvD4h60mXsyn0xxfymdRRoewXqGkJyL29YqGmqw-eFCD2tXxJ_6ePgPOrHoum47ZZe6jNLTeC-OiFgvMu3I7KyCSL__C_TLsz8P65403c4mwuQoYxrDVKUFC5eVKkeKrOy-ZcunMxqnViAiLcaE3HPpLA/w267-h384/IMG_0099.HEIC" width="267" /></a></div>Foam was collecting at the base of the tree. Might it indicate some malady like decay or disease?<div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVsk8hyphenhyphenR7rcHoLQftH-l51_j7GtGOZhNP7b6QhCSiBKEXSEgxwDdTkhTtWUskbX9r1shqYErbSIWt30JsOjpDLJrGfMxt5T4fw7r73qbH4Qz96Dd34JR7k2Dee9aU3VSMv41oiMg_9Syg8fJInoFywl8SKMfTv5jZiFSesdEIb3de_MaPZcj88CQ/s1122/IMG_0097.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1122" data-original-width="862" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVsk8hyphenhyphenR7rcHoLQftH-l51_j7GtGOZhNP7b6QhCSiBKEXSEgxwDdTkhTtWUskbX9r1shqYErbSIWt30JsOjpDLJrGfMxt5T4fw7r73qbH4Qz96Dd34JR7k2Dee9aU3VSMv41oiMg_9Syg8fJInoFywl8SKMfTv5jZiFSesdEIb3de_MaPZcj88CQ/w314-h408/IMG_0097.HEIC" width="314" /></a></div>The bubbles, clustering like the frog eggs now being laid in nearby vernal pools, reached at least ten feet up the trunk. There was, however, no obvious wound in the bark that would suggest sap was emerging and interacting with the water flowing down the trunk from the slow morning rain. <div><br /></div><div>Not surprisingly, what seems like a very curious and rare phenomenon turns out to have been written about many times over on the web. Soap is made of salts and acids, and in this case the salts in dust, accumulating on the bark during a dry spell, combine with the acidic sheddings of the tree itself. Rain generates "stemflow" on the trunk, and as the water drips down over rough bark, absorbing these salts and acids, bubbles are formed. The tree is perfectly fine.<br /><div><br /></div><div>If we had had time, we could have examined other trees to see which ones and which kinds were collecting foam at the base. Smooth-barked trees like beeches likely would not generate sufficiently turbulent stemflow to create bubbles. Perhaps tilted trees, on which the stemflow concentrates on the lower side as it flows downward, would have more bubbles. The pace of rain may also be a factor. That day, the rain was steady but gentle. </div><div><br /><div>One reason this bubbling seems so rare is that we don't usually pick rainy days to walk in the woods. It's our presence, not the bubbles, that are rare.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSuZsJBI7uYP8H-IHeuSbB5Jf_PCJz1RwG_-s43DvVJI0AwZy726Ankk5Pqls_fk9O5MMlE4I757Zovh6ENJToaTICjA7htoJ71p2OQfF_5qohG33-UBNmDNnU5z8X-gThAzovv6i_VkeYLj__ZUqTHcUrJTnisIa4BiEBgk0tqXYhT-eFein0Q/s1401/IMG_0098.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1401" data-original-width="1289" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSuZsJBI7uYP8H-IHeuSbB5Jf_PCJz1RwG_-s43DvVJI0AwZy726Ankk5Pqls_fk9O5MMlE4I757Zovh6ENJToaTICjA7htoJ71p2OQfF_5qohG33-UBNmDNnU5z8X-gThAzovv6i_VkeYLj__ZUqTHcUrJTnisIa4BiEBgk0tqXYhT-eFein0Q/w362-h394/IMG_0098.HEIC" width="362" /></a></div>While the bubbles were heading down the tree, a couple earthworms were heading up, apparently to escape the too soggy soil.<br /><div><br /><p></p><div>Speaking of bubbles, here is a post with photos of <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2015/01/patterns-in-carnegie-ice-2015.html">bubble patterns in the ice of Lake Carnegie</a> during the winter of 2015, back before our winters turned liquid. </div></div></div></div></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-50315970343022788122024-02-17T14:48:00.000-05:002024-02-17T14:48:23.178-05:00Coming in March: Three Princeton Adult School Classes at Herrontown Woods<p>Through the Princeton Adult School, I will be leading or co-leading three classes at Herrontown Woods this March. Classes meet on Saturdays, 10-12. </p><p><b>To sign up</b>, scroll down through the list of<b> <a href="https://www.ssreg.com/princeton/classes/classes.asp?catID=5783&pcatID=5777">Tours and Nature Walks</a></b> being offered this spring by the Princeton Adult School. Discount available if you sign up for all three.</p><p><b>Class Descriptions</b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRsSpknLeIYDpeb-rGHJriuYRSzq-86o4cOc6yqGGNN3Wu427_walMq_Q79wgtf2C5O7e_Uxsh12h6MXgmZV5_1DFSJXC9kz8vgK2Sj8EKxzS4_kEAycqMQf7G4f6B30OpOgvGjIkDEfgwweMtjazoxKUl7oXQf-1zWRI0FiXi74lqinS6MhVppw/s1600/magnetic%20rock.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRsSpknLeIYDpeb-rGHJriuYRSzq-86o4cOc6yqGGNN3Wu427_walMq_Q79wgtf2C5O7e_Uxsh12h6MXgmZV5_1DFSJXC9kz8vgK2Sj8EKxzS4_kEAycqMQf7G4f6B30OpOgvGjIkDEfgwweMtjazoxKUl7oXQf-1zWRI0FiXi74lqinS6MhVppw/s320/magnetic%20rock.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>March 2: <span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; padding: 4px;"><b>The Herrontown Woods Experience: <a href="https://www.ssreg.com/princeton/classes/description.asp?id=136460">Hiking and Exploration (Princeton Ridge Geology and Magnetic Rocks)</a> - </b></span></span>Why do magnets stick to some of the rocks in Herrontown Woods?Hydrogeologist Jon Johnson discovered magnetic rocks in Herrontown Woods and tracked them back to the mother lode. We will retrace his journey, learning about the Princeton ridge's surprising geology and ecology along the way.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtE62rLUvN6cR2KCByEr274KiWz1jpFIacm_EkAvPvb78XcDEZTqgVtKkt_A5EWL1JnEnPMhLoj0wnE6h1qRStrsVSMgkoufY-ccC6PgdeKerva36DhBdv8moOaaOps-VIGSTdFVzl4Komxb1-EgqQpx55Zx0q5iAql_XEouF4fUD8crVq6X4lDA/s1200/Herrontown%20Woods(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtE62rLUvN6cR2KCByEr274KiWz1jpFIacm_EkAvPvb78XcDEZTqgVtKkt_A5EWL1JnEnPMhLoj0wnE6h1qRStrsVSMgkoufY-ccC6PgdeKerva36DhBdv8moOaaOps-VIGSTdFVzl4Komxb1-EgqQpx55Zx0q5iAql_XEouF4fUD8crVq6X4lDA/s320/Herrontown%20Woods(1).jpeg" width="256" /></a></div>March 9: <b>The Herrontown Woods Experience: <a href="https://www.ssreg.com/princeton/classes/description.asp?id=136461">Hiking and Exploration (Signs of Early Princeton Along the Ridge: Quarries, Smallholder Farms, Timber Harvest</a>) -</b><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700;"> </span>The mix of nature and culture at Herrontown Woods provides a window into the past. Hidden in what today is a forest are clues to a time, a century ago, when Princeton's ridge was a patchwork of small farms, woodlots and quarries. Participants will learn to recognize these clues, and the history behind them.<p></p><p><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPHzLgnasaYPvak6slkZ-exc7nas7ilCYLZjYEtp2f-rKuqDVQBbeVFbBh50rOKAvAbPSa-WdehyphenhyphenmhRs7m2iUrEGRoPehhu1A38t8fQ5E_jhOjTApOE4Fu8VCIKwN8pHE3laFD1DGe5k-6HGCjCKdYoO3KTuBZGBGFo8pcoyD14hNUHaOGha9lQ/s1600/herrontown%20frogs.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="1600" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPHzLgnasaYPvak6slkZ-exc7nas7ilCYLZjYEtp2f-rKuqDVQBbeVFbBh50rOKAvAbPSa-WdehyphenhyphenmhRs7m2iUrEGRoPehhu1A38t8fQ5E_jhOjTApOE4Fu8VCIKwN8pHE3laFD1DGe5k-6HGCjCKdYoO3KTuBZGBGFo8pcoyD14hNUHaOGha9lQ/s320/herrontown%20frogs.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>March 16: <b>The Herrontown Woods Experience:</b><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; padding: 4px;"><b> <a href="https://www.ssreg.com/princeton/classes/description.asp?id=136462">Hiking and Exploration (Salamanders and Frogs in Herrontown)</a> -</b></span></span><span style="background-color: #fafafa; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700;"> </span>Herrontown Woods is a center of amphibian life along the Princeton ridge. We'll visit some of the vernal pools where frogs and salamanders gather in the spring to lay their eggs, and learn about their varied life cycles, as well as efforts to help them survive road crossings during spring migration.<p></p>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-79129436320164918032024-02-17T12:40:00.001-05:002024-02-17T14:54:12.541-05:00Encountering Old (Plant) Friends at Fairchild Tropical Botanical Garden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrXNIbI_26elMhESOEA-cIB6ydSihOG02QmMpDaimImCCRjzSLmzvrBOVsklF9HaEF2q_0oJdDVBTmtzbKNqLVwXMugPVMhDKbbD1zjJWLyRqhO58ZHbzguwnwnmtnu5x0xaEyhpD_4p-qdGtEz47YoFL8Mxr_prdx36aBUgDeMyS-28m7BJo/s2939/IMG_6089.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2220" data-original-width="2939" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrXNIbI_26elMhESOEA-cIB6ydSihOG02QmMpDaimImCCRjzSLmzvrBOVsklF9HaEF2q_0oJdDVBTmtzbKNqLVwXMugPVMhDKbbD1zjJWLyRqhO58ZHbzguwnwnmtnu5x0xaEyhpD_4p-qdGtEz47YoFL8Mxr_prdx36aBUgDeMyS-28m7BJo/w394-h298/IMG_6089.HEIC" width="394" /></a></div>Among the many surprising encounters we had during a visit to the Fairchild Tropical Botanical Garden--during a holiday spent in Coconut Grove, more than a year ago now--was the opportunity to sit down and have a chat with the celebrated writer and conservationist Marjory Stoneman Douglas. She's aging well. After a brief bout with death in 1998, by which time she had reached the age of 108, she still looks to be going strong 25 years later. Sitting alone on a bench, she looked like she wanted company, perhaps to tell me about her seminal book, <i>The Everglades: River of Grass</i>, and how she helped found the Fairchild Gardens.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMe56rzD2r5DqfoaETaGejg0tV8_ib0cV7DvUBTQ-OGjaUm1kzhxApZjH2Bk2wTeCZMaxRA9xC5CZyvqO-J6K0ThpxRqnBB0nv-XXAKLd4AZlbtTifaNxDMJyHy3haSr1cgvkHq9oOAj-rUpQuWzuzXOtpO7DGwF3PezsJaBB3jAm3Ob4kro4/s4032/IMG_4573.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMe56rzD2r5DqfoaETaGejg0tV8_ib0cV7DvUBTQ-OGjaUm1kzhxApZjH2Bk2wTeCZMaxRA9xC5CZyvqO-J6K0ThpxRqnBB0nv-XXAKLd4AZlbtTifaNxDMJyHy3haSr1cgvkHq9oOAj-rUpQuWzuzXOtpO7DGwF3PezsJaBB3jAm3Ob4kro4/s320/IMG_4573.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>Walking the paved trails that wind through 83 acres, I felt suffused with a bloom of happiness. Maybe I was empathizing with all the happy plants. In Princeton, things can be bleak in winter, but even in summer there is evidence everywhere of trees dying back due to introduced insects and diseases. This patch of Florida is by comparison exuberantly florid. <br /><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhPyC3W7q1DjwJ_LrZjE9g3fUp6f-sICZNlXdnxFVCVi3OTOyNWjRMtUaVWdlBlsVvXzURVX3vMsqyA_u2aAQvDkXmmtOtXVRw1n6tBR73fzNV8GfmwkLb9gse66_O08qtreynT1Yr9pQXE0865xyEMf7x7r5DviFeVGlj0US3undEvNWn1U/s3445/IMG_4545.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3445" data-original-width="2667" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhPyC3W7q1DjwJ_LrZjE9g3fUp6f-sICZNlXdnxFVCVi3OTOyNWjRMtUaVWdlBlsVvXzURVX3vMsqyA_u2aAQvDkXmmtOtXVRw1n6tBR73fzNV8GfmwkLb9gse66_O08qtreynT1Yr9pQXE0865xyEMf7x7r5DviFeVGlj0US3undEvNWn1U/w316-h408/IMG_4545.HEIC" width="316" /></a></div></div><div>Or maybe it was the endearing mix of impeccable and casual, which perhaps reflects the Garden's varied founders, who range from an accountant/businessman to a worldwide explorer to environmental advocates like Douglas. The grounds are at once formal and informal. Paved trails have imprints of leaves and fruits. Encountering no clear route from the parking lot to the visitors' center, we ducked through a shrub border. The lawns are manicured, and yet the plant labels are low-key, well-aged and aging well. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkO278I6V_JKpKLyyphF8r919PFI0HgZjtXL8UhwSgrF9x-c7Y9niFv8YThyQ-kfY8USm4ZUbCIDS9ECT-Yuf-i2ojbZFOvMRCS5cbgH9VJY0k8IeMQI77VxWlz_Z_w-iogcbHaC-k16ny5mkPHYh4MbhA9O5fLjE1VYpVWTiqEfcMtbuT9zs/s4032/IMG_4559.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkO278I6V_JKpKLyyphF8r919PFI0HgZjtXL8UhwSgrF9x-c7Y9niFv8YThyQ-kfY8USm4ZUbCIDS9ECT-Yuf-i2ojbZFOvMRCS5cbgH9VJY0k8IeMQI77VxWlz_Z_w-iogcbHaC-k16ny5mkPHYh4MbhA9O5fLjE1VYpVWTiqEfcMtbuT9zs/w406-h305/IMG_4559.HEIC" width="406" /></a></div>Structures range from a sophisticated greenhouse hosting tropical plants and myriad butterflies to this authentic-looking thatched roof pavilion. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjp1Y1VkU199zmWcda5n9IWL6MSTV8R0LzCWlajXSAFB8JBay3LFr4LL5TfwhyKao_9sFrIxQ_-56J_988YLEoafzBOtM1WUPd7clxPq2T83hHV7VF5cU-ZestsNniW_qpsqGD9H98VHuM7eeP8JoqT3sX0-6CT8kFF4JxhviSeK6qIU8h16U/s4032/IMG_4546.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjp1Y1VkU199zmWcda5n9IWL6MSTV8R0LzCWlajXSAFB8JBay3LFr4LL5TfwhyKao_9sFrIxQ_-56J_988YLEoafzBOtM1WUPd7clxPq2T83hHV7VF5cU-ZestsNniW_qpsqGD9H98VHuM7eeP8JoqT3sX0-6CT8kFF4JxhviSeK6qIU8h16U/s320/IMG_4546.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>Along the winding paths, there were old friends, like this thriving <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phytolacca_dioica">ombu</a>. Lacking true wood, it is really an overgrown forb masquerading as a tree. I first encountered it in Argentina, where stories tell of it giving shelter to gauchos out on the pampas. Its latin name, <i>Phytolacca dioica</i>, shows it to be in the same genus as our pokeweed. If you saw it blooming, as I did once in a park in the Recoleta neighborhood of Buenos Aires, you might think you're looking at a pokeweed 50 feet high.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetng_h0bJVq4vwYxlNbFeafL91HOvq_d9aVQGKCXZOE5LEA58mRKr56UGQ5ohvVg0bggHaJ58Cl5Hc-MxcgLtEO4IyErOSNDj1s5OS4f6x3V9QKZ3zKqiv3QWynZCDVRgbUfAgHDl81UmvTP-pkF9GZCmVdhTydlhTS30D7lVxn2ii5z5a4Y/s4032/IMG_4553.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetng_h0bJVq4vwYxlNbFeafL91HOvq_d9aVQGKCXZOE5LEA58mRKr56UGQ5ohvVg0bggHaJ58Cl5Hc-MxcgLtEO4IyErOSNDj1s5OS4f6x3V9QKZ3zKqiv3QWynZCDVRgbUfAgHDl81UmvTP-pkF9GZCmVdhTydlhTS30D7lVxn2ii5z5a4Y/s320/IMG_4553.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>How often do we get to see a baobab tree, and a massive one at that? </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_UJWaGxpk7VRCCvk6FiXFcCvpPjLT3kOeY4NiQPoXPp0XVlUDDU4FaWofucJQi-4dkPgSW0lvmNL3UxRIdhQBRIZ6PvHKMzYjTUjajixiPcVMlDkjguUAoTkeLgbu4lVXuQgN5ffZ0DwAUXdDcLtlKOqP4E-LLqDMh5Y-1n3FibRkm0242Q/s4032/IMG_4587.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="411" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_UJWaGxpk7VRCCvk6FiXFcCvpPjLT3kOeY4NiQPoXPp0XVlUDDU4FaWofucJQi-4dkPgSW0lvmNL3UxRIdhQBRIZ6PvHKMzYjTUjajixiPcVMlDkjguUAoTkeLgbu4lVXuQgN5ffZ0DwAUXdDcLtlKOqP4E-LLqDMh5Y-1n3FibRkm0242Q/w308-h411/IMG_4587.HEIC" width="308" /></a></div>Witnessing this assemblage of plants from around the world stirred all sorts of memories of past travels. This tree reminded me of a hike up into the hills outside Medellin, Columbia, in 1974, where a patchwork of hand-cultivated onion fields gave way to small hilltop forests of tree ferns and hummingbirds. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUDUAeLm_cDjJ-xCVAwAi89Zx5radrFRfTufrvO3WPNW5zTTRJ4dlzatf_ZDQbhjNz0CG5gfCchn8Z7utSBCumHfKMkStqS7omGy0EhbrYP12UusAqGW11xvLhrOMHfu7Akvk12we1zJ2ORjnGQ687_U8aiwKb4gGVxhkKpxK0xfUgFCgmUmg/s1297/IMG_4583.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1131" data-original-width="1297" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUDUAeLm_cDjJ-xCVAwAi89Zx5radrFRfTufrvO3WPNW5zTTRJ4dlzatf_ZDQbhjNz0CG5gfCchn8Z7utSBCumHfKMkStqS7omGy0EhbrYP12UusAqGW11xvLhrOMHfu7Akvk12we1zJ2ORjnGQ687_U8aiwKb4gGVxhkKpxK0xfUgFCgmUmg/w365-h318/IMG_4583.HEIC" width="365" /></a></div>Petrified wood triggered memories of visiting a petrified forest during a long drive through Argentine Patagonia.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmqoO_Gg2j3W1lXiKwCf6-bIPB9gQuz2RUi8TVJ4n-0fDSCf4i2S2uO9xfJzRDlRVfpApashV9PAvQrlQey3H4bxy_9hs7fWVFGY9CwGj5SNarFmo65NeXzEqC6xkB30E4zw2uXHtKgonECDOOfaMlEj8X5VTgG7d1FrnngcxHkmQEIzOo74/s4032/IMG_4552.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmqoO_Gg2j3W1lXiKwCf6-bIPB9gQuz2RUi8TVJ4n-0fDSCf4i2S2uO9xfJzRDlRVfpApashV9PAvQrlQey3H4bxy_9hs7fWVFGY9CwGj5SNarFmo65NeXzEqC6xkB30E4zw2uXHtKgonECDOOfaMlEj8X5VTgG7d1FrnngcxHkmQEIzOo74/w290-h387/IMG_4552.HEIC" width="290" /></a></div>And this swollen trunk brought the name "palo borracho" to mind, a name that translates to "drunken stick", in reference to the bottle-shape of the trunk. They are common along the streets of Buenos Aires. I think this one is Ceibe speciosa, the silk floss tree, closely related to the kapok tree.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>The Garden's 83 acres were donated by an accountant and businessman named Robert Montgomery, who counted among his friends the globetrotting plant collector David Fairchild, who lived next door and supplied many of the plants. The garden's website <a href="https://fairchildgarden.org/mission-history/">describes how</a> Fairchild "visited every continent in the world (except Antarctica) and brought back hundreds of important plants, including mangos, alfalfa, nectarines, dates, cotton, soybeans, bamboos and the flowering cherry trees that grace Washington D.C." </div><div><p>The National Tropical Botanical Garden <a href="https://ntbg.org/news/plant-hunters-secure-biodiversity-hotspots/">goes even farther</a> in describing Fairchild's legacy: </p><blockquote>"Avocado, mango, kale, quinoa, dates, hops, pistachios, nectarines, pomegranates, myriad citrus, Egyptian cotton, soybeans, and bamboo are just a few of the thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of plants Fairchild introduced to the United States."</blockquote><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipmWH-bEm-1htvBw_QvgRGSlEcG3MPCKqGxn0cf1fq8qLdk3QECWkqEzDY2S4s6Jx1G1GcGTj5-09CRUWXmrp4_3Tp0wKrCIi6vGncAnXKr2TKKurdxdZeqWSJDiVWqaHF48IP1HK--PFDHcOu8PJ4NjU7n3U7dMW_90l3-AfS7MovMtf8nhU/s1210/USbotanicGarden.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="1210" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipmWH-bEm-1htvBw_QvgRGSlEcG3MPCKqGxn0cf1fq8qLdk3QECWkqEzDY2S4s6Jx1G1GcGTj5-09CRUWXmrp4_3Tp0wKrCIi6vGncAnXKr2TKKurdxdZeqWSJDiVWqaHF48IP1HK--PFDHcOu8PJ4NjU7n3U7dMW_90l3-AfS7MovMtf8nhU/w406-h365/USbotanicGarden.png" width="406" /></a></div>The desire to import plants that could prove useful for food, fiber, and other uses dates at least back to George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, but gained intensity during the golden age of travel--the late 19th century when Fairchild began his career. Plants were considered so important to the economy and security of the nation that the U.S. Botanic Garden--a particular passion of George Washington's--was placed next door to the Capitol building. That's it down in the lower left of this map. <p></p><p>To 21st or even 20th century eyes, the proximity of a botanical garden to the nation's center of legislative power feels odd in the extreme. Plants are more likely now to be viewed as quaint decoration to soften the edges of our hardened world. When I visited the U.S. Botanic Garden, probably in the 1990s, the conservatory looked a bit down in the mouth, largely serving as a refuge for the homeless. More respect for <a href="https://www.usbg.gov/about-us/history-us-botanic-garden">George Washington's dream</a> has been shown since then. </p><p>Those must have been heady times, early in the 20th century, when Fairchild oversaw the import of more than 100,000 species of plants from around the world. Their utility and beauty promised to enrich our country by diversifying our farms, gardens and kitchens. Few, including Fairchild, wanted to think about the downside, as some of these imports escaped gardens and ran wild over the landscape, displacing native species. A botanical enrichment has contributed over time to an ecological degradation. </p><p>I looked into whether David Fairchild ever came to terms with the potential for introduced species to run amok, and plan to write about it in a separate post. He was aware that some nonnatives like kudzu and lebbek were spreading aggressively, but there is no verifiable evidence as yet that he sounded a warning. </p><p>It's heartening to see that the Fairchild Tropical Botanical Garden itself has evolved to take the threat of invasive species very seriously. According to multiple sources, it monitors closely its collection of exotic plants and <a href="http://www.virtualherbarium.org/gardenviews/ToughChoices.html">takes action to prevent spread</a> beyond the Garden's borders. I want very much to believe all this is true and will continue to be true, the better to enjoy the memory of my visit there, encountering so many old (plant) friends from my earlier travels around the world. </p></div></div><div><div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "system-ui", ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"></div></div></div></div></div></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-15134096402945722302024-02-17T07:54:00.004-05:002024-02-21T08:42:13.663-05:00The Lost Forest of Rogers Refuge<div><div>This past November, I received a request to look at a lost forest in Princeton. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxitUi_GC98Obt9TAhK1CDh6WPp0lAGQLwIpB_QoCRKDS0jjH3gH9TTsgwhLVjPRKdwC9Rv6_hHlL0Z3jnLgJPznReabBN6eP7UpPOc_J6VlruEmO1RMols-sc99Dd0Pz3sj1MmxIdKbGjUkP0YB6PhqN6bt7oQIRmZpF8odinN5b1ltlHZNzyBg/s4032/IMG_8899.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxitUi_GC98Obt9TAhK1CDh6WPp0lAGQLwIpB_QoCRKDS0jjH3gH9TTsgwhLVjPRKdwC9Rv6_hHlL0Z3jnLgJPznReabBN6eP7UpPOc_J6VlruEmO1RMols-sc99Dd0Pz3sj1MmxIdKbGjUkP0YB6PhqN6bt7oQIRmZpF8odinN5b1ltlHZNzyBg/w398-h299/IMG_8899.HEIC" width="398" /></a></div><div>The request came from what may be the oldest open space organization in town--the Friends of Rogers Refuge. <a href="https://rogersrefuge.org/history/">Dating back to 1967</a>, FORR has been working with the town, and the water company that owns the land just down from the Institute Woods, to sustain the refuge's role as premier habitat for a tremendous diversity of birds. </div><div><br /></div><div>Over the years, I've been able to witness and collaborate with a progression of leaders who have overseen stewardship--the Southerlands, Tom Poole, the Spars, the Varians, and most recently David Padulo. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTwO2JqhwMSlLbOchN5BC7ZK-Sn-qugl8SnO8X_BFmEKcvIVsSqZ7MzdehoOdvfw195C03Aja2U-7v7Vb1Q5FCW4ZEPCzGM5LDGEu3W24nXlgOqK7HcAf5kXTEqx9h_EhzRgnSVrexFIcgD3ydYm3L_qXW_cnuAP48NZ62tDpiFawPnVZfmNuKrQ/s4032/IMG_8974.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTwO2JqhwMSlLbOchN5BC7ZK-Sn-qugl8SnO8X_BFmEKcvIVsSqZ7MzdehoOdvfw195C03Aja2U-7v7Vb1Q5FCW4ZEPCzGM5LDGEu3W24nXlgOqK7HcAf5kXTEqx9h_EhzRgnSVrexFIcgD3ydYm3L_qXW_cnuAP48NZ62tDpiFawPnVZfmNuKrQ/s320/IMG_8974.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>At annual meetings, discussions have tended to focus on the refuge's central feature, the surprisingly extensive marsh--how to keep it wet enough and protect it from the super-aggressive Phragmitis.</div><div><br /></div><div>But this year, concern now extends to the floodplain woodlands surrounding the marsh--also vital bird habitat. One of these woodlands, thriving four years ago, has lost its trees.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXrW_831svfpHspo2XJWrFxGtWNkicxQLlniwu2lWaSexhXLCfHwep0Nlu7HJ81nw7u2ctHoM_MerltRFnKDnihLiBC4Yk4fgmjjI1qa5rwK2Up3f2hkZpZWfqh9Rz5QolSYyIBSogdvViWHG8yoH_sl8cglX9_vgaG4KyHM9UybLc6gk5R8unfw/s4032/IMG_8959.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXrW_831svfpHspo2XJWrFxGtWNkicxQLlniwu2lWaSexhXLCfHwep0Nlu7HJ81nw7u2ctHoM_MerltRFnKDnihLiBC4Yk4fgmjjI1qa5rwK2Up3f2hkZpZWfqh9Rz5QolSYyIBSogdvViWHG8yoH_sl8cglX9_vgaG4KyHM9UybLc6gk5R8unfw/s320/IMG_8959.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><div>This was not a forest classically lost to logging. The trees were not cut down but rather strangled over the course of several years, then left standing, each tree a monument to its past life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDtWgDXyXlziP6ZSgdeCVCuX4DzpnAl6o4tpJwRDo7DCgws9-2rI5kTb6p-aJIq1CAgjBrQ_vQdDRZSAQMwD24Sets-uaMJTfRVCI7z_yz5UTgM6tww29anOoAfj6_5cHIxsjDeAIuY845-Zlyq3mgXnSGmkudly5PfimmNwh_OZ22FNRkWKgtXw/s1593/IMG_8956.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1593" data-original-width="1278" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDtWgDXyXlziP6ZSgdeCVCuX4DzpnAl6o4tpJwRDo7DCgws9-2rI5kTb6p-aJIq1CAgjBrQ_vQdDRZSAQMwD24Sets-uaMJTfRVCI7z_yz5UTgM6tww29anOoAfj6_5cHIxsjDeAIuY845-Zlyq3mgXnSGmkudly5PfimmNwh_OZ22FNRkWKgtXw/w321-h400/IMG_8956.HEIC" width="321" /></a></div>Few have seen the now ubiquitous strangler, the Emerald Ash Borer accidentally introduced to the U.S. from Asia. It's larvae work quietly under cover of bark, feasting on the ash trees' circulatory tissues. </div><div><br /></div><div>That a whole forest could die speaks to how common ash trees once were. The most numerous tree in Princeton up until just a few years ago, comprising more than 10% of the tree cover, the ash tree's skeletons can be found throughout the canopy of residential and open space lands. Ash were particularly good at colonizing abandoned fields, to the point of dominating one area of what is now Rogers Refuge. </div><div><br /></div><div>As the botanist in an organization of birders, I was asked what the longterm prognosis for this lost forest might be. Winnie Spar, Joe Melton, and I walked the red trail to have a look.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfAd4tqOCC9RJwL-f_aUYKtVSPjZ9xFmqcBhtiv1TsPDUOjQIBi1Bi2ElUlqJqIU5cr-y1gthytqiPA7PYY7JG4wsnRZB5oJlr08HcsrePejH02Z382drH6mXk8_GmVzlYxePecVje4J7n79qmuybCmv_PoKRjE9mp1C6LyZbBHhpbG34MUAMbsA/s4032/IMG_8964.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="405" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfAd4tqOCC9RJwL-f_aUYKtVSPjZ9xFmqcBhtiv1TsPDUOjQIBi1Bi2ElUlqJqIU5cr-y1gthytqiPA7PYY7JG4wsnRZB5oJlr08HcsrePejH02Z382drH6mXk8_GmVzlYxePecVje4J7n79qmuybCmv_PoKRjE9mp1C6LyZbBHhpbG34MUAMbsA/w304-h405/IMG_8964.HEIC" width="304" /></a></div>One striking feature is what I call "poison ivy trees." These are dead trees, still standing, that have been scaled by poison ivy vines, with their classic "hairy is scary" stems. In order to bloom, poison ivy must climb a tree, sending out lateral flowering shoots along the way. The branch-like laterals give the tree the look of still being alive, even though all the leaves are now poison ivy. The flowers produce berries that, birders will enthusiastically tell you, serve as important food for birds.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReO0SvGkiawrwpUtPboz3CRPv7V8aOnBTt54ixQrf1UVxMmKWSNpYUTkb21aHDjJwjXYdYtx8BHGgPY9om9mTXMZfJS4lVcOTpDOnDRza-e0XOJZjmZc7Jxb-OtntW_kO9p85WcIUuZ2H1pKvr7gxzbqiM7_vrRtsZaQVOueq-asciXlXfTph0A/s4032/IMG_8966.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="445" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReO0SvGkiawrwpUtPboz3CRPv7V8aOnBTt54ixQrf1UVxMmKWSNpYUTkb21aHDjJwjXYdYtx8BHGgPY9om9mTXMZfJS4lVcOTpDOnDRza-e0XOJZjmZc7Jxb-OtntW_kO9p85WcIUuZ2H1pKvr7gxzbqiM7_vrRtsZaQVOueq-asciXlXfTph0A/w334-h445/IMG_8966.HEIC" width="334" /></a></div>Another feature of a lost forest is the shrub growth that now thrives on the infusion of sunlight previously claimed by the tree canopy. Much of this shrub growth, unfortunately, is nonnative and inedible to wildlife, like this Asian Photinia. At least it can be said that the invasive shrubs are not as thick at Rogers Refuge as they are at the Institute Woods just up the hill.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHAiHtLf65IvaGibP5FNs389dq3vx5kjnGre2Wdvkq8z8rZVZm_CfrAA-DFbqIc-CVqQyz6vyR_cuzYiuaI0XQJFSb6TzrNVk_JOQNmc-BAVJSZhETZTtQA8SkRD5caYx-n6V5a2gzMnjI-6F7zoN-GC9AWJALqIhi7eDC92r-FMnU6I0ggmWbUw/s4032/IMG_8958.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHAiHtLf65IvaGibP5FNs389dq3vx5kjnGre2Wdvkq8z8rZVZm_CfrAA-DFbqIc-CVqQyz6vyR_cuzYiuaI0XQJFSb6TzrNVk_JOQNmc-BAVJSZhETZTtQA8SkRD5caYx-n6V5a2gzMnjI-6F7zoN-GC9AWJALqIhi7eDC92r-FMnU6I0ggmWbUw/w297-h396/IMG_8958.HEIC" width="297" /></a></div>A few other native tree species fill a small portion of the void. In early November, the occasional silver maple and pin oak still had many of their leaves. Mixed in were a couple elms, and a red maple. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwz82x5JAtm6_cMmL3eKyy3iSUsu9yHJDDDuUbuMPhpEXuhYvRM_dSRbg48-Pmi03fEdR8TMkOIp8xE8ksjIziyfKzFOu6IMdTpTF4ZszkagsMmmZsGrJ5FSp6k6LDKb6VSbmwQwf8ZpHJ8iOG2qjLXs5gUrPvNHHaSIKaI6u79Q3EarL2imNz3g/s4032/IMG_8962.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwz82x5JAtm6_cMmL3eKyy3iSUsu9yHJDDDuUbuMPhpEXuhYvRM_dSRbg48-Pmi03fEdR8TMkOIp8xE8ksjIziyfKzFOu6IMdTpTF4ZszkagsMmmZsGrJ5FSp6k6LDKb6VSbmwQwf8ZpHJ8iOG2qjLXs5gUrPvNHHaSIKaI6u79Q3EarL2imNz3g/w320-h427/IMG_8962.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>Used to the numerous red maples at Herrontown Woods on the other side of town, I was surprised to find instead an abundance of box elder of every size growing in this broad floodplain of the Refuge. Related to maples, box elder are not the most statuesque of trees, but their soft wood can make good bird habitat. They now stand as the main hope for rebound in this patch of former forest. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyM_au6L-zD8phoghPOI6tP-d_J123NjqL6_z-IWKolzMdZG6In3ad081cwXlfzkZj9OC8nBUe_2z1XGtm3E5K8EqjbP1Hyljc6fmOmrutuXstypPNO39-022Ivo_PeRZity7z0n_9tR9yqIkj2xRgkhUW2dCIXIbNxCYePp1ATvjK-E_S-xNlw/s4032/IMG_8969.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyM_au6L-zD8phoghPOI6tP-d_J123NjqL6_z-IWKolzMdZG6In3ad081cwXlfzkZj9OC8nBUe_2z1XGtm3E5K8EqjbP1Hyljc6fmOmrutuXstypPNO39-022Ivo_PeRZity7z0n_9tR9yqIkj2xRgkhUW2dCIXIbNxCYePp1ATvjK-E_S-xNlw/w312-h416/IMG_8969.HEIC" width="312" /></a></div><div>The walk being with such knowledgeable birders, attention never strayed far from bird life. We saw a couple pileated woodpeckers, a coopers hawk and a couple other larger hawks. Winnie kept up a running monologue about the status of this or that bird. Mockingbirds have been around for a long time, but the catbirds keep them out of their territories when they are present. While a warming climate is causing many birds to extend their ranges northward, ravens, surprisingly, are moving south. She's seen some in the Refuge. Warblers love something about the spicebush flowers, whether it's the flowers themselves or an insect in them. Blue gray knatcatchers were mentioned, along with many other bird names that didn't register in my botanical brain.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's a lot of concern that last year's fires in Canada have been very hard on migrating birds that nest up there. A woman who catches and tags migrant birds had been having very few birds coming back down from Canada, but her catch/tag/release activity, conducted on Sundays, was hampered by rains every weekend this fall. One day she got only ten birds, total. </div><div><br /></div><div>But then Winnie is quick to add that she saw Cape May Warblers in the Refuge for the first time, several in fact, with immatures, and they too nest in Canada. Winnie is one to accent the positive, while acknowledging that migrant bird numbers are down 50-90%. </div><div><br /></div><div>This lost forest, the decline in bird numbers, accelerating changes in climate, democracy under threat--in many ways, America is losing its memory of what it once was. The soil, for its part, holds memory through the seeds that remain dormant within it. Back when the seed bank--this stockpile of seeds yet to sprout--was dominated by the seeds of native species, succession as an ecological phenomenon featured an orderly and predictable progression of species, from grassland to shrubland to mature forest. But the soil under our feet has lost its memory, whether by plow, development, intense browsing, or displacement of native species. Invasive lesser celandine, poisonous to wildlife, coats the ground in the spring, followed by inedible stiltgrass and its billions of seeds in late summer. Invasive shrubs and deer combine to limit native species and thwart the once timeless process of succession. Though the tree canopy is still dominated by natives, these are under increasing attack from introduced insects and disease.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTx6QvVy6fRofnAq7E4P77-rTC-TBWIp_3IHIXNDH9nlEl4GXRnMd5jABaojyT_ss6uEXfKj4b4oRhinout0ZTlN8QXbWgW4MeaQDQ_EExRCMvrGyxx3Hik14UKBXcKzNiY6AZm6v14KKxza0jKkk5cS1qg37mdl9OLVIm_BlARVMGVJ_GhBPng/s4032/IMG_8963.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTx6QvVy6fRofnAq7E4P77-rTC-TBWIp_3IHIXNDH9nlEl4GXRnMd5jABaojyT_ss6uEXfKj4b4oRhinout0ZTlN8QXbWgW4MeaQDQ_EExRCMvrGyxx3Hik14UKBXcKzNiY6AZm6v14KKxza0jKkk5cS1qg37mdl9OLVIm_BlARVMGVJ_GhBPng/s320/IMG_8963.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>Even healthy trees can be overwhelmed by vines of porcelainberry and wisteria.</div><div><br /></div><div>Given the circumstances, it's fair to ask what sense there is in persevering. What I find is that the native growth force, if often smothered and badly abused, remains intact. When given a chance to prosper, native plants and wildlife still can thrive. In Rogers Refuge, we've seen a tremendous rebound of spicebush since the town began culling deer to reduce browsing pressure. That in turn has improved habitat for birds. FORR has paid contractors to successfully set back the Phragmitis and porcelainberry. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI-UY5GMnlmujh5YHDF487FcNNUUrsNhT4r6ddKWTXn1L4fwPXIAKrrnpNx2I0jkeZba0QBE7kjxyvyThhGWxgFPcTEJVjIGCHMyfuu9yrUFIgeK8uinOaFKZcVzLUugPO1a3Og1x4QvVSfLSn1vDgLju5rBH3TEMNG4UItAPjjN4UQFrLPuhyyg/s3264/IMG_8310.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI-UY5GMnlmujh5YHDF487FcNNUUrsNhT4r6ddKWTXn1L4fwPXIAKrrnpNx2I0jkeZba0QBE7kjxyvyThhGWxgFPcTEJVjIGCHMyfuu9yrUFIgeK8uinOaFKZcVzLUugPO1a3Og1x4QvVSfLSn1vDgLju5rBH3TEMNG4UItAPjjN4UQFrLPuhyyg/s320/IMG_8310.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Through periodic interventions over a number of years, the Varians have virtually eliminated the one patch of invasive Japanese knotweed at Rogers Refuge. </div><div><br /></div><div>We pick our spots, time our interventions strategically to have the most impact for the least amount of effort, and look for opportunities. Despite the tragedy of losing ash trees, the new openings in the canopy could potentially allow native shrubs to grow, flower and bear in ways they haven't since being shaded out decades ago. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our inherited environmental mindset is that nature, if protected from intentional depredations like logging and draining, will heal itself. As FORR's webmaster Laurie Larson points out, "when <a href="https://dvoc.org/CassiniaOnLine/Cassinia57/C57Pages36_37.pdf">Charles H. Rogers</a> and the Southerlands started birding the “Water Company” in the 60s and 70s it was a landfill." The initial fight was to put an end to dumping. But now, at Rogers Refuge and many other places, the main depredations (invasive species, climate change) are unintentional, and the healing must be helped along by intentional effort. That effort could seem a sacrifice, but the primary feeling is one of gratitude, for the chance to work with nature--the greatest and most generously creative collaborator of all. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFYBIJLDDOi_JkFetaCUhw5WRXPCLGC6Grgh6SDY8V0rWX44RY-XAGEtCyACyw21NozT1jfFEU2D5g9TBO4l1B1Sn5EuX9vNQNlu_vaq0RH0VblHiOeVQP_WfCV21PwB7m8YLXMvKUqM4BZmEJzt0gm9mX5zwtb__sJR_7J8Kv7xXiCkhx_aubHA/s2048/IMG_2543.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFYBIJLDDOi_JkFetaCUhw5WRXPCLGC6Grgh6SDY8V0rWX44RY-XAGEtCyACyw21NozT1jfFEU2D5g9TBO4l1B1Sn5EuX9vNQNlu_vaq0RH0VblHiOeVQP_WfCV21PwB7m8YLXMvKUqM4BZmEJzt0gm9mX5zwtb__sJR_7J8Kv7xXiCkhx_aubHA/w415-h311/IMG_2543.JPG" width="415" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><br /></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-32355443230554967452024-01-29T10:00:00.003-05:002024-02-02T06:13:50.899-05:00Princeton University Students Study Local Nature<p>A recurring observation, which this blog has long sought to make less common, is that many people go through life knowing little about the natural world all around them. Kids can navigate the school years without gaining acquaintance with more than a handful of native plants. Princeton University students can tend to remain cloistered on campus, studying distant continents while leaving the local unexplored. </p><p>A salve for this concern came this past fall when twenty Princeton University students gathered for a walk through Herrontown Woods. They had signed up for professor Andy Dobson's Ecology of Fields, Streams, and Rivers--a course that combined standard lecture with field trips to "local sites of ecological interest," including Herrontown Woods, Mountain Lakes, the Institute Woods, Terhune Orchards, and lands preserved more recently by the Ridgeview Conservancy.</p><p>What a delight to show them the all-too-rare forest opening in the Botanical Art Garden, where wildflowers team in the gaps between scattered trees. They witnessed the rebound of spicebush, as browsing pressure from deer has been brought more into balance, and the foundational, enduring open space legacy of the late great professor Oswald Veblen and his wife Elizabeth. </p><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL20ZD-NFQC8hZ6qOqTUlbI9FTb61n8YfDnGm-2ufbSAQLLUqvyK0-3_Z6Lthotf3mTeFYthUfTXwgHXVOiiu8_lDCvOChB6xVa6swfCDAf1FyB8-Ex4SzaC3HvtsXjqhv8UfnPokfU05byU7bL9WMS-og6Xj41IkoZWWktP92tQn1diH59Cb8SA/s4032/IMG_9597.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL20ZD-NFQC8hZ6qOqTUlbI9FTb61n8YfDnGm-2ufbSAQLLUqvyK0-3_Z6Lthotf3mTeFYthUfTXwgHXVOiiu8_lDCvOChB6xVa6swfCDAf1FyB8-Ex4SzaC3HvtsXjqhv8UfnPokfU05byU7bL9WMS-og6Xj41IkoZWWktP92tQn1diH59Cb8SA/w295-h393/IMG_9597.HEIC" width="295" /></a></div><div>In turn, the students taught us a few things two months later, when Andy invited us to witness their presentations of individual research projects. </div><div><br /></div><div>I hadn't known, for instance, that the Lenape valued the red mulberry, and that this tree species I had considered weedy is actually becoming rare, in part due to interbreeding with the introduced white mulberry. My increased respect may lead to <a href="https://www.extension.purdue.edu/extmedia/fnr/fnr_237.pdf">identifying</a> and propagating remaining local red mulberries, for planting in an open understory at Herrontown Woods.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another student explained how the invasive barberry can serve as a <a href="https://www.dcnr.pa.gov/GoodNatured/pages/Article.aspx?post=116">tick haven</a>. The nonnative shrub's dense, low growth provides a humid habitat for white-footed mice, which in turn harbor the ticks. </div><div><br /></div><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #212529; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;">We learned a new word, "solastalgia." Coined less than 20 years ago, the word captures a kind of loss we are becoming more and more familiar with. If nostalgia is a longing for a place or time left behind, solastalgia is the distress felt when the world we thought we knew does the leaving. The word captures the present era, as climate change steals the seasons, rapid development transforms once familiar landscapes, and even foundational systems like democracy become threatened. </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;">Another presentation told of the <a href="https://bugoftheweek.com/blog/2020/12/14/holiday-meals-served-by-an-alien-plant-and-its-cosmopolitan-guest-peach-clematis-aphid-myzus-varians">peach-clematis aphid</a>, which lives two lives--one on peach-related trees, another on the non-native autumn clematis vine that blooms bright white in yards and in the wild. Andy pointed out that the resourceful aphid reproduces sexually on one, asexually on the other. This interaction between a nonnative insect and a nonnative plant is reminiscent of how the spotted lanternflies are drawn to the tree of heaven (Ailanthus)--the two having evolved together in Asia before being transported here. </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;">It was satisfying to see, as well, that Andy's course led one student to discover the fascinating world of fire ecology, that is, how plants of many sorts have adapted to and even become dependent upon the periodic presence of fire in the landscape. Her presentation brought back memories of my first happening upon the concept in my second year in college, exactly 50 years ago. I was on Ossabaw Island off the coast of Savannah, wondering why the pines were burying themselves in pine needles so thick that no new pines could grow. The answer, discovered pre-internet in books and articles, was that the pines dropped persistent needles as an evolved strategy to promote periodic fire that would leave the pines intact while exposing the mineral soil for seed germination and killing the pine's less fire-resistant competitors.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;">By teaching a course on local ecology, Professor Dobson is in part building on the great tradition of one of his predecessors in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, Henry Horn, who frequently reached beyond the university's borders to lead walks in local preserves. Some engaging videos of Henry's walks are online, and Henry's wife, Elizabeth Horn, continues to teach a wildflower course at the Princeton Adult School. I looked back and found another great example of university students learning from local habitats: when history professor Vera Candiani had architectural historian Clifford Zink and me introduce her students to <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2016/05/university-students-experience-mountain.html">Mountain Lakes' flora and history</a>.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;">Courses past and gratefully present demonstrate the potential for synergy between town, gown, and outdoors, and somehow brought to mind the imperative found long ago in the Grateful Dead's song "Truckin'": </p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"></p><blockquote>"Get out of the door and light out and look all around."</blockquote><p>Most of what stuck with me from college happened outside the classroom. And though the distant world may beckon, there's a whole lot of truckin' and learnin' to be done just beyond one's doorstep.</p></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-15130904266442187552024-01-23T07:45:00.003-05:002024-02-03T06:44:30.907-05:00Fountain Park--Ancestral Connection to an Eternal Spring<div>It is my sister-in-law Edna, not my siblings and I, who has taken particular satisfaction in researching our family's ancestry. She traced one lineage on my father's side back to Lord Hempleman of Hesse-Kassel. If my parents had known there was a Lord in our family's past, they might have called on me to show more regal bearing as a kid. Though it's flattering to learn of some royal ancestry, the most exciting find was another lineage, on my mother's side, extending seven generations back to an eternal spring located one hundred miles west of Princeton. </div><br />
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In Schaefferstown, Pennsylvania, there is a fountain that flows nonstop, year-round, without aid of any pump. It's water rises from a spring perched on the hillside, then flows down the hill to a fountain where residents of the town still come to have a drink.<div><br /></div><div>The fountain was part of an innovative underground system of wooden pipes that transported water from the spring down one side of a valley and up the other to provide drinking water in wooden troughs on the town square. </div><div><br /></div><div>According to some literature:</div><div><blockquote>"The water company in Schaefferstown has the oldest gravitational conveyance system by underground pipes in the United States. The water system was constructed sometime between 1744 and 1750 by the founder of the town, Alexander Schaeffer." </blockquote><p>It's also called "the oldest Chartered Waterworks still in operation in the United States."</p><div>This ancestral connection has all sorts of resonance in my life. Water holds an attraction for most people, but in my life it has been a recurring theme. I grew up near beautiful Lake Geneva, WI, got a masters degree in water quality, founded a watershed association, turned a soggy field in a public park into a wetland garden, dug a series of miniponds in my backyard, and favor wildflowers that thrive in wet soil. As a kid walking home from school when winter was finally giving way to spring, I loved to build dams out of wet snow to hold back the snowmelt along the curb. Clearly, all this time Alexander Schaeffer's genes have been whispering encouragement to his great-great-great-great-great grandson.</div><div><br />
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The eternal spring is in a park that also feels eternal, appropriately called Fountain Park, <div><br /></div><div>
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Peer in through the door in the wall, <br />
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and you'll find what looks like a small indoor swimming pool--a durably crafted stone chamber where the water collects before flowing down to the fountain. </div><div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtzuzgXZJwLiXU54qglt1Dq1rrHrggWgKLaNkRgZKhAATOBsBy3pv1mD8R8p0wmVaCD0-fISTmqTi-cKYLQ_mKQZNsfZSSEEkP89SlFUVkRzBKWQ354XbKrYO-1snLyEi_kq4Hsg/s1600/IMG_2976.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtzuzgXZJwLiXU54qglt1Dq1rrHrggWgKLaNkRgZKhAATOBsBy3pv1mD8R8p0wmVaCD0-fISTmqTi-cKYLQ_mKQZNsfZSSEEkP89SlFUVkRzBKWQ354XbKrYO-1snLyEi_kq4Hsg/w300-h400/IMG_2976.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>One enduring mystery, which I'm hoping a hydrogeologist who strays upon this post can explain, is why springs tend to emerge not at the bottom of a hill but halfway down. <br />
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Climb up this hill and you quickly reach the top, where there hardly seems to be enough land to feed such a copious and consistent spring--not much more than a small farm field, with the land beyond lower and flowing off in different directions. <br />
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German immigrant Alexander Schaeffer laid out the town in a way reminiscent of those he knew in Europe, and initially called it Heidelberg, after one of the most beautiful cities in Germany. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrGqCEWq8QU1VJwomWOCRRuGmfA0G4JVd8XTCL5G6TyqO6AmXPUqSTtwy2yw7yIXSyjaFB2uh9nk8AQtGvheqJSlz9VOF3JiPus6C2As2_m2BnrLXLIOFTAbo96jiA-I4H4F92AqWeT_zCfNmHRIn6wRgXQ4uRwZqQmJ6PhoqJoO7UwNK5C5eWw/s3264/IMG_8765.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="447" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrGqCEWq8QU1VJwomWOCRRuGmfA0G4JVd8XTCL5G6TyqO6AmXPUqSTtwy2yw7yIXSyjaFB2uh9nk8AQtGvheqJSlz9VOF3JiPus6C2As2_m2BnrLXLIOFTAbo96jiA-I4H4F92AqWeT_zCfNmHRIn6wRgXQ4uRwZqQmJ6PhoqJoO7UwNK5C5eWw/w335-h447/IMG_8765.JPG" width="335" /></a></div>Water from the spring still feeds troughs along Market Street, bringing back memories of ancient Roman water works seen in Italy.</div><div><br /></div><div>The park is owned and maintained by residents of Market Street. Buy a house on Market Street, and you also become part owner and steward of the park. <br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br />
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While in town, I met one of the owner/stewards, Ann Ginder, who gave me some copies of this pamphlet. At the time--my visit was in 2018--her husband, Andy, was president of the group of residents along the street who take care of Fountain Park. Carl "Cork" Meyer, who I didn't meet, is the one who does most of the physical work to maintain the park. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6Vmrvk4aL82hkj18Amd8X13E_Se3Mq76cUcFDY8kWm3p2szqYwEXl58Qiz4JkUm1ydoLZcjpr1xaa_-Byk5thSfRWE1Lo5Fh0s1ItSYIOI3w9tNcoAVx_vSixpcVKRGewbymo_T_7MDPm8E4h4jsAmnmxv6aV8-ivkeCRBsw7hogzZOjuKINsg/s3264/IMG_2970.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6Vmrvk4aL82hkj18Amd8X13E_Se3Mq76cUcFDY8kWm3p2szqYwEXl58Qiz4JkUm1ydoLZcjpr1xaa_-Byk5thSfRWE1Lo5Fh0s1ItSYIOI3w9tNcoAVx_vSixpcVKRGewbymo_T_7MDPm8E4h4jsAmnmxv6aV8-ivkeCRBsw7hogzZOjuKINsg/w395-h296/IMG_2970.JPG" width="395" /></a></div>On the town square, Alexander Schaeffer built what still stands as a tavern called Franklin House, and it was there that I met what proved to be a distant cousin of mine, Howard Kramer. Our ancestral connection to each other and the town's founder can be tracked back via gravestones variously populated with names like Meyer, Moyer, and Meier. Ann Ginder calls Howard the "unofficial mayor" of Schaefferstown.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERagGXZ-1wStMfal34z6hcmCrASJQgIr6kbR6jzJC4BVLA57W6hUE7FNXXPUYkM2Zfx_W2xgfMRwYBsdIbJgdutHiig-aWKeN-spwRhTVdetVF0KmJ06pHop_IXStAyslPkIlQY9rTD0T9r0TBv4fysmz1ur5Q8-LxKEGuGMFcv0FY7f8_YbCNw/s3264/IMG_8757.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERagGXZ-1wStMfal34z6hcmCrASJQgIr6kbR6jzJC4BVLA57W6hUE7FNXXPUYkM2Zfx_W2xgfMRwYBsdIbJgdutHiig-aWKeN-spwRhTVdetVF0KmJ06pHop_IXStAyslPkIlQY9rTD0T9r0TBv4fysmz1ur5Q8-LxKEGuGMFcv0FY7f8_YbCNw/w389-h292/IMG_8757.JPG" width="389" /></a></div>Schaeffer's house and farm on the outskirts of town are being restored as a historic site, with summer festivals to celebrate the town's history. It's not just the unique drinking water system and a long line of advocates and stewards that has saved the town's historical features. As <a href="https://lebanoncountyhistory.org/shop/images-of-america-schaefferstown-and-heidelberg-township-lebanon-county">one website</a> explains,<br /><div><br /></div><div><blockquote>"Because the area was left isolated from rail lines, canals, and modern highways, the town did not grow appreciably in the 19th or 20th centuries. This greatly influenced the small-town look and feel that the area maintains today."</blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimVBbaNNrppdmuweVNo4ovFvuWohH0ghpFfzIEFFO96ocOuuwtZ286U6L9uKrYTXL262q2NqU3kt5zcg6U16t0d63WoMq1r29Y5frlTk83R9P3KQIypKT-AaXd80x_2ibMsO-LKGu5JOdZCSQlclQqyZDSRIy65-mnrFol38oy8A9udpj5Ckw86A/s3264/IMG_8765.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimVBbaNNrppdmuweVNo4ovFvuWohH0ghpFfzIEFFO96ocOuuwtZ286U6L9uKrYTXL262q2NqU3kt5zcg6U16t0d63WoMq1r29Y5frlTk83R9P3KQIypKT-AaXd80x_2ibMsO-LKGu5JOdZCSQlclQqyZDSRIy65-mnrFol38oy8A9udpj5Ckw86A/s320/IMG_8765.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Thanks to my sister-in-law Edna for discovering our ancestral link to this special place, founded by my great-great-great-great-great grandfather. And thanks to those who care enough to cherish and sustain that history. Howard wrote to me that "years ago there was a steady line of people getting their drinking water here and at the fountain mid-way up Market St." Even now, with all the world's turbulence, radical change, and myriad threats to what we once thought of as forever, there is an improbable spring perched above a Pennsylvania valley where the water still flows.</div><div><div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><div class="ii gt adO" id=":yu" style="direction: ltr; font-size: 12.8px; margin: 8px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;"><div class="a3s aXjCH" id=":yt" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 1.5; overflow: hidden;"><div>
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(<i>If you're looking for a clever way to get rid of it, or want to eat it, or both, scroll through my various <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/search?q=bamboo">previous posts</a> that actually ARE about the nonnative golden bamboo.</i>) </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8d_8UoaQ66PDBiP4ankZaWVZxm8MYLWTqMepLfvtn28L8zM2Aj6Yto2o4VwygglX2nfc3DMPbHfkw8j99MqWvLZNhHDYh0xr09qktEjgaLE1p6QvcUPmz10vsGwykz3nguyP1LC1P768ZHQ0BXIrVXaj0lQTqKJDzqIU4YrYJ7zlZyF196lkmpA/s4032/IMG_9667.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8d_8UoaQ66PDBiP4ankZaWVZxm8MYLWTqMepLfvtn28L8zM2Aj6Yto2o4VwygglX2nfc3DMPbHfkw8j99MqWvLZNhHDYh0xr09qktEjgaLE1p6QvcUPmz10vsGwykz3nguyP1LC1P768ZHQ0BXIrVXaj0lQTqKJDzqIU4YrYJ7zlZyF196lkmpA/w401-h301/IMG_9667.HEIC" width="401" /></a></div>Nor is this post about the bamboo you are confronted with when you pull out of the Spring Street parking garage behind the Princeton Public Library. That one's probably the nonnative <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">arrow bamboo (</span><i>Pseudosasa japonica</i>), which lacks the towering, thick stems. Instead, it grows into a dense mop of evergreen foliage, seldom rising much beyond ten feet high. It's rarely seen in Princeton, but was a common feature in neighborhoods where I used to live, further south in the piedmont, in Durham, NC. We'd find it thriving in shade, and in that Princeton back alley it does an excellent job of screening the homes beyond it from the sight of cars pulling out of the parking garage day and night. <div><br /><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6UYhB81ovhkbk24b-9gME1pn4GPNefw6zACxEUbcJ4VJNnEOFunfOkzqe0cJCYHwseoMQIG0J4U1MQiMXDCKftiFKsLPh4q9M31CQb61SkBZWQAYqnAukQlTiXNz7ACVj88Q_TVgo01S6s-6OKLw-1ipLrI9n1OOh7fSlD5KjRwmEuPlq8BKyw/s4032/IMG_9155.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6UYhB81ovhkbk24b-9gME1pn4GPNefw6zACxEUbcJ4VJNnEOFunfOkzqe0cJCYHwseoMQIG0J4U1MQiMXDCKftiFKsLPh4q9M31CQb61SkBZWQAYqnAukQlTiXNz7ACVj88Q_TVgo01S6s-6OKLw-1ipLrI9n1OOh7fSlD5KjRwmEuPlq8BKyw/w315-h420/IMG_9155.HEIC" width="315" /></a></div>This post IS about what that patch of arrow bamboo reminded me of: <b>native bamboos</b>. Yes, there are native bamboos that once dominated vast stretches of the southeastern U.S., but which are now largely lost from the landscape.</div><div><br /></div><div>The photo shows a patch of native bamboo, cane so-called (<i>Arundinaria sp.</i>), that I planted 20 years ago in a nature preserve we created in Durham, NC. Called "17 Acre Wood," the neighborhood preserve straddles Ellerbe Creek--good floodplain habitat for native cane. A scientist with the Natural Resource Conservation Service, Roger Hansard, had given me the plant. <i>(He was also the one who showed me the last remnant of another little known, long-lost feature of the eastern U.S.--extensive native grasslands. There once was a great native meadow just south of Princeton, called <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2020/03/the-lost-meadows-of-maidenhead-meadows.html">Maidenhead Meadows</a>.) </i></div><div><br /></div><div>Prior to western settlement, early European explorers in what is now North Carolina documented not the unbroken forest of lore, but a mosaic of grasslands, forest, and canebrakes. The canebrakes were dominated by native bamboos. </div><div><br /></div><div>There are three species of native bamboo. <a href="http://www.namethatplant.net/article_nativebamboo.shtml">A Name That Plant article</a> gives a quick overview of native (<i>Arundinaria sp.</i>) and nonnative bamboos in the U.S.. </div><div><span class="fontSize_110" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 17.6px;"></span><blockquote><span class="fontSize_110" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 17.6px;">Differences in distribution and vegetative characteristics</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;"> help to distinguish among </span><span class="italic" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic;">Arundinaria</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;"> species and from non-native species. Typically river cane is more widely distributed in the southeastern US, switch cane in coastal plains and lower elevations, and hill cane in higher elevations (Appalachian Mountain region).</span></blockquote><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;"></span></div><div>The Tennessee Conservationist has <a href="https://digital.tnconservationist.org/publication/?i=710824&article_id=4053639&view=articleBrowser">an excellent writeup on the river cane</a> that until the 1700s formed "the dominant ecosystem in the Cumberland River valley." Dense stands of river cane, growing from 5-40 feet tall, served as important resources for American Indians, excellent forage for bison and later cattle, and hiding places for escaped slaves. They postulate that some of these massive canebrakes were the result of cane reclaiming corn fields abandoned by "prehistoric Mississippian peoples" many centuries prior, as major droughts led to the breakup of an early civilization. In turn, the canebrakes proved easier than forests for newly arrived western settlers to turn into farm fields.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you've never seen bamboo blooming, it's because it can grow for decades without blooming at all. Then a year finally comes when the whole patch will bloom at once, then die. I've seen a whole city block suddenly die in this way. </div><div><br /></div><div>The cluster of roots and leaves of native bamboo that I planted alongside Ellerbe Creek some 20 years ago in Durham has grown into a patch 30 wide. Maybe someone will come along and use it as a source for replanting the Cane Creeks of the world, named for what was once abundant and now is seldom seen.</div><div><p>That's what I was reminded of a few weeks ago, pulling out of the Spring Street parking garage next to the public library.</p></div></div></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-60713745490199682152024-01-07T05:47:00.002-05:002024-01-11T07:22:08.815-05:00A Rose Blooms in Brooklyn<p> Quite the surprise, arising the morning of January 1st,</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kNUrGTr_7lWDgXJwhNFhuRVoXBg7NIZddq1m-aorrLzT0rrlJu2_QUp-brqaTGAQKKXjNbDrdMaAdcDHWEb6j7zeiKumGNc7qwGIhmZ29WJxsMAFxZRU-TL0yYl00iF4xtzoufEQOvlHPgX77LQemzAx5dRAYezz8tQR2D77ADZPbpUp3pA8yA/s4032/IMG_9651.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kNUrGTr_7lWDgXJwhNFhuRVoXBg7NIZddq1m-aorrLzT0rrlJu2_QUp-brqaTGAQKKXjNbDrdMaAdcDHWEb6j7zeiKumGNc7qwGIhmZ29WJxsMAFxZRU-TL0yYl00iF4xtzoufEQOvlHPgX77LQemzAx5dRAYezz8tQR2D77ADZPbpUp3pA8yA/s320/IMG_9651.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>to find a rose blooming in a Brooklyn backyard. My first thought on this first day was, "Why is this rose blooming? Doesn't it know it's winter?" And such a large, beautiful rose!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis5FlrmBD8o_arSzDKN5EeJor2I0ras3-Y1Q-o_SapK08ydKSzyy6m42HBsMrqc8SoeEkwqUv3AI8QX6DIPMxJs8Re0N0FbITBHRJqgwEAaVY7R-DgiH86ObE5Lyz-3JNQPnrXYrZlvR_1e0RLybEEr-Xpmc29uJNmZkqxHBIj0SOk-v79iBhtLA/s4032/IMG_9652.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis5FlrmBD8o_arSzDKN5EeJor2I0ras3-Y1Q-o_SapK08ydKSzyy6m42HBsMrqc8SoeEkwqUv3AI8QX6DIPMxJs8Re0N0FbITBHRJqgwEAaVY7R-DgiH86ObE5Lyz-3JNQPnrXYrZlvR_1e0RLybEEr-Xpmc29uJNmZkqxHBIj0SOk-v79iBhtLA/w324-h432/IMG_9652.HEIC" width="324" /></a></div>Then I looked up and was surprised again, by two tall towers--iron exclamation points--rising along the back fence between two backyards in this row of brownstones. "What were those towers?," I asked my hosts.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTg7PBrj2-ML8yVYH25EZZ-6-UHAvQR2hbj5gx5WF4Ut9pqagRYW8ODhfODB4-6k457nVNrYl4L9pyXAbSV__5y3DXBNrl33nGnCkWnGi4tf3AvCcJzH5AanbMa0CSpL28m9U3fLAtTW125N_gni8lnic0He-sBrofA49yN7jEAxk7dwUy0n9nNw/s4032/IMG_9653.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="415" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTg7PBrj2-ML8yVYH25EZZ-6-UHAvQR2hbj5gx5WF4Ut9pqagRYW8ODhfODB4-6k457nVNrYl4L9pyXAbSV__5y3DXBNrl33nGnCkWnGi4tf3AvCcJzH5AanbMa0CSpL28m9U3fLAtTW125N_gni8lnic0He-sBrofA49yN7jEAxk7dwUy0n9nNw/w311-h415/IMG_9653.HEIC" width="311" /></a></div>Turns out that long ago, these towers anchored an elaborate web of clotheslines that stretched back to the apartments. I'm guessing the lines were mounted on pulleys, so that residents could hang laundry all the way out to the towers, then "pulley" it on back when it was dry.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3c8ZDpFgjb8lU8lxE0pfeXSDJiyoSAO_xaRszO0K6jfo-ke6Odjl_8j4bGP2ohEkXUS5T4hm_wkF8VmHhi6eBgPLgit0CEIEzLGLJErOz0RBxXUwZpK5DMRm1A1th1R_bADsW-DTHdAuNI6MiaLuVaG7yHnlIwDLG4R0wIkolAcXJkimsFNnOFQ/s900/clotheslineswiki.webp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="709" data-original-width="900" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3c8ZDpFgjb8lU8lxE0pfeXSDJiyoSAO_xaRszO0K6jfo-ke6Odjl_8j4bGP2ohEkXUS5T4hm_wkF8VmHhi6eBgPLgit0CEIEzLGLJErOz0RBxXUwZpK5DMRm1A1th1R_bADsW-DTHdAuNI6MiaLuVaG7yHnlIwDLG4R0wIkolAcXJkimsFNnOFQ/s320/clotheslineswiki.webp" width="320" /></a></div><div>It looked something like this--not unlike a harbor full of miniature sailboats. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sailing and line drying clothes are both ways to collaborate with nature. Both require being tuned in, aware of the outdoors, alert to shifts in the wind and the weather. Lacking an outdoor clothesline, I can still collaborate by hanging my clothes on a rack, then return the next day to find that nature has effortlessly dried them. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjGOHG-n4ACvd8dbeE9VlI8ZNedvPEnBtTGPOn_-uaYzav68EnBjpXjD9FFikP-28rfLg8mOIEBnmei-Gf90OQ2y0epZf0RK9M3pQMLEmsxWUKc4H-BgekT-sQIhxcdH_J1ftPpK8tjHhQcOCn99r0wRsxK5j7Q9j9biFBX1PMaZsjMGs2toEiQ/s4032/IMG_9654.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="407" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjGOHG-n4ACvd8dbeE9VlI8ZNedvPEnBtTGPOn_-uaYzav68EnBjpXjD9FFikP-28rfLg8mOIEBnmei-Gf90OQ2y0epZf0RK9M3pQMLEmsxWUKc4H-BgekT-sQIhxcdH_J1ftPpK8tjHhQcOCn99r0wRsxK5j7Q9j9biFBX1PMaZsjMGs2toEiQ/w305-h407/IMG_9654.HEIC" width="305" /></a></div>Machines have stolen us away from collaborations with nature, yet, embedded in concrete, these iron towers remain, soaring skyward like the masts of idled sailboats, still standing ready to launch us back to a more sustainable lifestyle. Patiently indifferent to a changed world, they teach the rose to bloom in January.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>More about what it was like to hangdry clothes out the back window can be found in <a href="https://ephemeralnewyork.wordpress.com/2019/11/18/what-tenement-clotheslines-said-about-new-york/">a post on Ephemeral New York. </a></i></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-77292362507738304772023-12-16T09:52:00.002-05:002023-12-29T09:24:59.185-05:00Handling Rainwater Runoff in My Yard--a Video<p>I was one of the hosts for a highly successful Green House Tour in Princeton this summer, organized by the Princeton Environmental Commission (PEC) and Sustainable Princeton. While other tours were of homes that demonstrate how to shift away from fossil fuel dependence, my tour was of my yard, and all the ways to utilize rainwater runoff to feed native plants in the landscape. The organizers made <a href="https://www.princetonnj.gov/1462/2023-Green-House-Tour-Videos">four excellent videos</a> of the various tours, including one of my yard, below. Devan Sekaria did the filming, with editing mentorship by Seth Mellman.</p><p> (<i>A good companion piece to the video is a post from ten years ago about how to incrementally shift your lawn to garden, called "<a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2013/05/incredible-shrinking-lawn-thanks-to.html">The Incredible Shrinking Lawn, Thanks to Cardboard</a>."</i>)</p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/01VFMpbK0kM?si=WpTC3T71k3fjb6ZB" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-90780988757650875302023-12-02T08:53:00.006-05:002023-12-05T01:53:15.309-05:00Default Landscapes That Lack the Touch of a Human Hand<div><br /></div><div>Much of the land in central Jersey has been highly traumatized, first by agriculture, then by suburbanization and invasive species. During the agricultural era, plowing erased the land's memory of what it once had been, not altogether unlike the erasure of Native American culture through forced assimilation. On this traumatized land now live many people who have lost connection to the land around them. Land that long ago lost its memory--its seedbank of native species that once flourished upon it--has now lost the touch of a human hand. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZLsQclHptPB4VEDbzmliA7Onbgo6vTL2_W5WMfFtzAjbmvw2Ubj16Af5WLz6vL5th6QcrH_j0xrOi_SbJ7oNypOU1-bDXjW73gFd6ZBKwEKx3gTOsr02icHrJpvfq0Psv6nJZz8upwsD5N7tp6x9_qk1wyEXYZTQaJMgLhPDaNzK1ooFDKijsQ/s3232/IMG_9347.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3232" data-original-width="3024" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZLsQclHptPB4VEDbzmliA7Onbgo6vTL2_W5WMfFtzAjbmvw2Ubj16Af5WLz6vL5th6QcrH_j0xrOi_SbJ7oNypOU1-bDXjW73gFd6ZBKwEKx3gTOsr02icHrJpvfq0Psv6nJZz8upwsD5N7tp6x9_qk1wyEXYZTQaJMgLhPDaNzK1ooFDKijsQ/w417-h446/IMG_9347.HEIC" width="417" /></a></div>Tended only by machines, this landscape of turf and tiny cannonball shrubs is what can be called a cultural default landscape, with closely mowed and trimmed plants kept in an eternal infantile state. The values expressed here are neatness and simplicity. Nature, being neither neat nor simple, becomes the tacit enemy of the suburban landscape. Subdivisions like this remind me of the motels we would plop down on the Monopoly board.</div><div><br /></div><div>Heightening the sense of disconnection, this development, with houses dropped on the land as if they were spaceships from another planet, also lacks any clear physical connection to other developments around it. West Windsor at some point becomes East Windsor, their names suggesting they are west or east of something, and yet Windsor itself--once called Centerville because it is located at the center of the state--has barely 300 residents. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37lvjugLFSIAlT2GCGf5BV7Yc_Jrk3kNUGbrwLjynJS7LWCP0lF-v4c8Vg8yZ8KCIGizGbWYT-x9Pm8tTpNFJzSE1JM3GL_NBauls-A-wbiYpLNmqSiMflhjhgoTMOzrS4hxagPcmpWGyQdYTIv8d_mU7xpqQ0CpHaCzYZnJkQxdv1AIJfmAUQQ/s4032/IMG_8296.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37lvjugLFSIAlT2GCGf5BV7Yc_Jrk3kNUGbrwLjynJS7LWCP0lF-v4c8Vg8yZ8KCIGizGbWYT-x9Pm8tTpNFJzSE1JM3GL_NBauls-A-wbiYpLNmqSiMflhjhgoTMOzrS4hxagPcmpWGyQdYTIv8d_mU7xpqQ0CpHaCzYZnJkQxdv1AIJfmAUQQ/w385-h289/IMG_8296.HEIC" width="385" /></a></div>In Princeton, there is more sense of connection, with a downtown nearby, and a few trees have grown up, but otherwise the default anti-nature landscape of house plus sterile lawn tended by machines is the same.<br /><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHquf2IuO7w4vY77a2HWlpMXJDitcul-wq7O2gbg2d9AatK_zTQCXB1bfS5A4HwULkhLp5-XqOdjYAij19Q0k2uKm2Fba6CvI1OjjIvSl9CUGumVgzlP6AFYv8KEgHpmrvOrSEBUItHsT9qddNQyKvrALh-HS64rw_Y3G2mSQ2xtNhqfdaoieB-w/s4032/IMG_9348.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHquf2IuO7w4vY77a2HWlpMXJDitcul-wq7O2gbg2d9AatK_zTQCXB1bfS5A4HwULkhLp5-XqOdjYAij19Q0k2uKm2Fba6CvI1OjjIvSl9CUGumVgzlP6AFYv8KEgHpmrvOrSEBUItHsT9qddNQyKvrALh-HS64rw_Y3G2mSQ2xtNhqfdaoieB-w/w414-h310/IMG_9348.HEIC" width="414" /></a></div>Here is another cultural default landscape, and by that I mean a landscape whose relative sterility is enforced by engrained cultural expectations. This is perhaps the largest detention basin I have ever seen, meant to capture runoff next to a public school. My guess is that the school cannot use the area for sports, and no one will think to turn it into a meadow, so it is destined to remain a barren mowed lawn in perpetuity.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_0Okl1qz4GmXrYDKX3YiMWmhNi29eraglt3_wFGNmejvAkKgjIUnpsMB98of-iKHVZwfNDXiNZbcvr1jeMuEmb83hF1GVKB7rJsZNX5cpU3no8UdDhPXR8ilx45T9_qPC1eW1oGMdvlY_WMgTWTZcgE57ow9krZfemsxTJGGpdX4MI7B9ynrnw/s4032/IMG_9346.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_0Okl1qz4GmXrYDKX3YiMWmhNi29eraglt3_wFGNmejvAkKgjIUnpsMB98of-iKHVZwfNDXiNZbcvr1jeMuEmb83hF1GVKB7rJsZNX5cpU3no8UdDhPXR8ilx45T9_qPC1eW1oGMdvlY_WMgTWTZcgE57ow9krZfemsxTJGGpdX4MI7B9ynrnw/w395-h296/IMG_9346.HEIC" width="395" /></a></div>Surprisingly, this large field across the street from the mansions has been left to grow up in broomsedge--a native grass. Not a high quality grassland by any stretch, but the less frequent (probably annual) mowing at least allows the grasses to reach sexual maturity.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisIHTTApyIO8G1dtTgDSIA0F6Z4b-AeT0BagVXQA9F9qoGXlDhaekqBOYb6cBkh5eNfxDTJC8bP8pH90JVBjlxpY8yzxOG2ymL-Q6F6blduWmFnTemW4RzB0LtoM0sW2oJpqUIOUQ94TbTvvMAxABU9m3ObVCTCtFEW3C9LucpWsEgthiJGKMnLQ/s4032/IMG_8826.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisIHTTApyIO8G1dtTgDSIA0F6Z4b-AeT0BagVXQA9F9qoGXlDhaekqBOYb6cBkh5eNfxDTJC8bP8pH90JVBjlxpY8yzxOG2ymL-Q6F6blduWmFnTemW4RzB0LtoM0sW2oJpqUIOUQ94TbTvvMAxABU9m3ObVCTCtFEW3C9LucpWsEgthiJGKMnLQ/w408-h306/IMG_8826.HEIC" width="408" /></a></div>Over near the hospital in Plainsboro, a vacant field demonstrates another kind of default landscape, where engrained cultural imperatives of farm or turfgrass have ceded control to invasive species. Cultural abandonment allowed three classic weeds to move in: mugwort, Chinese bushclover, and late flowering thoroughwort. Those first two are nonnative, with the mugwort being crowned "most likely to succeed" in abandoned fields. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is astonishing to witness the hegemony that mugwort can achieve. Monocultural stands of mugwort stretch for miles along roadsides in the Plainsboro area. This can be called an invasive species default, in which aggressive nonnative species fill the void left by past agricultural trauma followed by neglect. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFQcYXPU-vd3q9vXekrWDydLdgkSqzx20YGZE0GOzGlfO88yOwxjoIPXISglzyrIaGFriGaxTwLy4uMxWCex5u0Vq3nVWegA0X3BN38Xv07e4AqwO9JOvMJFmok9IYw-3O57yNmnysyLHko3APndKFMTKWqrD6nvzxuMA4rn2xIk8K_CJ9fjyow/s4032/IMG_8810.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="449" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFQcYXPU-vd3q9vXekrWDydLdgkSqzx20YGZE0GOzGlfO88yOwxjoIPXISglzyrIaGFriGaxTwLy4uMxWCex5u0Vq3nVWegA0X3BN38Xv07e4AqwO9JOvMJFmok9IYw-3O57yNmnysyLHko3APndKFMTKWqrD6nvzxuMA4rn2xIk8K_CJ9fjyow/w337-h449/IMG_8810.HEIC" width="337" /></a></div>Chinese bushclover appears to be newer on the scene in NJ. In the North Carolina piedmont, where I used to live, this highly aggressive species was planted by the Dept. of Transportation to reduce erosion along roadsides. Solving one problem, the DOT created another, as Chinese bushclover has since invaded native grasslands across the eastern U.S., and is now displacing other species along rights of way and on vacant lots in the Princeton area.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkTJtyh6xUm8FdaP9Uf47PyXdxjHNqeYu3opBlHAyXn9DvCxVevPb1Jox2cfunh1jIoE6hCXlpBL2pVjtBoDNJp9IsA9KziCcTTCYIqNOM6NFcaVmq-2cQS8FBE240K8TPWqFM_n7wD5vxK-rjcMD2U_GYA6eZyuFzI_eSdTK4ez8EGcrkQKgWbQ/s4032/IMG_8809.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkTJtyh6xUm8FdaP9Uf47PyXdxjHNqeYu3opBlHAyXn9DvCxVevPb1Jox2cfunh1jIoE6hCXlpBL2pVjtBoDNJp9IsA9KziCcTTCYIqNOM6NFcaVmq-2cQS8FBE240K8TPWqFM_n7wD5vxK-rjcMD2U_GYA6eZyuFzI_eSdTK4ez8EGcrkQKgWbQ/w417-h313/IMG_8809.HEIC" width="417" /></a></div>How does one counter the cultural and invasive species defaults in our area? One approach is to knock out the worst of the invasive species--the mugwort, Phragmitis, and Chinese bushclover--and then plant deer-resistant natives like late flowering thoroughwort and wild senna. These in turn will produce seeds that can start shifting the seed bank back from nonnative to native. It's all we've had time for thus far, in this field next to Herrontown Woods, preserved but otherwise forgotten. Maybe one day it can be a shining example of a native grassland, that, unlike so many others, has received the steady, ongoing, healing touch of a human hand.<br /><div><br /></div></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-7773414571425061632023-11-24T19:43:00.002-05:002023-11-25T08:08:03.858-05:00Our Color-Coded Forest -- v2023 Happy Thanksgiving to readers of Princeton Nature Notes, now 17 years old--the blog, that is, and maybe even some of the readers. I will be leading a nature walk this Sunday, Nov. 26, from 1-3pm, open to all. Meet at the main parking lot for Herrontown Woods, off Snowden Lane. I had hoped to show off what I call the color-coded forest, but a storm of heavy wind and rain stripped most shrubs of their remaining leaves. It will still be good to have a hike, though, and you can see in this post what area woodlands looked like until just a few days ago.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp65MBBMRdsNDjd_eBKw7qxw57W7XIY5At94vipMUDHudDdnl_Jde97-MCzEQJL29BplmZvT_N3Kwp3oB-X9AavdDMO28FuhnlR4LuFXT7NrSWLlxkWNlbZ4FxzNMo_OftSqKtkk0kENsUOYne2J5hiNLwhAkEvGbIwkdXTlsv09TnSotQm2rvLQ/s4032/IMG_9274.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp65MBBMRdsNDjd_eBKw7qxw57W7XIY5At94vipMUDHudDdnl_Jde97-MCzEQJL29BplmZvT_N3Kwp3oB-X9AavdDMO28FuhnlR4LuFXT7NrSWLlxkWNlbZ4FxzNMo_OftSqKtkk0kENsUOYne2J5hiNLwhAkEvGbIwkdXTlsv09TnSotQm2rvLQ/s320/IMG_9274.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>November is when woodlands turn into one of those paintings where you match the color to the number. It's a time when you can gaze into the distance and identify every woody plant by its color. For instance, in this photo of a woodland overlooking the canal in Kingston, check out the yellow in the upper right. That's what's left of the Norway maple leaves, which turn color later than the native maples, and seem to know no other color than yellow in the fall. And the green in the understory? That is bush honeysuckle--what I call the "second forest." It's still green because it evolved on a different continent with a different climate, and so its timing is different from the native flora in spring and fall.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmFX1UpHOQO14BykUJuBigY5xCv_NHSI_h2mBB8pN0wWA12Y5QxZVUaU-ElAEKXZYr9RpIMzjpBUFqCqAn1naJ19T3i4EDMfLFDP7irVOmXX6VWYWIGuSwb3pEAzZliSNE5088YAQmPQxSxu-0Ls_HfHqY_auQnpMMGv0T4ofoR-LBFgMgOtT7w/s4032/IMG_9082.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmFX1UpHOQO14BykUJuBigY5xCv_NHSI_h2mBB8pN0wWA12Y5QxZVUaU-ElAEKXZYr9RpIMzjpBUFqCqAn1naJ19T3i4EDMfLFDP7irVOmXX6VWYWIGuSwb3pEAzZliSNE5088YAQmPQxSxu-0Ls_HfHqY_auQnpMMGv0T4ofoR-LBFgMgOtT7w/w371-h278/IMG_9082.HEIC" width="371" /></a></div>Seen this past week from the cliff in Herrontown Woods, the color coding was much more complex, with non-native Photinia, winged euonymus, and bush honeysuckle mixing with native species. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYiF3V0Cdbi7LHilVRvVL2aOQPvG6YX29SXQZJpSKcYcE7q9PoLxRfaUn639JF7vAcqB3j5KmUfYK2TqJCCncplyJ8UMs5J1Dsr_Z4vxptWs4HcnmDsj4kv2t-CAozhAs36QsNkcVO3oSAx6vP4lTyfcgiyFN4W6jrlRnOX1J_DEJJCYObfD22WQ/s4032/IMG_9080.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="383" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYiF3V0Cdbi7LHilVRvVL2aOQPvG6YX29SXQZJpSKcYcE7q9PoLxRfaUn639JF7vAcqB3j5KmUfYK2TqJCCncplyJ8UMs5J1Dsr_Z4vxptWs4HcnmDsj4kv2t-CAozhAs36QsNkcVO3oSAx6vP4lTyfcgiyFN4W6jrlRnOX1J_DEJJCYObfD22WQ/w287-h383/IMG_9080.HEIC" width="287" /></a></div>Here's a glorious dogwood along the red trail. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwUNuZ_ZXHL5PWs9MaJpESBCqfCc-Rvr4roIaYpjYeyGBidjC9Occ8hdamvOWPRYiuht0O5bEVDkx2CdR5qALA8PUr7TfOwPotIq_zbqZBkjw3q2NL5nNYBCCqLli1j7GXX_NK-y70HvZmjokw1ZrmDu2UaZgj0qCJ_ek9Ao5o9e5YYeBwE_FBHg/s4032/IMG_9060.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwUNuZ_ZXHL5PWs9MaJpESBCqfCc-Rvr4roIaYpjYeyGBidjC9Occ8hdamvOWPRYiuht0O5bEVDkx2CdR5qALA8PUr7TfOwPotIq_zbqZBkjw3q2NL5nNYBCCqLli1j7GXX_NK-y70HvZmjokw1ZrmDu2UaZgj0qCJ_ek9Ao5o9e5YYeBwE_FBHg/w295-h394/IMG_9060.HEIC" width="295" /></a></div>Up on the ridge, the maple-leaved Viburnums develop subtle shadings.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXAsR3bmaszy1sv7Lw8kcH5UzL_vaiwTBw1KEZTa-_h18ddReH_o54-R81jLHtJzvm3sVQAUhXLab1iG5IXx3V1mQdGeo5XGQoDzC4_MHwlOXZae3Ryt9JER8_FJleuFFnSj0hRD2L_Cm-6Wti5aQ0nc0U6JGj7waxNgknbGg9QHBqJkD2tsUZA/s4032/IMG_9076.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="389" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXAsR3bmaszy1sv7Lw8kcH5UzL_vaiwTBw1KEZTa-_h18ddReH_o54-R81jLHtJzvm3sVQAUhXLab1iG5IXx3V1mQdGeo5XGQoDzC4_MHwlOXZae3Ryt9JER8_FJleuFFnSj0hRD2L_Cm-6Wti5aQ0nc0U6JGj7waxNgknbGg9QHBqJkD2tsUZA/w292-h389/IMG_9076.HEIC" width="292" /></a></div>In our "cultural zone" between the Barden and Veblen House, young white oaks turned a rich burgundy earlier in the month. I tell people it's called a white oak because it turns red in the fall. Red oaks mostly turn orange. Naturalists have been doing Stop Making Sense tours long before David Byrne got around to it.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbH3Moc4Yn57EbsJDuRq_t-YV5tQY33V3QbU2VawwUu45zRn4XRpX41TejBuO1gdxAhPMcsT4SoKgQse_C27wAXLS5aTv3ZactQkoxi4mMw9DtzOtkp2lllUrCTpYXCFkbjU6Kf5SFeZPWD03bPwSNCtefKK3YXC_j4_YXUG0TOa60AO1cMyLvTg/s4032/IMG_9093.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbH3Moc4Yn57EbsJDuRq_t-YV5tQY33V3QbU2VawwUu45zRn4XRpX41TejBuO1gdxAhPMcsT4SoKgQse_C27wAXLS5aTv3ZactQkoxi4mMw9DtzOtkp2lllUrCTpYXCFkbjU6Kf5SFeZPWD03bPwSNCtefKK3YXC_j4_YXUG0TOa60AO1cMyLvTg/w286-h381/IMG_9093.HEIC" width="286" /></a></div>And then there's Photinia villosa, which is both beautiful and concerning, given how densely it has come to dominate in areas across town in Mountain Lakes and the Institute Woods. A few specimens turn bright orange, while<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0kJ_W7Y8ZLX9aVYhU9KP-y-HpPK6SuD8N7KDZioHP46sxzD7nSq4lTu8zAq9fJiPGM6p3jyhJs0Mf7Gi6n2VSOH8HDRntmblp4UHjUDG5MyDEgZqYdeEIR8CVjlyNod_ydZVLJMR2TWp1xAljBqLPG1L8XoMW4uP6KUMjZ8MMMypEWtG4XEISg/s4032/IMG_9094.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0kJ_W7Y8ZLX9aVYhU9KP-y-HpPK6SuD8N7KDZioHP46sxzD7nSq4lTu8zAq9fJiPGM6p3jyhJs0Mf7Gi6n2VSOH8HDRntmblp4UHjUDG5MyDEgZqYdeEIR8CVjlyNod_ydZVLJMR2TWp1xAljBqLPG1L8XoMW4uP6KUMjZ8MMMypEWtG4XEISg/w291-h388/IMG_9094.HEIC" width="291" /></a></div>most turn bright yellow, even when growing side by side. You won't see a Norway maple going rogue with orange in the fall.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qlkwklBOrmxNLKkUZF0vLbexIw1PBQ-BZgRvJ54m4SZJa4Anm3bshgYyisRqkKK2lSspIrpe8eXhQZzURzCmIFnUJunEMfWyQ73I4JUItBvw5p0zyYia8YmOFmfvOXrlXs7Kj9SnfDxaNEblDU5QoTBAr7AgLOmIuA1txn0UYwPCJHayub-WQg/s4032/IMG_9284.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="421" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qlkwklBOrmxNLKkUZF0vLbexIw1PBQ-BZgRvJ54m4SZJa4Anm3bshgYyisRqkKK2lSspIrpe8eXhQZzURzCmIFnUJunEMfWyQ73I4JUItBvw5p0zyYia8YmOFmfvOXrlXs7Kj9SnfDxaNEblDU5QoTBAr7AgLOmIuA1txn0UYwPCJHayub-WQg/w316-h421/IMG_9284.HEIC" width="316" /></a></div>Another shrub, related to Photinia but just starting to show up in our woods, <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2022/01/a-mystery-tree-in-princeton.html">is a mystery</a>. I discovered it across town fifteen years ago in Rogers Refuge, and even crack botanists have yet to put a name on it. <br /><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_grkSr-DSPsEjrkWw0xl-ZU7Sw7uQBy6MPkfyM_nRD4mzagfVJXeP3O-EElFh1Uqu5KOrPeRlwuIH8YVwWdVTfhScY9VEl8IqyeFeyrRfd_Pb3-C5NsPfHRWvqicuYLfCM5lrtOIFmdZ0WDWyf9HdC1TKD67sxgGspE8xZ6N703BFpx9iH4qG_g/s4032/IMG_9085.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_grkSr-DSPsEjrkWw0xl-ZU7Sw7uQBy6MPkfyM_nRD4mzagfVJXeP3O-EElFh1Uqu5KOrPeRlwuIH8YVwWdVTfhScY9VEl8IqyeFeyrRfd_Pb3-C5NsPfHRWvqicuYLfCM5lrtOIFmdZ0WDWyf9HdC1TKD67sxgGspE8xZ6N703BFpx9iH4qG_g/w293-h391/IMG_9085.HEIC" width="293" /></a></div>Here you can see Photinia (yellow), American holly (evergreen), and in the foreground some sweetgum leaves (red). You can see how empowering the color coded forest is for distinguishing one species from another. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiS9LMgfg3K3vMS19eYY6CYKcGbtapfUAJXiwA3fZsdstg3eGcxjt6Jfbo-AGrVwOgmF66lCuo_ZRXIBPFtE14eZhEc7VrSrmJHP6bHRwWFZwuIvtu2-jO4ihy7Z_bO33PNxTfQctkbOuYWO_IVj9XpZPnmFZRaLfnfxbY8FWeY_vf4eyAN_AUDw/s4032/IMG_9086.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiS9LMgfg3K3vMS19eYY6CYKcGbtapfUAJXiwA3fZsdstg3eGcxjt6Jfbo-AGrVwOgmF66lCuo_ZRXIBPFtE14eZhEc7VrSrmJHP6bHRwWFZwuIvtu2-jO4ihy7Z_bO33PNxTfQctkbOuYWO_IVj9XpZPnmFZRaLfnfxbY8FWeY_vf4eyAN_AUDw/s320/IMG_9086.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>Barberry is beautiful as well. If only wildlife could feast on beauty, we'd be all set.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70GjMue8E_GONE1BJ0MLvYJEkWeO8PyUot1W-_9CYAAfqFccO64TAm8vJQwJIq3kYYs1Bd_zpR1gV3F0LP3pyJZHnaeDMEt7hhua2_zvPx7f5FRaEmhauho4BCUwfboGRjyYk5qRySbgNPNXiO01P1nLu95kH9UEuaiseIO6WZxtnVrh5rlZv2Q/s4032/IMG_9083.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70GjMue8E_GONE1BJ0MLvYJEkWeO8PyUot1W-_9CYAAfqFccO64TAm8vJQwJIq3kYYs1Bd_zpR1gV3F0LP3pyJZHnaeDMEt7hhua2_zvPx7f5FRaEmhauho4BCUwfboGRjyYk5qRySbgNPNXiO01P1nLu95kH9UEuaiseIO6WZxtnVrh5rlZv2Q/w302-h403/IMG_9083.HEIC" width="302" /></a></div><div>Bush honeysuckle--here photographed mid-month with a background of pink winged euonymus--keeps its leaves longer than other nonnatives. Even after all that wind and rain, it could still be easily spotted, clinging to its leaves. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjglR4L1Xe81-mcD2ACL6PI5m3r2d1dNDEiti6PvZwSzSKznqw4wxqzmJQlZIkl6n9Fp8d9Ycve_AwQ5U-fR7ab_oM9K4ndXzIuX9w1tZJePyc5JOa0ktdx8vghhowYi97HM8AJWjCVtkS2NJDL99D_8OTGjfo9nNEtYNYRnzP-owtFBXCT16crYw/s4032/IMG_9285.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjglR4L1Xe81-mcD2ACL6PI5m3r2d1dNDEiti6PvZwSzSKznqw4wxqzmJQlZIkl6n9Fp8d9Ycve_AwQ5U-fR7ab_oM9K4ndXzIuX9w1tZJePyc5JOa0ktdx8vghhowYi97HM8AJWjCVtkS2NJDL99D_8OTGjfo9nNEtYNYRnzP-owtFBXCT16crYw/s320/IMG_9285.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>A less common nonnative called jetbead (<i>Rhodotypos scandens</i>) has found its way into one area of Herrontown Woods near the little red barn. Like bush honeysuckle, it keeps its leaves late into the fall. Having blended in all summer, it suddenly becomes exposed this time of year, thanks to the color-coding.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIj8rcYbue9ZRRpoBB3SibMIG_6LKwF7eMwc61znqLuqGEKWnoQL3g_gEkNRbjK6u0qfSXXMzpcfXiLL99-8L1OOLcZj1skRH_ZslyPiSJICJ4i5c_Vf5bmnJgWH3WwRRvl1Hyu3_XkcMnWaU1jPrevzAMiczdY4Z4WtcwUDjp6KCCGEOF7kcyRA/s4032/IMG_9276.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="401" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIj8rcYbue9ZRRpoBB3SibMIG_6LKwF7eMwc61znqLuqGEKWnoQL3g_gEkNRbjK6u0qfSXXMzpcfXiLL99-8L1OOLcZj1skRH_ZslyPiSJICJ4i5c_Vf5bmnJgWH3WwRRvl1Hyu3_XkcMnWaU1jPrevzAMiczdY4Z4WtcwUDjp6KCCGEOF7kcyRA/w301-h401/IMG_9276.HEIC" width="301" /></a></div>Small patches of this unusual native grass, found thus far only in a couple spots along the ridge, are easily spotted now as well. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFOsQsGYuu3L77rbx_99LrYU-FJkyigSEX6wikMlyy1D-Du9WC54ENNi770UYLb_0vpp3dB_TxfqOyeqXbU-5eGG-XJeMXWYLtKhfSwLtrXaHGh_9G-Q9YeTC6nGmT0amMnGgUZe9kEN_5hP4HRLFFS-K3Ve127L2xnQ4E6y8MNNnZtiGO2HFuQ/s837/IMG_9277.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="809" data-original-width="837" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFOsQsGYuu3L77rbx_99LrYU-FJkyigSEX6wikMlyy1D-Du9WC54ENNi770UYLb_0vpp3dB_TxfqOyeqXbU-5eGG-XJeMXWYLtKhfSwLtrXaHGh_9G-Q9YeTC6nGmT0amMnGgUZe9kEN_5hP4HRLFFS-K3Ve127L2xnQ4E6y8MNNnZtiGO2HFuQ/s320/IMG_9277.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>You can see the long awn on the seed that gives this grass an attractive look, as if it has fancied itself up with long eyelashes. The coppery background leaf is beech, which will keep its leaves far into the winter, a reminder of November's color-coded artistry.</div><div><br /></div><div>Past posts about <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/search?q=color-coded">the color-coded forest</a>. <br /><div><br /></div></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-1451474308275916882023-11-13T10:50:00.001-05:002023-11-13T10:50:53.121-05:00Liz Cutler's Pressed Flower Art<p>This is a post to honor the work and artistry of one of Princeton's great environmental educators, Liz Cutler. I first knew Liz as founding director of the nonprofit OASIS (Organizing Action on Sustainability In Schools), which promoted sustainability at 23 area schools. As sustainability director at Princeton Day School, she organized school garden tours and climate summits focused on mobilizing and empowering the next generation. Once a year, PDS would send a hundred kids to Mountain Lakes for <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2011/09/princeton-day-school-community-day-at.html">community workdays</a> back when I was the resource manager there. Later, we served together on the Princeton Environmental Film Festival committee.</p><p>Since leaving PDS, Liz says she's been <a href="http://www.wholeschoolsustainability.com">consulting with schools</a> all over the country to help them become more environmentally sustainable. One particularly nice-sounding gig: she spent this past winter as Master Teacher-in-Residence at The Island School in The Bahamas helping their young faculty improve their teaching practice.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0Yk2cH2wiySqrDGdgZZij1uJMreZu2WJMljzFw0Brkw83f0Xjqq2bNE3c0dNtdF3TR1PYh9Oax8ZePETZcgeydUstAn-k2XndGjtn04vRK3MBq-hXZpVHRkivTZuI-eLoxNWoWA_Dcgfff3ceVaxdFHvAQuBOxvdZ5WuBurn15GPow5h11a-QQ/s1000/Cutler-SummerNightGarden.webp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0Yk2cH2wiySqrDGdgZZij1uJMreZu2WJMljzFw0Brkw83f0Xjqq2bNE3c0dNtdF3TR1PYh9Oax8ZePETZcgeydUstAn-k2XndGjtn04vRK3MBq-hXZpVHRkivTZuI-eLoxNWoWA_Dcgfff3ceVaxdFHvAQuBOxvdZ5WuBurn15GPow5h11a-QQ/s320/Cutler-SummerNightGarden.webp" width="320" /></a></div><div>To her extraordinary environmental work has more recently been added extraordinary art, specifically pressed flower compositions. According to Liz, what "began as a meditation in 2020 has become a creative manifestation of my love of nature and of my life's work as an environmental educator." </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9as7BEr2Nghdk9rQbWsv0-g1mQPbRSPJMw2w0ZjDAlcETTV2ZHaEVf3DP8JFBGOLr69PAzIrnpXXwFeynbP9zZ9mF3lUGkyhBKC1NKTrEKahN62vAlUakUehrLwi7Z8ADVlRV97FpsPfiWLj7mJhRkVNDLwGKvdg9fL2CvdSHXrE_JiPimAD6aQ/s1014/LizPressedFlowers2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="762" data-original-width="1014" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9as7BEr2Nghdk9rQbWsv0-g1mQPbRSPJMw2w0ZjDAlcETTV2ZHaEVf3DP8JFBGOLr69PAzIrnpXXwFeynbP9zZ9mF3lUGkyhBKC1NKTrEKahN62vAlUakUehrLwi7Z8ADVlRV97FpsPfiWLj7mJhRkVNDLwGKvdg9fL2CvdSHXrE_JiPimAD6aQ/s320/LizPressedFlowers2.png" width="320" /></a></div>Less than two years after she started creating her many and varied compositions of pressed flowers, the Princeton Public Library hosted <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2021/12/the-artistry-of-local-environmentalist.html">an exhibit of her work</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div>She now has a website, <a href="https://www.lizcutlerpressedflowers.com/">LizCutlerPressedFlowers</a>, where she makes prints of her original compositions available for purchase as lasting gifts. The website is an opportunity to check out all her lovely work, and includes a description of her <a href="https://www.lizcutlerpressedflowers.com/artisticprocess">process</a>. Twenty percent of all proceeds go to benefit The Watershed Institute and the D&R Greenway Land Trust. </div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-82825789628232712192023-11-11T10:20:00.002-05:002023-11-25T08:27:02.497-05:00The Pleasure and Aesthetics of Native Seed Collection<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVkZGEWPY3R0yuakrTs_EfIbhpVtL0bR_eBALd0N1_LRbaZKOJ4CEvlAp50j4K1XvQpqaiJ4bbD7o83R34U5Az7nZ0xLeCMPS6DJ2bTABvmj8tZnrXmECONvKoxSz4s0peeuvauJFfvwXoJmfpxBwsSubR5gIYpGL8uQ9hTP9JF1-YNpqOjESX3Q/s4032/IMG_8844.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVkZGEWPY3R0yuakrTs_EfIbhpVtL0bR_eBALd0N1_LRbaZKOJ4CEvlAp50j4K1XvQpqaiJ4bbD7o83R34U5Az7nZ0xLeCMPS6DJ2bTABvmj8tZnrXmECONvKoxSz4s0peeuvauJFfvwXoJmfpxBwsSubR5gIYpGL8uQ9hTP9JF1-YNpqOjESX3Q/w309-h412/IMG_8844.HEIC" width="309" /></a></div>One of the more pleasurable and aesthetic outdoor experiences in the fall is gathering seeds. I claim no expertise, but adhere to one simple rule: let the stem below the seeds turn brown before harvesting. And harvest when the seeds are dry. Also, be messy. Let some of the seeds fall where they would have fallen if you hadn't come along to take some. Alright, that's three rules. But that last rule is especially enjoyable. How many times in your life have you been told to be messy? <div><br /></div><div>There are more official rules out there for seed collection, particularly of uncommon species, but nearly all the seeds I collect now are either from my backyard or the Botanical Art Garden, both of which I planted. It's gratifying to see these new populations of local genotypes thriving, and to expand their local presence further. </div><div><br /><div>The plants I harvest from tend to be generous towards a human tendency to procrastinate. Many species hold on to their seeds for months in the fall and into the winter. But the prettiest time to be picking them is sooner rather than later, as they become increasingly weathered and threadbare as winter progresses.<p></p><p>Harvest of wild senna, seen in the first photo at a lovely stage when the leaves contrast with the dark seed pods, can be postponed considerably, as the pods hold onto the seeds for months.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrJaVPRu7laiKesyQT16FLVsrORX02dzkUB4f_hheeftpyfBStzdIYAFG1k3FxEQJTZnpDTYubGK3RTP6GrbTAm52cPSDLmQbIK2P9KJu7nGHMmPhbSj5kVDY8CofCDrD0dc1BkZpSjMUYAwZERjWndHly5GMNR8T51TxPb2zFN5ta0NMVKkNeA/s4032/IMG_8917.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrJaVPRu7laiKesyQT16FLVsrORX02dzkUB4f_hheeftpyfBStzdIYAFG1k3FxEQJTZnpDTYubGK3RTP6GrbTAm52cPSDLmQbIK2P9KJu7nGHMmPhbSj5kVDY8CofCDrD0dc1BkZpSjMUYAwZERjWndHly5GMNR8T51TxPb2zFN5ta0NMVKkNeA/w329-h438/IMG_8917.HEIC" width="329" /></a></div>The bright, fluffy clusters of ironweed seeds are easy to identify on stems that can reach 8 feet.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wShROLhwnbdRyzafxOSsrHcxTpU-DeqdKCskF7iTWy_GyuOgyRI5aPEXsN_PUXA1_Df6gqWROcLpd1fl7ksCc_Mx_MLcja6vNlulos1BR1Xp8WauEiHawhHsmn-ybAOBFPwAS3liQMV1FUUh3SCN8GQo4Ve_qLmhcooaWR793OlnFAPVYFSk3A/s3234/IMG_8918.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1993" data-original-width="3234" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wShROLhwnbdRyzafxOSsrHcxTpU-DeqdKCskF7iTWy_GyuOgyRI5aPEXsN_PUXA1_Df6gqWROcLpd1fl7ksCc_Mx_MLcja6vNlulos1BR1Xp8WauEiHawhHsmn-ybAOBFPwAS3liQMV1FUUh3SCN8GQo4Ve_qLmhcooaWR793OlnFAPVYFSk3A/w383-h236/IMG_8918.HEIC" width="383" /></a></div>Rose mallow hibiscus (<i>Hibiscus moscheutos</i>) holds its seeds in convenient cups. Best not to wait too long, because there's a slow attrition to spillage and insects as winter sets in.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgX2Cltys2TnMN73A7YhX4yfPe8nrL7Z4c_LICSu-fJnwJMl08hX00D84L1z-243PuDVq-SWaEpOO6QVUyFMaJvH5ztPxdZly2OIZPouNXbuxYuDGqKvWUB7K2KIFCkf7Z96VvYwpZXJXhs1D4JtisBjCsHA-3L81HC0R6D12vd0x1_B9YUuiz2Q/s2540/IMG_8919.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2540" data-original-width="2094" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgX2Cltys2TnMN73A7YhX4yfPe8nrL7Z4c_LICSu-fJnwJMl08hX00D84L1z-243PuDVq-SWaEpOO6QVUyFMaJvH5ztPxdZly2OIZPouNXbuxYuDGqKvWUB7K2KIFCkf7Z96VvYwpZXJXhs1D4JtisBjCsHA-3L81HC0R6D12vd0x1_B9YUuiz2Q/s320/IMG_8919.HEIC" width="264" /></a></div><div>As with other sedges, the seed clusters of morning star sedge (<i>Carex grayi</i>) will break apart as fall progresses. Some other local sedges with easily collectible seeds are squarrose sedge and fringed sedge.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4rg3fBFayBLVBBogb5AVMMYR0_2STZWh4XRYLBF0NIhIc_FaadIQ9eCcWSgctSR9ITqOB8u8A2NtiDLoRXa9H1WTj0RxmzLKX_hyphenhyphenyyllFn1iZd1PulkvLXGVg-VgO9MCOZmFUIliLLUxO9f1Juwm_WH5mkGjpY6ufstKasNGnCavRdSEsLMrjw/s2912/IMG_8921.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2912" data-original-width="2345" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4rg3fBFayBLVBBogb5AVMMYR0_2STZWh4XRYLBF0NIhIc_FaadIQ9eCcWSgctSR9ITqOB8u8A2NtiDLoRXa9H1WTj0RxmzLKX_hyphenhyphenyyllFn1iZd1PulkvLXGVg-VgO9MCOZmFUIliLLUxO9f1Juwm_WH5mkGjpY6ufstKasNGnCavRdSEsLMrjw/s320/IMG_8921.HEIC" width="258" /></a></div>The seeds of bottlebrush grass, attractively arranged along the stem, were already starting to fall off when I collected them in late October. Just grab the dried stem between thumb and finger and pull upward to strip the seeds. This is an attractive understory grass. <div><br /></div><div>The seeds of turtlehead (lower left in the photo) are still ripening, having shown their own form of procrastination, waiting until early fall to bloom. </div><div><br /></div><div>Collecting seed has extra meaning and purpose this fall, because many of them will be planted along a wooded slope in Herrontown Woods where a large clone of wisteria had pulled down some of the trees, creating openings where sun can reach the ground. Years of effort, particularly with the consistent, transformative work over the past year or two by volunteer Bill Jemas, has largely snuffed out the daunting wisteria clone that had taken over an acre or two, choking other growth as it steadily expanded along this broad hillside. It even somehow traversed the creek and was headed towards the Botanical Art Garden, adding another layer of urgency to knocking it out. Into the void created by our wisteria removal has come garlic mustard and stiltgrass, but this year we pulled those before they went to seed. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWt7Niq0UY_r1XwQEgYggxy4giZ16FzL4XUNXqn8DAGzdyxDYe_g64JhNoChZgC56SdNZgKsuUaK4EeW-vLtt5An1r_nyo8_8LR6x_8gbJNIU-nYZR94u-dVWEaSDRxb3oJP_0ERNEsPEyhzoS7afSZySgph2RzP1AxIGbrBwqAOF5mI1PN_7kg/s4032/IMG_8942.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWt7Niq0UY_r1XwQEgYggxy4giZ16FzL4XUNXqn8DAGzdyxDYe_g64JhNoChZgC56SdNZgKsuUaK4EeW-vLtt5An1r_nyo8_8LR6x_8gbJNIU-nYZR94u-dVWEaSDRxb3oJP_0ERNEsPEyhzoS7afSZySgph2RzP1AxIGbrBwqAOF5mI1PN_7kg/s320/IMG_8942.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>With much of the slope now bare <i>(the photo shows wisteria to the right, cleared areas to the left)</i>, it's time to introduce native plants. We could toss the seeds hither and yon, but I like to give them a better chance by being more deliberate. Deer are an issue, of course, given their appetite for native plants, and my plan is to plant seeds in small circles here and there, creating loci a couple feet wide. I like to scrape a thin layer of dirt away, scatter some seeds, then sprinkle some dirt on top and tamp it down. Then I'll place a 3 foot high plant cage around each circle. Those that grow inside the cage should be protected enough to mature and produce seed that can then scatter beyond the cage on its own in subsequent years. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's actually a good way to find out which species the deer leave alone, and which they munch on. We are, in a way, creating "deer feeders" by protecting a few plants inside the cages--plants that each year spread beyond the cages, where the deer can eat them. This approach has been successful at the Barden. Thanks to the town's investment in annual deer culling, many of the plants that sprout beyond the cage survive. <br /><div><br /></div></div></div></div><div>Of course, all of this thus far is talk. Procrastination is a particularly powerful factor when it comes to getting plants or seeds in the ground. There's so much other work to be done! What's real and lovely, and has actually happened, is the seed collecting. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj8z_d7HS2qN_H1x5Wcx-6z0HD2VfBuFMto1xfD3ZrudQNnFAmbi7tb_NHdpfh1dOKhwxJgHSRDrhuxBLOeFxE3KJRgDt6GrasKTbC-jGXTMCqynWEToE3YeDtOznoMWgtkSyeqq31vALKEL-8bUdKt6OEj_jQ7QFmDytElkpZ_wv1yo9IHVy5Bg/s4032/IMG_8947.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="523" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj8z_d7HS2qN_H1x5Wcx-6z0HD2VfBuFMto1xfD3ZrudQNnFAmbi7tb_NHdpfh1dOKhwxJgHSRDrhuxBLOeFxE3KJRgDt6GrasKTbC-jGXTMCqynWEToE3YeDtOznoMWgtkSyeqq31vALKEL-8bUdKt6OEj_jQ7QFmDytElkpZ_wv1yo9IHVy5Bg/w392-h523/IMG_8947.HEIC" width="392" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-65003030891215268682023-11-01T21:18:00.001-04:002023-11-02T06:01:04.198-04:00The Fiery Look of Prairie Grasses in Fall<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyh8crH3rXDQ6NPAuEUiJOCPm70knK8LCMQbwKTaR2jUfTkC6jG3Ja9sG8kiUpPN7WkDrv0kav3UKhC9OqzIJ2gSQ39sGd-JbBD0S7m4ghNOScv381GJLEzAR8bJmkfraMpQzXFQMu3fUVbV2gWV2r8tcc69vzwKgrqQnIPLz0dnad6JricZd76Q/s4032/IMG_8822.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="441" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyh8crH3rXDQ6NPAuEUiJOCPm70knK8LCMQbwKTaR2jUfTkC6jG3Ja9sG8kiUpPN7WkDrv0kav3UKhC9OqzIJ2gSQ39sGd-JbBD0S7m4ghNOScv381GJLEzAR8bJmkfraMpQzXFQMu3fUVbV2gWV2r8tcc69vzwKgrqQnIPLz0dnad6JricZd76Q/w331-h441/IMG_8822.HEIC" width="331" /></a></div>These little bluestem grasses (<i>Schizachyrium scoparium</i>), planted in front of town hall in Princeton, looked like they were on fire last week when backlit by morning sun. The last time I saw prairie grasses turn a fiery color in the fall was thirty years ago, when I lived in Ann Arbor, MI. Indian grass and big bluestem would turn bright yellow and orange at the base, making them look as if they were aflame. <div><br /></div><div>The mimicry of fire was fitting, because prairie grasses are adapted to thrive where periodic fires sweep through. Each fall, when they die back to the ground, they leave above them persistent remains ready to feed a fire. If no fire comes, that persistent dead foliage can get in the way the next spring, casting inhibiting shade on the new growth. </div><div><br /></div><div>No fire will sweep through this ornamental planting. Hopefully, someone will imitate fire to some extent by cutting the old stems to the ground next spring so the new stems can grow unhindered.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxMFC8tciw4UDASjeG5FH6BdlglhZ1j9QR9uGVw8rcAcXXQEp2A0_tIzwsz2mgcMc46QTDS-P9NKrbxCxc3Ux2AhuWEgi6NdQuxGQtH8ngyGgcUI4_L3XbhPiGTpdRRoEDMR3uZHS0NLRft7YfDf_Sy1Oxo9P4-w-xiTOTphXY8pzdi01B1u1axg/s4032/IMG_8823.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="449" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxMFC8tciw4UDASjeG5FH6BdlglhZ1j9QR9uGVw8rcAcXXQEp2A0_tIzwsz2mgcMc46QTDS-P9NKrbxCxc3Ux2AhuWEgi6NdQuxGQtH8ngyGgcUI4_L3XbhPiGTpdRRoEDMR3uZHS0NLRft7YfDf_Sy1Oxo9P4-w-xiTOTphXY8pzdi01B1u1axg/w337-h449/IMG_8823.HEIC" width="337" /></a></div>Little bluestem is shorter and more persistently erect than other prairie grasses like big bluestem and Indian grass, and so fits better into an ornamental planting. Here it is in the courtyard at Maplewood, a nearby retirement facility where our Onstage Seniors documentary theater group recently performed.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjspMx_sm1TSb1Nk4QQlULO3Q6QudqVZEZMEAbPMgoqb-dQiPsoeEhbZq10hvr-OkG3VseuFM1hN4R4pOKtZX-OsUU6Dg_qJK2wX-liBjpmZclqXs6_WazGqgN9MMCMpISle7Pb8uyy76HAldGLg3k8PLN_FwEdJAOR3fF5k2cbMuKwovPjnvzWLg/s4032/IMG_8900.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjspMx_sm1TSb1Nk4QQlULO3Q6QudqVZEZMEAbPMgoqb-dQiPsoeEhbZq10hvr-OkG3VseuFM1hN4R4pOKtZX-OsUU6Dg_qJK2wX-liBjpmZclqXs6_WazGqgN9MMCMpISle7Pb8uyy76HAldGLg3k8PLN_FwEdJAOR3fF5k2cbMuKwovPjnvzWLg/w332-h443/IMG_8900.HEIC" width="332" /></a></div>And here it is growing near the Princeton University soccer stadium along Fitzrandolph Road, mixed with switchgrass and other native grasses. <div><br /></div><div>The fiery version in front of town hall was surely a cultivated variety bred for especially dramatic color. But the prairie grasses in Ann Arbor that appeared to be aflame were wild. For some reason, perhaps a milder climate, the same species growing wild at Tusculum or along the gas pipeline right of way in Princeton don't attain that dramatic fall look. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I lived in Durham, NC, I often found additional species of native prairie grass persisting beneath powerlines, where they were spared the stifling shade of trees. One that was particularly beautiful when backlit was splitbeard bluestem. Its cottony-like seeds seemed to glow when they caught the autumn sunlight. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's good to see native prairie grasses showing up in plantings around town. The university seems to be learning how to maintain them better, which means catching the weeds early. Nice to be surprised by some sideoats grama poking through the fence at the soccer field.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyd5xBeTQEhdZwQyU52CBemKHd580eUUL2TMBtye3n7QN7odw5xzOFTv2hNrZpUDFljXIEFBOdz0M-on3B8SXF01m7nFyH6zS9mz-NgJz6j3NC1vSYjGSTfaI0HpUoGZtfUM5sYOvq0bx7QApsnIsY0KfnnyYLRikY7bkI7ioO-ttWLkVV-HHMxw/s2347/IMG_8901.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2347" data-original-width="1967" height="493" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyd5xBeTQEhdZwQyU52CBemKHd580eUUL2TMBtye3n7QN7odw5xzOFTv2hNrZpUDFljXIEFBOdz0M-on3B8SXF01m7nFyH6zS9mz-NgJz6j3NC1vSYjGSTfaI0HpUoGZtfUM5sYOvq0bx7QApsnIsY0KfnnyYLRikY7bkI7ioO-ttWLkVV-HHMxw/w413-h493/IMG_8901.HEIC" width="413" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /> <p></p></div></div></div></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-81780291140119927472023-10-27T08:46:00.001-04:002023-10-27T15:48:35.512-04:00Update on Native Butternuts and Chestnuts in Princeton<p>There's a lot of gratitude being expressed towards trees these days. The gratitude tends to be towards trees in general, but this fall, I'm especially grateful for three trees in particular. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiiaKVvtQV35SJH1N94pKphcMsLtVMSIvAgYZNvn45XEsvlnPZ29CpnO0Iwxd-EFckEJ3pYR0DNFitGXaJIMxvtkitIoQOTgKxNRTftDhuO4RMdNrcPXhtpa-3ZAlQS2VfeHwqXEmAu-KTmhDEeMSKlcaBzzLwaHIg7kL6e3GQuTk4iVlTL6IJA/s3027/IMG_8714.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3027" data-original-width="2045" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiiaKVvtQV35SJH1N94pKphcMsLtVMSIvAgYZNvn45XEsvlnPZ29CpnO0Iwxd-EFckEJ3pYR0DNFitGXaJIMxvtkitIoQOTgKxNRTftDhuO4RMdNrcPXhtpa-3ZAlQS2VfeHwqXEmAu-KTmhDEeMSKlcaBzzLwaHIg7kL6e3GQuTk4iVlTL6IJA/w267-h396/IMG_8714.HEIC" width="267" /></a></div><div>All three, growing at the TRI property, are among many that have been planted over the years by local nut tree expert Bill Sachs and me as part of an effort to bring back two marginalized native tree species. One is an American chestnut. The other two are butternuts. Both of these species have been laid low by introduced diseases, and I feel fortunate to be part of an effort to make them numerous once again in Princeton. </div><div><br /></div><div>The two butternuts at TRI bore a bumper crop this year, some 200 nuts--the first sizable harvest since the parents to these two trees were lost 14 years ago. One fell in a storm; the other ironically was cut down as part of an environmental remediation. It's Bill who played the role of Noah, growing new seedlings from the seeds we collected from the two trees before they were lost.</div><div><br /></div><div>We planted other members of this new generation of locally sourced native butternut trees at Harrison Street Park, Herrontown Woods, Mountain Lakes, and Stone Hill Church. Bill in particular did a lot of the followup work, checking the cages that protected them from the deer, and serving as a one man bucket brigade to sustain the trees through droughts in their first couple years.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bill also did a great deal of work to re-establish native chestnut trees in Princeton. That project began in 2010, when chestnut researcher Sandra Anagnostakis, of the Connecticut Agricultural Experiment Station <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2010/04/american-chestnut-returns-to-princeton.html">came to town</a> to give a talk. She brought along 20 chestnut seedlings for us to plant in local parks. The seedlings were 15/16th native, 1/16th Japanese chestnut. Of all of those that Bill planted, at the Princeton Battlefield, TRI, Herrontown Woods, and Harrison Street Park, only the one tree at TRI has borne fruit. Many of the hybrid trees have died, despite the effort to breed in resistance. </div><div><br /></div><div>There have been some other efforts to get the American chestnut growing again in Princeton, by the Friends of Princeton Open Space at Mountain Lakes and also by arborist Bob Wells at Greenway Meadows. The best bet for repopulating our world with the American chestnut may well lie in research that led to inserting a gene from wheat into the American chestnut genome that confers resistance. This seems a much more dependable and faster way to embed resistance to the fungus, and bring back this spectacularly useful native tree. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the meantime, we can celebrate the hard-won harvest we're getting from this new generation of native nut trees, and after letting them cure a bit will even get to find out what a butternut tastes like.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Related posts</b></div><div><br /></div>From 2021: <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2021/11/butternut-redux-new-generation-bears.html">Butternut Redux--A New Generation Bears its First Crop</a><div><br /></div><div>From 2010: <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2010/04/american-chestnut-returns-to-princeton.html">The American Chestnut Returns to Princeton</a></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-87395022954742304762023-10-15T23:25:00.005-04:002023-10-16T13:47:54.094-04:00Lorenz Hiltner--Plant Scientist and Potential RelativeA few years ago, my brother, Bill Hiltner, got interested in running a farm-scale composting operation near where we grew up in Wisconsin. Having degrees in physics and chemistry, he's the kind of guy who would be drawn to wondering what actually goes on inside a compost pile. Before long, he came across the research that another Hiltner had been doing a century prior. <div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMoBu9r5F5ICqZasJQacmjiVHJx5Scl3TR2JUn9mLLNXHrkhzZyUhxx6fqfk0EJXY3hA3VhxdMjhRp73TUqnRhU9hkhP4UiduW5D6icUWYkNDGCfLIRCrYWszYq_H2r2TiXPfNAw/s534/LorenzHiltnerPhoto.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="358" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMoBu9r5F5ICqZasJQacmjiVHJx5Scl3TR2JUn9mLLNXHrkhzZyUhxx6fqfk0EJXY3hA3VhxdMjhRp73TUqnRhU9hkhP4UiduW5D6icUWYkNDGCfLIRCrYWszYq_H2r2TiXPfNAw/w268-h400/LorenzHiltnerPhoto.png" width="268" /></a></div>Lorenz Hiltner, according to <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/186I_gZLurdcF4G321x7vuCruJUSoCKzR/view?usp=sharing">an article published in the professional journal Plant and Soil</a>, was "a pioneer in rhizosphere microbial ecology and soil bacteriology research" and the first scientist to coin the term "rhizosphere," back in 1904. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Due to Lorenz Hiltner's research on the biological basis of soil fertility, which places soil organisms and the humic content of soils in central focus, he is recognized today as one of the founders of applied microbiology and organic farming."</div><div><br /><div>One of the founders of organic farming? A Hiltner? Not that we've managed to trace any clear genealogical link, but maybe some inherited genes inclined me to start growing organic vegetables in high school, and then teach organic gardening at a summer camp called Innisfree in northern Michigan. Maybe it was some sort of genetic echo that caused me to read the 15th printing of Rodale's Encyclopedia of Organic Gardening as if it were a bible, and revel in the richness and earthy aroma of leaf mold three feet deep where the landscape crew at Yerkes Observatory had deposited big mounds of leaves each fall for decades. Or maybe it was just coming of age in the 1970s. </div><div><br /></div><div>Lorenz Hiltner "was born on November 30, 1862, in Neumarkt, Upper Palatinate (Oberpfalz), Bavaria, as the first son of a master in acetic acid fermentation and gastronome." <a href="https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lorenz_Hiltner">A Wikipedia entry</a> describes his father in less lofty terms, as "a vinegar maker and innkeeper." By 1885, Lorenz had completed his academic studies, and in 1896, he and a colleague patented a means of "'vaccinating' legume seeds with pure cultures of nodule bacteria," according to wikipedia. The inoculant was called "Nitragin."</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPPPkfJEDOErxe_GfNQopk_COVODKJnQGSG7sN2cosScFBk0wBQq_uyPku-HwsaV_PGzCD_RJ8IUrftDOPXArcQEJOIIxFve21o6jhjCBNU31xvCAKw7qFEMEGwqSmiOWPTuF5ksP5d8Fefdxh8oYdoYsJZQagFSNG27NE920xgpm0J17OXcNxA/s355/BavarianPlantGrowthInstitute.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="355" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPPPkfJEDOErxe_GfNQopk_COVODKJnQGSG7sN2cosScFBk0wBQq_uyPku-HwsaV_PGzCD_RJ8IUrftDOPXArcQEJOIIxFve21o6jhjCBNU31xvCAKw7qFEMEGwqSmiOWPTuF5ksP5d8Fefdxh8oYdoYsJZQagFSNG27NE920xgpm0J17OXcNxA/s320/BavarianPlantGrowthInstitute.png" width="320" /></a></div>Most of his research he performed in the Bavarian Agriculture-Botanical Institute in Munich, where he was the director from 1902 to 1923, building the institute from four employees up to 90. The Institute's mission was to support agricultural practices in Bavaria, but scientists came from all over the world to learn from his experience. According to wikipedia, "Until 1904, his institution was the only place in the world that supplied "vaccine bacteria" to farmers. At the <a href="https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louisiana_Purchase_Exposition">1904 World's Fair</a> in St. Louis, Hiltner and his Agricultural Botanical Institute were awarded a gold medal." <i>(Note: The article and wikipedia both say St. Louis, Michigan, but the Worlds Fair that year was in Missouri.)</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Another quote from the article makes him sound particular relevant to today's intense interest in the give and take between tree roots and other life in the soil. While we focus on how trees and other plants support life above ground, it would seem they also give as much as they get from the soil beneath them, sending the overabundance of their photosynthetic production downward to feed soil life. </div><div><blockquote>"Hiltner became convinced that root exudates of different plants support the development of different bacterial communities. His definition of the rhizosphere in the year 1904 centered on the idea that plant nutrition is considerably influenced by the microbial composition of the rhizosphere."</blockquote>Lorenz Hiltner was part of the great European tradition of cutting edge research that was the envy of American scientists early in the 20th century. In researching the lives of my "adopted ancestors", American mathematician <a href="https://www.veblenhouse.org/p/veblens.html">Oswald Veblen</a> and atomic physicist Walter Colby--both of whom traveled frequently to Europe as the century began, wishing to emulate the great institutions of learning they found there--I see a contrast in trajectories. As the U.S. rose in prominence and innovation, European scientists became increasingly hampered by political conflict and instability, even before the Nazi rise and WWII. </div><div><br /></div><div>Always working to advance research and apply it to people's everyday needs, Lorenz Hiltner sought to make the best of the worsening political conditions. During WWI, he "conducted intensive studies on alternative food sources for men and livestock to prevent disastrous consequences of the famine in Germany." "After the war, he managed to start his scientific journal again in 1921 despite the problems with the unstable situation and ongoing revolution and counterrevolution in Munich."</div><div><br /></div><div>His scientific contributions were deemed worthy of a centennial symposium. From the article: </div><div><div></div><blockquote><div>"In the centennial symposium of Hiltner’s definition of the “Rhizosphere” in Munich in September 2004, more than 450 scientists gave tribute to his founding work on the rhizosphere and presented studies that continue on many of the ideas first brought to light by Hiltner."</div></blockquote></div><div><div>He died unexpectedly, of a stroke while in his office, 100 years ago at this writing, on June 6, 1923. His work was continued by his eldest son, <a href="https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erhard_Hiltner">Erhard</a>. Regardless of whether we discover an ancestral connection, I'm feeling some kinship. </div></div><div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidO8l5RnAuWEGSyhGjjyHo5tAXk6EpaRHV1Ah9eBhG-9goiYz6D-Qr-vM7ohZPMflOBp1uSMG2y_3JZWoYIMxWVm208uawSuIwVfscX5NvSPLfBLkwVSNp0gDuODKcLflj5ntv3Q/s517/1922LorenzHiltnerPhotoAge60.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="517" data-original-width="356" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidO8l5RnAuWEGSyhGjjyHo5tAXk6EpaRHV1Ah9eBhG-9goiYz6D-Qr-vM7ohZPMflOBp1uSMG2y_3JZWoYIMxWVm208uawSuIwVfscX5NvSPLfBLkwVSNp0gDuODKcLflj5ntv3Q/w442-h640/1922LorenzHiltnerPhotoAge60.png" width="442" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-82857823041107076502023-09-17T22:43:00.004-04:002023-09-17T23:03:25.953-04:00Last Chance to Pull Stiltgrass<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjquIT2UlW_xkQfFu2_dXiZAKirQuGTtgrvEqtzDQYr6ZVgCxadfwgV51cOicL6C5GH3Jwnl2al4VAGhP5-K_I92mQvWFmsZjv3bKEUuf-NNVYjcwB3MMXUw98heI5xnTUzMQkc-VtHIOZUZ9kESelTvfCDOFQ2gCKo1IN-ev20oaUfjixF8AaRvg/s4032/IMG_8314.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjquIT2UlW_xkQfFu2_dXiZAKirQuGTtgrvEqtzDQYr6ZVgCxadfwgV51cOicL6C5GH3Jwnl2al4VAGhP5-K_I92mQvWFmsZjv3bKEUuf-NNVYjcwB3MMXUw98heI5xnTUzMQkc-VtHIOZUZ9kESelTvfCDOFQ2gCKo1IN-ev20oaUfjixF8AaRvg/s320/IMG_8314.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>This week and maybe next are your last chance this year to pull stiltgrass (<i>Microstegium vimineum</i>). This mega-invasive is an annual, so the logic of countering its spread is to pull it before it can produce and drop seed. If the seeds haven't loosened yet at the end of the stalk, you can still pull it. Throw it in the trash, or if there's a lot, make a big pile of it so that any seeds that sprout the next year will all be in one place and easily covered or pulled. Definitely don't put it in your compost if its seeds are forming. If stiltgrass is just starting to invade your yard, pulling as completely as possible now will greatly limit its seedbank for next spring. Another strategy for large stands is to let the stiltgrass grow, then just as it begins to flower mow it short and hope its feeble roots don't have enough energy to grow another flowering stalk. <div><br /></div><div>For those fuzzy on identification, google lots of images, and look for the silver line running down the middle of the leaf. Stiltgrass can grow in the shade or sun, climb up to four feet, or thrive in a miniature state while ducking below your mower in the lawn. It's incredible survival skills include being incredibly inedible for wildlife. Stiltgrass gives nothing back to the habitats it increasingly dominates.<br /><p><b>More on Stiltgrass, and a Success Story</b></p><p>Walking in the local woods, you've probably seen this kind of scene--what looks like a grassy meadow extending through the forest. In the filtered light of the understory, its simplicity and lushness may have some visual appeal. And yet, in some ways what you are looking at is the ecological equivalent of an urban food desert. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_K9k49AJyrQB6zLRBBnTdia5rtJfV-oGvDm7PiryAzsbHBR-qSG-cacEhiPno_qpahyNyiivEJWngAIAl8x10E7KSBFcnuTlwNMKllYIeHYpu59bblpWyxTzez6xxiHVhSm022aoa-qPZrdXsh6zlQnshST_G3EtLLZWF60IE8B2ksBQwA1yrg/s4032/IMG_8310.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_K9k49AJyrQB6zLRBBnTdia5rtJfV-oGvDm7PiryAzsbHBR-qSG-cacEhiPno_qpahyNyiivEJWngAIAl8x10E7KSBFcnuTlwNMKllYIeHYpu59bblpWyxTzez6xxiHVhSm022aoa-qPZrdXsh6zlQnshST_G3EtLLZWF60IE8B2ksBQwA1yrg/w493-h370/IMG_8310.HEIC" width="493" /></a></div>Stiltgrass is an introduced plant that could be called a pervasive invasive, able to thrive most anywhere and dominate whole landscapes. Its success has come in part through being inedible. As wildlife selectively eat native vegetation, the stiltgrass expands, preventing the native plants from rebounding.<div><br /></div><div>Unlike another nonnative annual weed that can look similar, crabgrass, stiltgrass becomes ubiquitous because it can thrive in sun or shade. That means the stiltgrass invading your lawn and flower beds can continue spreading ad nauseum into the nearby forest, or vice versa.<br /><div><br /></div><div>We used to call it bamboo grass--something in the shape of the leaves is reminiscent. The stiltgrass name refers to its angular growth, with each segment supporting the next as it climbs up and over fallen logs and other plants. Packing grass is another common name, referring to how it was once used to pack porcelain for shipment. That's probably how it first reached the U.S., in packing crates sent to Tennessee. <br /><p></p><div>When I first encountered it, growing on the bank of Ellerbe Creek in Durham, NC, I thought it graceful. Then came Hurricane Fran, bringing floods and fallen trees. In the aftermath of that massive disturbance, stiltgrass exploded in the landscape, expanding and ultimately choking forests with its vast, dense stands. New Jersey proved no different. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZ7bGigdu2h4mDrVuGw3snaZBzqaNgDID7hIHz-L7DWXvhCDihq3nnby2rtL4N2McOgCATysx-ToMJttN49RvKLHoKZz4pb2Vk-Flka8aN39br_buSP52mYkFE143PKdvvaJ7Pqr0fGVU2Qm9X62iG_qzs2n6I612Jcz06xLTjESW6g-kRrJM8w/s4032/IMG_8313.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZ7bGigdu2h4mDrVuGw3snaZBzqaNgDID7hIHz-L7DWXvhCDihq3nnby2rtL4N2McOgCATysx-ToMJttN49RvKLHoKZz4pb2Vk-Flka8aN39br_buSP52mYkFE143PKdvvaJ7Pqr0fGVU2Qm9X62iG_qzs2n6I612Jcz06xLTjESW6g-kRrJM8w/w330-h440/IMG_8313.HEIC" width="330" /></a></div>Stiltgrass tends to establish itself along roadsides. Here it is growing in a green ribbon along Herrontown Road. Trails, too, provide an avenue for extending its reach, its tiny seeds carried on boots or the hooves of deer.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi91av1dxLhpnG-QLBSkNkMQcMf7BBRR96ZqZGdG9orvMbw_8xUOVzfuG3ldkpArnaGDVaCMN9v6mdlGhPv9_E3d5aa4_V9b9Tu6zY_BQA60S1jBFOfTl39dQBunkwqqUxKbfECvU6NILlbvdo_Q9TTQOejK5I45Q3fl3n8Wxcf6iOp3itW8tfD0w/s2771/IMG_8467.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2771" data-original-width="2581" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi91av1dxLhpnG-QLBSkNkMQcMf7BBRR96ZqZGdG9orvMbw_8xUOVzfuG3ldkpArnaGDVaCMN9v6mdlGhPv9_E3d5aa4_V9b9Tu6zY_BQA60S1jBFOfTl39dQBunkwqqUxKbfECvU6NILlbvdo_Q9TTQOejK5I45Q3fl3n8Wxcf6iOp3itW8tfD0w/w342-h368/IMG_8467.HEIC" width="342" /></a></div><br />Though stiltgrass has covered large areas of woodland in the eastern U.S., we have found it worthwhile and even satisfying to counter its relentless incursions. Today in the Barden at Herrontown Woods, some volunteers pulled it out of a patch of native jewelweed along the edge of the parking lot. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBYsRkub1QdGmhvmh3FFCs3y08y5pXeMqaedqAqNURyYHEk1XqyVc3ojjC2la0pDbSxRA-yGrOyAUNlH_ba7WDfTfUz9mJWilJS6jpznC6-ZipQ6rg4Z78leMWJMMLNebKTBv18ZJWfd4JU9YBFbLsyCOOLKULINl56hAduShuidmk4XtriuKzw/s4032/IMG_8470.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="445" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBYsRkub1QdGmhvmh3FFCs3y08y5pXeMqaedqAqNURyYHEk1XqyVc3ojjC2la0pDbSxRA-yGrOyAUNlH_ba7WDfTfUz9mJWilJS6jpznC6-ZipQ6rg4Z78leMWJMMLNebKTBv18ZJWfd4JU9YBFbLsyCOOLKULINl56hAduShuidmk4XtriuKzw/w334-h445/IMG_8470.HEIC" width="334" /></a></div>Nearby, on land where we have largely eliminated a massive clone of wisteria, stiltgrass was starting to move into the void. If nothing were done, this open woodland would have become a pasture of stiltgrass. But we have acted early enough to be able to remove all of this year's stiltgrass, dramatically reducing the seeds available for next year's crop. This photo shows the last patch before we pulled it. <br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGClU-rjgW4J7GwVwtahpKshMuUC9gBlOmKU39AEcthli0vnQlN8pyAj-5w2_NEDUtLVZy9bK2m9nUO4CKsZnfO_nIWHqBHgHTAYKTvzcz-cODsFZd_kvpzT9ZK2QSadNcP3BNuBI5-qZS0KpgtdxmJE55LB2N2DlU95NtawAPFLg6C9MQhQaNkg/s4032/IMG_8315.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="517" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGClU-rjgW4J7GwVwtahpKshMuUC9gBlOmKU39AEcthli0vnQlN8pyAj-5w2_NEDUtLVZy9bK2m9nUO4CKsZnfO_nIWHqBHgHTAYKTvzcz-cODsFZd_kvpzT9ZK2QSadNcP3BNuBI5-qZS0KpgtdxmJE55LB2N2DlU95NtawAPFLg6C9MQhQaNkg/w388-h517/IMG_8315.HEIC" width="388" /></a></div>Interestingly, there are native grasses that look a little like stiltgrass, the main one being Virginia cutgrass (white grass), <i>Leersia virginica</i>. It has longer, narrower leaves that lack the silver stripe down the middle. As is a common ecological refrain, the native grasses "play well with others," not forming stiltgrass's massive, exclusionary stands. Some smartweeds like Lady's Thumb can also bear a resemblance. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-25933345091170626372023-09-16T06:43:00.001-04:002023-09-17T22:59:03.525-04:00Where Have All the Spotted Lanternflies Gone?<p>Well, it's happened, at least in our neck of the woods.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkNR48RwbNllP0TI4WYG0HvEpcu07HFsZecHKFE0WsyD-6x1GueuqDI4o_btiF28zxRd8QiZ8FLxUMbl1AjlSyblf0BYd9FrjFsDttU3E1ponf9AJtSfMeWggN_C_y-lzydeOKaBpWOi-RF6JNeNCX4a_g2Qdv1PlaKfvIJeWcJgSAy9RhZddMQ/s1321/IMG_7685.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="1321" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkNR48RwbNllP0TI4WYG0HvEpcu07HFsZecHKFE0WsyD-6x1GueuqDI4o_btiF28zxRd8QiZ8FLxUMbl1AjlSyblf0BYd9FrjFsDttU3E1ponf9AJtSfMeWggN_C_y-lzydeOKaBpWOi-RF6JNeNCX4a_g2Qdv1PlaKfvIJeWcJgSAy9RhZddMQ/w441-h280/IMG_7685.JPG" width="441" /></a></div><div>Billed as a major calamity, the spotted lanterfly invasion has gone "poof" this year. Yes, the spotted nymphs could still be found clinging to the stems of Ailanthus sprouts at our Barden in Herrontown Woods. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUEuBjvexljTrfa8c88mjXW4naXrfVbFsz1CG5cXPmUMwws4m-44pwNEOzQ5_paK7VU82HfKm-gYkbQkITslkDv_BA8hAFYd6MdkQZRXlGrjxrbXF9kboDtMx_rZ_BV3zJ1rafbyNsdVv2s8rztvfHtVy1jcenpbtV9r4aCLu3TSws_NGyr54-w/s2300/IMG_8104.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2300" data-original-width="2178" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUEuBjvexljTrfa8c88mjXW4naXrfVbFsz1CG5cXPmUMwws4m-44pwNEOzQ5_paK7VU82HfKm-gYkbQkITslkDv_BA8hAFYd6MdkQZRXlGrjxrbXF9kboDtMx_rZ_BV3zJ1rafbyNsdVv2s8rztvfHtVy1jcenpbtV9r4aCLu3TSws_NGyr54-w/s320/IMG_8104.HEIC" width="303" /></a></div>And a few adults were later seen perched on the rachis of Ailanthus leaves. We pulled the sprouts out of the ground to deprive them of this haven. Hard to say where they went after that.<div><br /></div><div>Writing <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2020/07/spotted-lanternfly.html">a post about lanternflies three years ago</a>, I learned that numbers of the invasive insect had dropped in some areas of Pennsylvania five years after first being seen. Lanternflies first showed up in Princeton in 2018, and here we are five years later, with what appears to be a dramatic drop in numbers.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOSHADd8Ks9IV52Jo-MRAw9m0wLoMZlm1uIeN1BKmV4cTVm52DxyP-DQ0drwnsdmt3VkbEbUwT42MOFziydjpMTDyVrRWapJ-a_DElSjFlolFYWGLwjxzPBzbhePu5xyrA1rCJvEY5uWzc8HKykLNURHdHFghmMDWPg4iihR1figJH5zM5mmcuAw/s3264/IMG_8647.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOSHADd8Ks9IV52Jo-MRAw9m0wLoMZlm1uIeN1BKmV4cTVm52DxyP-DQ0drwnsdmt3VkbEbUwT42MOFziydjpMTDyVrRWapJ-a_DElSjFlolFYWGLwjxzPBzbhePu5xyrA1rCJvEY5uWzc8HKykLNURHdHFghmMDWPg4iihR1figJH5zM5mmcuAw/w369-h492/IMG_8647.JPG" width="369" /></a></div>It's true that people gave themselves over to squashing the pesky bugs--leafhoppers, actually--in spirited ways. (This photo shows one of the more creative approaches.) Some think the unusual weather has had an effect. Insect numbers overall have been down, be it the pollinators on backyard flowers, the odorous house ants that used to invade our kitchen, or spotted lanternflies. But my guess is that it has been the full-time predators, feathered or with eight legs or six, that are to be most congratulated for stemming the explosion of spotted lanternflies. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI9-1prfYijc3FYvg_SJqdU7ruwL8Fk6d_yunonDDe4XO3X6ZbM7_A8jbqpMyUdGf-1Wob8W-g2A_LM-CJtbXndKtFtQCE9Pk8NBOVr6LQcukdGkz1duB9t0gEu4ArYuxDGztJHf_gu0Q6gpJ_gPMvonxFCI_54_r5-6f1GRgZGPWHbMz6pitN9A/s2158/IMG_8170.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2158" data-original-width="2087" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI9-1prfYijc3FYvg_SJqdU7ruwL8Fk6d_yunonDDe4XO3X6ZbM7_A8jbqpMyUdGf-1Wob8W-g2A_LM-CJtbXndKtFtQCE9Pk8NBOVr6LQcukdGkz1duB9t0gEu4ArYuxDGztJHf_gu0Q6gpJ_gPMvonxFCI_54_r5-6f1GRgZGPWHbMz6pitN9A/w390-h404/IMG_8170.HEIC" width="390" /></a></div>Just follow the trail of colorful wings that brightened a walk up towards Veblen House one day.</div><div><br /></div><div>The most powerful contrast for me is between the invasions of emerald ash borer and spotted lanternfly. Since <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/search?q=emerald">the emerald ashborer arrived</a>, about ten years ago, I have yet to see a single adult ash borer in Princeton, and yet the devastation they have brought to the ash tree is all around us. The lanterfly, on the other hand, has been seen everywhere, and yet I can't point to a single plant that has died due to their appetites. We humans are visually oriented, but it's the invisible threats--be they an invasive insect or even more significantly an overdose of carbon dioxide--that most endanger our world.<br /><div><br /></div></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-32589817881471597742023-09-14T07:07:00.004-04:002023-09-17T22:59:20.107-04:00Yew Berries and Dewberries<p><b>Yewberries</b></p><p>I've passed by this yew hedge on busy North Harrison Street thousands of times, and usually pay it no mind. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlGlU4Urudj6f3KpaNAcsIxfltmBcxYMyngsueH4acYgp8bbSJXTzAC5SIWsWiQziNdcb-mq11xEZ3V6nRNdRMWsMCO22WYAfPt01rq96pmd-TBWcDZ7bsw2dblH8G5dz2CVIm1G8bY8KDBbk90cBr2NgYoyUidCaGbFMWLRtNp1WiRjintuJz6Q/s4032/IMG_8377.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="582" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlGlU4Urudj6f3KpaNAcsIxfltmBcxYMyngsueH4acYgp8bbSJXTzAC5SIWsWiQziNdcb-mq11xEZ3V6nRNdRMWsMCO22WYAfPt01rq96pmd-TBWcDZ7bsw2dblH8G5dz2CVIm1G8bY8KDBbk90cBr2NgYoyUidCaGbFMWLRtNp1WiRjintuJz6Q/w437-h582/IMG_8377.HEIC" width="437" /></a></div><p>But a couple days ago, I happened to be looking down at the sidewalk rather than the gazillion cars and trucks driving by, and saw something that caught my eye.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkgWJVS0Mx2bAptizh_NqSI0K32OZ1hYQwuzk3CqAqzQMd_YQ5ZigUhgnDO2V-hOApA-CN4YPsmzOnD9PaCcjLUUcCzt2dd-esN5JQTgdpEbCAgiYTl6zP6LilpJ2mkNCOGgzJM-PJTa28tHkJM-kGh1OHmi_08ZfIPLizSfjIB286gymLPsLIA/s4032/IMG_8376.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkgWJVS0Mx2bAptizh_NqSI0K32OZ1hYQwuzk3CqAqzQMd_YQ5ZigUhgnDO2V-hOApA-CN4YPsmzOnD9PaCcjLUUcCzt2dd-esN5JQTgdpEbCAgiYTl6zP6LilpJ2mkNCOGgzJM-PJTa28tHkJM-kGh1OHmi_08ZfIPLizSfjIB286gymLPsLIA/w384-h512/IMG_8376.HEIC" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Yew berries! They look like small, bright red pitted olives, but the pit is definitely still there. Fifty years ago, in botany class, I learned that the juicy red part is edible, but the hard central pit is most definitely not. The side of a busy street is probably not the best place to be harvesting edibles, but I picked a few, ate the flesh and spit out the pit--an unexpected treat along a sidewalk in Princeton </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JEFZNBMkvJh3jhQKqOlcvjnI2ux8NZJobd4cRbVcXea0yFEeViaLV9AHHvecxbPrxy6hKgJq_8K3yB7dAeH4T1j7b3UdLXWltOjtXN65kWGtpUDgfo26aFq7N6FbBHixinB_AePZ7Koh414x4FyK5dOl9nPayzzVfuxHbM88Wa6MpuxrcHCIng/s4032/IMG_8375.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="559" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JEFZNBMkvJh3jhQKqOlcvjnI2ux8NZJobd4cRbVcXea0yFEeViaLV9AHHvecxbPrxy6hKgJq_8K3yB7dAeH4T1j7b3UdLXWltOjtXN65kWGtpUDgfo26aFq7N6FbBHixinB_AePZ7Koh414x4FyK5dOl9nPayzzVfuxHbM88Wa6MpuxrcHCIng/w419-h559/IMG_8375.HEIC" width="419" /></a></div><span style="text-align: center;"><div><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>Technically, the yew berry is not a berry at all, but</span> an aril. All students of botany will vividly remember the moment in class when they learned that, as one website states, "in contrast to a berry, which develops from the ovary, an aril is an outgrowth of the ovule, or of the funicle which attaches it to the placenta." Botany is full of surprises.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;">The yew we sometimes see planted around houses is one of the few conifers native to England, according to the <a href="https://www.kew.org/plants/yew#:~:text=Yew%20berry%20seeds%20are%20poisonous,leaves)%20native%20to%20the%20UK.">Kew Gardens website</a>. America has a native yew, <i>Taxus canadensis</i>, which shows up on a 1960s plant inventory for Herrontown Woods, but I've never encountered it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Dewberries</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One thing I discovered this year is that we have dewberries growing in the Barden at Herrontown Woods. I had thought we had three types of brambles in the Barden: blackberries, black raspberries, and the nonnative wineberries. But some of the blackberry-like plants were crawling along the ground rather than arching upwards, as brambles are more normally wont to do. These we decided were dewberries. They still have thorns, but you could say they lack spine. The whole concept of a dewberry was likable, from its less intimidating presence to the promise of fruit. They are very adventurous in some areas of the Barden, however, crawling long distances. We may need to curb their travels, even though the berries, ripening in mid-August, are pretty tasty.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8YeOpP7mDeNNvnKYfb3qep4XWiWa5SYcuAmYvjzpQYkqENDtf4oVWZWAUZmayMVv0qHub6rNVD7qRBS8fJvUEzEBImvEEX_uYM9tPR-AoO7EK1fCg41IYizbWXi9R-sIl6QTTfAMRQrZik-lJqnTolYlixEIgNg1cXiUDTNkDEvdMLl7NhnfJwg/s4032/IMG_8303.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="558" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8YeOpP7mDeNNvnKYfb3qep4XWiWa5SYcuAmYvjzpQYkqENDtf4oVWZWAUZmayMVv0qHub6rNVD7qRBS8fJvUEzEBImvEEX_uYM9tPR-AoO7EK1fCg41IYizbWXi9R-sIl6QTTfAMRQrZik-lJqnTolYlixEIgNg1cXiUDTNkDEvdMLl7NhnfJwg/w419-h558/IMG_8303.HEIC" width="419" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-28646166414080920042023-09-07T20:59:00.002-04:002023-09-17T22:59:40.889-04:00Pilewort--A Native Weed With Hidden Flowers and Showy Seeds<p>Some plants have it all backward. Flowers are supposed to provide the show; the seeds, not so much. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsgzbvViexZFGbA3OakD8fRyQ1nYnTEvnNKazJAX_1OR4WeD7gA3b3g2a6quPvjEcpXWaK75gLiaMlfj3e_oE2G5ogUn-XZqpHW8fjhJf-cqr90gidMFAQuCo03tQ0Qp5y23_yWInWzsGOoXkOkb1Bp1PC4KZ_OONbDw__NV_fDfWnsYKNnVExvw/s2674/IMG_8353.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1833" data-original-width="2674" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsgzbvViexZFGbA3OakD8fRyQ1nYnTEvnNKazJAX_1OR4WeD7gA3b3g2a6quPvjEcpXWaK75gLiaMlfj3e_oE2G5ogUn-XZqpHW8fjhJf-cqr90gidMFAQuCo03tQ0Qp5y23_yWInWzsGOoXkOkb1Bp1PC4KZ_OONbDw__NV_fDfWnsYKNnVExvw/w451-h309/IMG_8353.HEIC" width="451" /></a></div>But with pilewort, its the seeds that catch the eye, clustered in raggedy bunches that look like cotton. <div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_ukpC1iBCmHgW6oWI9wOfUIzUZD_5zfr-McecQEtqRpQUEnFzUqTZr2XXh8r542tGSyRUKvtSiLpDDmygY1kjzBj1ab8tKK5Lbk9SkjNtA8QT8oSRfLQhbGKgxfjYcL0n7VXkBlENgVsumxZD19dGn8RuyxuAAPE7TXI5Uv-sPazPYqIZl9VZQ/s2797/IMG_8010.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2797" data-original-width="2079" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_ukpC1iBCmHgW6oWI9wOfUIzUZD_5zfr-McecQEtqRpQUEnFzUqTZr2XXh8r542tGSyRUKvtSiLpDDmygY1kjzBj1ab8tKK5Lbk9SkjNtA8QT8oSRfLQhbGKgxfjYcL0n7VXkBlENgVsumxZD19dGn8RuyxuAAPE7TXI5Uv-sPazPYqIZl9VZQ/w326-h438/IMG_8010.HEIC" width="326" /></a></div>The plant sets up great expectations as it grows and grows, fleshy like a large thistle, but soft and approachable, </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhba8fjkNx74q6lJVLQKKIXRMBlC0mc6yDGUhUfQqZSorIdC7hsJYGT6avsL7KCUZ68cfdFqQG9CGDBxYDyKSxqCzgu_IAWzfDfOmDYR5-NQfOa0dATsNATnUjEi5oaNHZWGEWmWbhy6JbG6cE8gBM034Xz-Drg5Pwr8mvOlY8YPkkwQZuzyZgPQA/s4032/IMG_8382.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhba8fjkNx74q6lJVLQKKIXRMBlC0mc6yDGUhUfQqZSorIdC7hsJYGT6avsL7KCUZ68cfdFqQG9CGDBxYDyKSxqCzgu_IAWzfDfOmDYR5-NQfOa0dATsNATnUjEi5oaNHZWGEWmWbhy6JbG6cE8gBM034Xz-Drg5Pwr8mvOlY8YPkkwQZuzyZgPQA/s320/IMG_8382.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>with a pleasant scent when you crush the leaves. What fabulous flowers will crown all this vertical ambition? <br /><div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHJ2Z2u7987QFCpuAHBXgZUjmbIBw28VhD0809SV2e8BbrY_2uVXe6Z-WlsrxNgZZOKfew2jfF5CHTGuLdT57ZDk1yVEtzTN5stMn3XCQEHE-7BAgioMjp1gFiIVF9Y0IUocnc9vQmcWcPFKMBIUFT8ArCOxj6KdKSjExQDeFxBTG-mHx4RONkQ/s2730/IMG_8354.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2730" data-original-width="2183" height="549" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHJ2Z2u7987QFCpuAHBXgZUjmbIBw28VhD0809SV2e8BbrY_2uVXe6Z-WlsrxNgZZOKfew2jfF5CHTGuLdT57ZDk1yVEtzTN5stMn3XCQEHE-7BAgioMjp1gFiIVF9Y0IUocnc9vQmcWcPFKMBIUFT8ArCOxj6KdKSjExQDeFxBTG-mHx4RONkQ/w439-h549/IMG_8354.HEIC" width="439" /></a></div>Something looking like a flower bud appears, but it never generates anything resembling a flower with petals. Pollinators visit nonetheless, even though the flowers look like duds. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>During our monthly nature walk at Herrontown Woods this past Sunday, I was grateful that one of the participants pointed out some other activity around the pilewort flowers. A common local ant species was busy tending to a flock of aphids sucking juice from the stems. The ants harvest the aphids' honeydew. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_ZPIBbybPEjr2ZXuOw0RwKPy0GubWGLCdiVgxESpIDrBjI7taQY0gZ0pubvakxYVcZ5qtIRWFbtjIWK8avAB6LnXhI2QhKgWUKJSpTs3vKZOYptcBNRoFkwE_g2a6atDrmbSHp_W0bX47wzq9IRxt_8FHs-uMFAYxPaDyu4TSHhb6NkU0XSpdw/s4032/IMG_8396.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_ZPIBbybPEjr2ZXuOw0RwKPy0GubWGLCdiVgxESpIDrBjI7taQY0gZ0pubvakxYVcZ5qtIRWFbtjIWK8avAB6LnXhI2QhKgWUKJSpTs3vKZOYptcBNRoFkwE_g2a6atDrmbSHp_W0bX47wzq9IRxt_8FHs-uMFAYxPaDyu4TSHhb6NkU0XSpdw/w483-h363/IMG_8396.HEIC" width="483" /></a></div>Pilewort (good luck with the latin name, <i>Erechtites hieraciifolius) </i>is what I call a native weed. They pop up in large numbers in areas that have been disturbed, rising 8 feet high in what looks like a fleshy forest dusted with snow. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>Maybe the name comes from the piles of seeds it deposits all around. Another common name for it is fireweed, because it sprouts abundantly after a fire has swept through.</div><div><br /></div><div>You might think this plant a menace that will take over. The nonnative lambsquarters, also an annual, can give this impression too, growing densely and tall the first year after a disturbance. But I've learned not to be concerned over their dominant presence. The first year's show of abundance fades in subsequent years until you can hardly find a one. Other plants move in, and pilewort awaits the next disturbance. </div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cjE1BB88WuyXP5zl-HzOeMAscp3qLW8j0rZRC42yInJeVOw-6FO91orGDm5GBBaJoVBfdOVRZ5CXRJp42yw-oAQGPP5Dw9lENfzvuKF_ihQle1j1slfPXAg4g0doD2Ej1C9X77DHorctyCamz4TgLjAkV5y951X5-FIBHdg-dZ6bq3QMR8KsPQ/s4032/IMG_8399.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cjE1BB88WuyXP5zl-HzOeMAscp3qLW8j0rZRC42yInJeVOw-6FO91orGDm5GBBaJoVBfdOVRZ5CXRJp42yw-oAQGPP5Dw9lENfzvuKF_ihQle1j1slfPXAg4g0doD2Ej1C9X77DHorctyCamz4TgLjAkV5y951X5-FIBHdg-dZ6bq3QMR8KsPQ/w440-h330/IMG_8399.HEIC" width="440" /></a></div><br /></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-9715817233083259202023-09-05T14:39:00.002-04:002023-09-17T23:00:15.898-04:00Obedient Plant: Big Pink in a Season of Yellows<p>Among sun-loving native flowers of summer, the so-called obedient plant shows up all fresh and fulgent just as <a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2013/08/a-riot-of-wildflowers-in-quiet-august.html">the party</a> is starting to wind down. Each year it catches me by surprise with its pink when so many other flowers--sunflowers, cutleaf coneflowers, Silphiums, Heleniums--go with yellow. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkfZQ3XNo3ZlKmgZwbnt0HpkHdq5eWXahmCn2BtrZc0KLjlXtbcwlVNRH5qbKbWmrMN0jndIMzExYr6WrjnBvl5Q748NxDnPQ8KIEWd5I4wVJ_AjZ3F0OLrYhx4GfScKzekZ3CEh-btQVXZgC6Hq70Ane4pkxKllMrZE3J_Jtf9hKO8jXmcqfBg/s4032/IMG_8345.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="435" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkfZQ3XNo3ZlKmgZwbnt0HpkHdq5eWXahmCn2BtrZc0KLjlXtbcwlVNRH5qbKbWmrMN0jndIMzExYr6WrjnBvl5Q748NxDnPQ8KIEWd5I4wVJ_AjZ3F0OLrYhx4GfScKzekZ3CEh-btQVXZgC6Hq70Ane4pkxKllMrZE3J_Jtf9hKO8jXmcqfBg/w326-h435/IMG_8345.HEIC" width="326" /></a></div>Obedient plant (<i>Physostegia virginiana</i>) is also off my radar because it is risky to plant. Its tubular flowers may obediently remain sideways if you push them, but the plant itself spreads aggressively underground. Not surprisingly, it's in the mint family, known for roots that spread hither and yon.<p></p><p>That's why this gardener on Grover Ave was so smart to plant it between a sidewalk and the road, where its capacity to spread is limited.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggc7TCr9ZFbqmwEr-AqOkXhQCnJ_htXATKDus5tuE4OuKT7ReUgKgID5wbzehQ9n400LoO7EebC6mWc7RnXn9Elgl7VAAluPTUZNhoBQjVgKu0GN5eQoleLxYHWsefvrPySce1dW3RnWiS8BhcI6-t9I2NvLDxd6staLJBM7YJDXC8XIsYbEMxAg/s2786/IMG_8371.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2786" data-original-width="2203" height="453" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggc7TCr9ZFbqmwEr-AqOkXhQCnJ_htXATKDus5tuE4OuKT7ReUgKgID5wbzehQ9n400LoO7EebC6mWc7RnXn9Elgl7VAAluPTUZNhoBQjVgKu0GN5eQoleLxYHWsefvrPySce1dW3RnWiS8BhcI6-t9I2NvLDxd6staLJBM7YJDXC8XIsYbEMxAg/w358-h453/IMG_8371.HEIC" width="358" /></a></div>A similar strategy to curb its spread was used in front of Jay's Bike Shop. <div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYix_Gu9dDneqEABy8qCBCbDnP7B6p5lPEvlQ-NYg0ebLBxVbobXJiPsgrk4brUbrmdvRaNRVBtQvsIFNFhBpJgOH9d9DNDt_u3FuRPb_0ABL-J3LUVfj0bSwXqutdkbB-fNlJVKjLDTuskCKp8qdgTBRDMiTHX8FLgjTPlFDMeIqOtOSL0N8xQ/s3024/IMG_8348.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2267" data-original-width="3024" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYix_Gu9dDneqEABy8qCBCbDnP7B6p5lPEvlQ-NYg0ebLBxVbobXJiPsgrk4brUbrmdvRaNRVBtQvsIFNFhBpJgOH9d9DNDt_u3FuRPb_0ABL-J3LUVfj0bSwXqutdkbB-fNlJVKjLDTuskCKp8qdgTBRDMiTHX8FLgjTPlFDMeIqOtOSL0N8xQ/w423-h318/IMG_8348.HEIC" width="423" /></a></div>Obedient plant also pops up in several spots in Herrontown Woods each summer. Hard to say if it was planted or part of the indigenous flora. Interestingly, it doesn't seem to spread much when in an open woodland rather than a garden. Many other species that seem modest, even rare in the wild--various native sunflowers, groundnut, virgin's bower, fringed loosestrife--also turn rampant when planted in the comparatively tame environs of a garden. <br /><div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-48115120817861396592023-08-16T08:12:00.001-04:002023-09-17T23:00:47.014-04:00Princeton's Fuel Tank Raingarden Threatened By Lack of Early Intervention<p>A couple years ago, the town planted this raingarden next to the fuel tank on Witherspoon Street. They put in some pretty cultivars of showy native species like black-eyed susan, purple coneflower, and St. Johnswort, then mulched it all carefully. Everything looked under control, as gardens do when they are first planted.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKLoUO1lXat2GWVQoqJHbdUHRdMfw50_06iTddruvi1P_d1UrwAbZkbYnN0NsrUBcpHgWt72PTvWbDFmDwcHhh1XY8QDbn8HC6Pu3D_6pjFm5jjEduXhb0rP2Ah9EfBDYxRRtB7aUCzAG7ENF_yTwUimEiSFm7BdRri7tx9HAeKmfFfzw_NDS1Yw/s4032/IMG_8132.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKLoUO1lXat2GWVQoqJHbdUHRdMfw50_06iTddruvi1P_d1UrwAbZkbYnN0NsrUBcpHgWt72PTvWbDFmDwcHhh1XY8QDbn8HC6Pu3D_6pjFm5jjEduXhb0rP2Ah9EfBDYxRRtB7aUCzAG7ENF_yTwUimEiSFm7BdRri7tx9HAeKmfFfzw_NDS1Yw/w459-h344/IMG_8132.HEIC" width="459" /></a></div>Even this summer, with flowers blazing, it looks like a success. <p></p><p>But I can see that the seeds of its ultimate demise have already sprouted. This botanical drama has played out many times before--raingardens that failed for lack of strategic intervention when aggressive weeds started to move in.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_TE8fsMhZJ8iqTUGWQtC8l4Jwh0Q_LEDNwE19kPs7tcHzS7oNsC-OcSKRgIIVVMH9BgAvRCkXyumxooUHk9_cR-Sly92K2JFxwxU6yU6SH8GyJLir86VeyiURAYx39R2rgo50Bh-2KDnqikWTvNRdMWPhd75ImuhZM4BkHs_raizEs7yLaHRnQ/s4032/IMG_8131.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="457" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_TE8fsMhZJ8iqTUGWQtC8l4Jwh0Q_LEDNwE19kPs7tcHzS7oNsC-OcSKRgIIVVMH9BgAvRCkXyumxooUHk9_cR-Sly92K2JFxwxU6yU6SH8GyJLir86VeyiURAYx39R2rgo50Bh-2KDnqikWTvNRdMWPhd75ImuhZM4BkHs_raizEs7yLaHRnQ/w343-h457/IMG_8131.HEIC" width="343" /></a></div>Most deadly is the mugwort that has become established and is quickly spreading. That one invasive species alone could obliterate the intended plants in a few years.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnacTTL8YFfZvRnluelWvUAQxjkX2ktOXBJ1zoIyW-aH7FCxBFkDHmbjJvwjHRwh_FBqkzASTBwHi7ZLpvGqyzWrZIaStlO-mqk1AcnJ_9LHe8CjLcEi-RtpC5feVng5_1YBb7tUAwVjJMjCqY2lG7GZB_yfEpO_QnUD3ztKZH9MlBhKhBa4LUoA/s4032/IMG_8127.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="493" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnacTTL8YFfZvRnluelWvUAQxjkX2ktOXBJ1zoIyW-aH7FCxBFkDHmbjJvwjHRwh_FBqkzASTBwHi7ZLpvGqyzWrZIaStlO-mqk1AcnJ_9LHe8CjLcEi-RtpC5feVng5_1YBb7tUAwVjJMjCqY2lG7GZB_yfEpO_QnUD3ztKZH9MlBhKhBa4LUoA/w370-h493/IMG_8127.HEIC" width="370" /></a></div>Nutsedge, too, spreads rapidly.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CUolU7Ev4YGLX2Y22G0zDvOMNMmYccsAAs0quIoq6-e0QH45eqe4h1z6ws55QhcWdAW2jiE3P9QAFM3rrzXjHzfpFdfOSOTEhxMUnYAknRxjcYf9mjD7Yn2KR4NLY0VykePM4VPGJeqdDYIw6xlfdN0bWw03Z0qNnBx4NhfpUx6hwLdm7pQ9uQ/s4032/IMG_8128.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="433" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CUolU7Ev4YGLX2Y22G0zDvOMNMmYccsAAs0quIoq6-e0QH45eqe4h1z6ws55QhcWdAW2jiE3P9QAFM3rrzXjHzfpFdfOSOTEhxMUnYAknRxjcYf9mjD7Yn2KR4NLY0VykePM4VPGJeqdDYIw6xlfdN0bWw03Z0qNnBx4NhfpUx6hwLdm7pQ9uQ/w325-h433/IMG_8128.HEIC" width="325" /></a></div>Along with foxtail grass, <div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3R4iQGPihqD-DtIUd71G1R1FzBVCIlQj9-sPBRGYsd4cJpSxR9CJwnuQyUKThNk3RtcyA5ik_jvYe4ELwJYvIEfMOZV11FvHrDxVOkJbI1QvjQ9FcwwMte5TNUpt9IEhObyl2CORrHG4D1sB-2ZwILxavlNemdNnMtNo2jhiCFguh6Z63Z1zNmg/s4032/IMG_8133.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3R4iQGPihqD-DtIUd71G1R1FzBVCIlQj9-sPBRGYsd4cJpSxR9CJwnuQyUKThNk3RtcyA5ik_jvYe4ELwJYvIEfMOZV11FvHrDxVOkJbI1QvjQ9FcwwMte5TNUpt9IEhObyl2CORrHG4D1sB-2ZwILxavlNemdNnMtNo2jhiCFguh6Z63Z1zNmg/s320/IMG_8133.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>and barnyard grass, the nutsedge is obscuring a nice stand of soft rush the town planted two years ago. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIzRx0NfFH162UCVKKADbhpC5zAwIofbBg5kU6japVCJ72zRe7Prmi_iQpjL4OsRclj9sEQD3hro506rIWHBEIILFIg0GMbZRyRdXP21EhIXhuQMZrSK7G4poHS9IbpuN27WpRqkmaSuAwFNdwnW0IsqXiH2rMhziZW0WufoKx1SuaxVeViSyZAw/s1948/IMG_8130.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1948" data-original-width="1578" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIzRx0NfFH162UCVKKADbhpC5zAwIofbBg5kU6japVCJ72zRe7Prmi_iQpjL4OsRclj9sEQD3hro506rIWHBEIILFIg0GMbZRyRdXP21EhIXhuQMZrSK7G4poHS9IbpuN27WpRqkmaSuAwFNdwnW0IsqXiH2rMhziZW0WufoKx1SuaxVeViSyZAw/w314-h388/IMG_8130.HEIC" width="314" /></a></div>More easily dealt with are the ragweed--a native weed with allergenic green flowers--<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_4iSiMdPEmiE3jONLNDLeKDieNZkKaAWqZ26uqXO83uebU6mEQOgXX_VHueOM7EDH5i4nFpRv1MR30H1Kxc7mP_TA8r9vgOyApqecMQR4a3NknYoHu4OcsVDLwwiHZ0IJuQAbN5MSEGyXboKTFUFxp6bPWaY7LrJel0cwmx0qy39BdOS2sefhA/s4032/IMG_8134.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_4iSiMdPEmiE3jONLNDLeKDieNZkKaAWqZ26uqXO83uebU6mEQOgXX_VHueOM7EDH5i4nFpRv1MR30H1Kxc7mP_TA8r9vgOyApqecMQR4a3NknYoHu4OcsVDLwwiHZ0IJuQAbN5MSEGyXboKTFUFxp6bPWaY7LrJel0cwmx0qy39BdOS2sefhA/w298-h397/IMG_8134.HEIC" width="298" /></a></div>a flamboyant patch of crabgrass, <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWEEYqeJyJ6K_wxvPmpJjIL97Er_zze3n7ItXBRcPVuVBIPDNvJSUoXCLCNu2mMXq2Xc0Pxegrxbfu2hADxs3jw9yA_O8Nef0J9it2p2XWV50_0VU7PJhSS_1W1GPPNx5qbyEprsYxgswFqSTPBL412P5LsGI6v3jQmpUt9dKOq8j4Om338M-Vw/s4032/IMG_8129.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWEEYqeJyJ6K_wxvPmpJjIL97Er_zze3n7ItXBRcPVuVBIPDNvJSUoXCLCNu2mMXq2Xc0Pxegrxbfu2hADxs3jw9yA_O8Nef0J9it2p2XWV50_0VU7PJhSS_1W1GPPNx5qbyEprsYxgswFqSTPBL412P5LsGI6v3jQmpUt9dKOq8j4Om338M-Vw/w286-h381/IMG_8129.HEIC" width="286" /></a></div>and what looks like a patch of black medic. The mulch laid down two years ago surely helped, but its capacity to stifle weed growth clearly didn't last.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzwxnRQPp4AOBMESGx0DXO44x24L2SYSaUtiGr-abKNb-zm_RZ7CThlsI_GmMoHfsCD9lhyRX8h_pFmZWsSloQQpgPiSV2RcSlYWJW2jniMBKr4yyGoBZMbJytiEnc43wzE5a_nMfe08NHxEIukVc_NNtjIhaGgVzqyjCvfLaFUf8Zwn7D-vSJw/s4032/IMG_8136.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzwxnRQPp4AOBMESGx0DXO44x24L2SYSaUtiGr-abKNb-zm_RZ7CThlsI_GmMoHfsCD9lhyRX8h_pFmZWsSloQQpgPiSV2RcSlYWJW2jniMBKr4yyGoBZMbJytiEnc43wzE5a_nMfe08NHxEIukVc_NNtjIhaGgVzqyjCvfLaFUf8Zwn7D-vSJw/w302-h403/IMG_8136.HEIC" width="302" /></a></div>And what's this vine, crawling out over the other plants? Ivyleaf morning glory is a new one for me. <div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjswoj9_gAIyl9AU0OWig-9-_ZulZhD1-Ncfsjw0Xa_cDsQP7lHZHj1UWFwl2kNy2m51rIf88Rkwea2KQz4-QdyGtRAyYTMWmeJlGet_78j-u9Pkoe9vnVujz8DowJkQEnos-in_DLyhFhV8HqR5BuLiNGohbTnALexUBM8jI0IGbZqkhwEFk6jGg/s2731/IMG_6090.HEIC" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1885" data-original-width="2731" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjswoj9_gAIyl9AU0OWig-9-_ZulZhD1-Ncfsjw0Xa_cDsQP7lHZHj1UWFwl2kNy2m51rIf88Rkwea2KQz4-QdyGtRAyYTMWmeJlGet_78j-u9Pkoe9vnVujz8DowJkQEnos-in_DLyhFhV8HqR5BuLiNGohbTnALexUBM8jI0IGbZqkhwEFk6jGg/w406-h280/IMG_6090.HEIC" width="406" /></a></div>Back in late April, when this photo showed the mugwort looking tamable, pullable, sprayable, I alerted the town that early detection and rapid response is what's needed to keep the weeds from taking over. The response was that a public works crew weeds the garden once or twice per year. That's not how a raingarden works. I know from long experience. Catch the aggressive weeds early, and the raingarden will ultimately become very easy to maintain. </div><div><br /></div><div>Vikki Caines, a longtime member of the Recreation Department who recently retired, kept beautiful gardens growing in areas near the community pool. But that was a labor of love, done in her spare time. It's love, of a parental variety, that leads one to acquire plant knowledge in the first place, and then to grow a garden and anticipate its needs, and check for weeds, much more than once or twice per year. </div><div><br /></div><div>How can your typical institution--where staff lack plant knowledge, motivation, and the flexibility in routine needed to catch problems early--successfully tend to a botanically complex raingarden planting? For the past 30 years, I've watched as many native raingardens and meadows planted by towns or universities have incrementally failed for lack of early and ongoing intervention by a knowledgeable caretaker. Maintenance requires more knowledge than installation, because the caretaker must know not only the intended plants but also the many species of weeds that inevitably try to move in. Yet we see over and over that money is invested in design and installation, while maintenance is deprived of funding and respect. We have doctors and nurses to care for people, but precious few plant doctors to care for landscapes. </div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>A bit of good news:</b> Last year, I wrote a google review of the Betsey Stockton Garden planted on top of the Princeton University's Firestone Library, pointing out that white clover and other weeds were invading the flower beds. Whether the review had an impact, I can't say, but the university is taking better care of the meadow planting this year.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><b>Related Posts:</b></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2021/10/princeton-finally-plants-its-fuel-tank.html">Princeton Finally Plants Its Fuel Tank Raingarden</a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2014/09/princetons-new-neuroscience-building.html">Princeton's New Neuroscience Building Has Thoughtful Native Plantings</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Followed two years later by:</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.princetonnaturenotes.org/2016/09/where-have-all-flowers-gone-at.html">Where Have All the Flowers Gone at the Neuroscience Building?</a></div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-86475280388397306582023-08-16T01:50:00.001-04:002023-08-16T01:50:47.190-04:00Cindy Taylor, Princeton's First Open Space Manager, Moves On<p>It was a brief but extraordinary tenure for Princeton's first Open Space Manager, Cindy Taylor. Her hard work and accomplishments <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">made abundantly clear the importance of the open space manager position in town government, validating the view of all of us who fought long to have the position created, and the wisdom of the current council in funding it.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxknyEbRbcDexNf5sp2PoJvuwnO1cmxyAbcsLO-ErNO6FWhkWGeYgqzMAEkp8yyUfjtWgrigC7MvLLlZaP_yKLhSJebQGAeBrUYC3XjJiFA39HkC7FodgQO55sdKUXLesDiJ-xopTpbW2qY93DRqAIE-m94QOrmidNBv3Ou2qS8OjO3otPY3ijw/s712/TaylorTapInto.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="712" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxknyEbRbcDexNf5sp2PoJvuwnO1cmxyAbcsLO-ErNO6FWhkWGeYgqzMAEkp8yyUfjtWgrigC7MvLLlZaP_yKLhSJebQGAeBrUYC3XjJiFA39HkC7FodgQO55sdKUXLesDiJ-xopTpbW2qY93DRqAIE-m94QOrmidNBv3Ou2qS8OjO3otPY3ijw/s320/TaylorTapInto.png" width="320" /></a></div>Cindy served as primary contact within town government for the nonprofits that take care of Princeton's open space at Marquand Park, Mountain Lakes and Herrontown Woods. Among her many activities, she compiled an inventory of open space in Princeton, worked with the Environmental Commission on updating the Environmental Resource Inventory, and helped apply for habitat restoration grants. In my many communications with her, I would have to say she was impeccable, sending us detailed notes from meetings, and attending quickly to our various requests. <p></p><p><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">After a year and a half on the job, she is leaving for a job in Mercer County open space. We thank her for setting such a high standard of public service.</span></span></p><p><i>(Photo plucked by TapInto Princeton from a zoom video of a council meeting)</i></p>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30790016.post-37722610904211113832023-08-11T07:05:00.006-04:002023-09-17T23:02:32.160-04:00The Invasive Grass Fueling Wildfires in Hawaii<p>Hawaii didn't used to get pummeled by highly destructive wildfires. What has changed? A big part of the answer lies in the interaction between climate change and invasive species. </p><p>Begin with a couple paragraphs buried in a <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/10/us/maui-wildfires-hawaii.html">NY Times article</a>:</p><blockquote>The area <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/05/us/hawaii-wildfires.html">burned</a> annually by wildfires in Hawaii has quadrupled in recent decades. Declining rainfall and rising temperatures have left the islands <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/10/climate/hawaii-fires-climate-change.html">more susceptible</a> to blazes, climatologists say.<br /><br />Invasive grasses that are highly flammable have crowded out native vegetation in some areas, and <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/10/climate/hawaii-fires-climate-change.html">climate change</a> has exacerbated dry and hot conditions in the state, allowing wildfires to spread more quickly.</blockquote><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZHDtJ6_FjY7MtOABqe4a_j6pP44-7XSyFqpbQp6doZwBxusgNI3AmU4d0GT2paGQAGqAd8dvb9ofm-ktnnQwz0FvStNAAwAtQGIwetux1NBYkEcP42x86jctaA-u3HcXmdToMfWaZj68jupSAH1EPt_zw5N3y-70MFJYN4XIPrs3fKDzgr2UIQ/s998/GuineaGrass.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="744" height="451" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZHDtJ6_FjY7MtOABqe4a_j6pP44-7XSyFqpbQp6doZwBxusgNI3AmU4d0GT2paGQAGqAd8dvb9ofm-ktnnQwz0FvStNAAwAtQGIwetux1NBYkEcP42x86jctaA-u3HcXmdToMfWaZj68jupSAH1EPt_zw5N3y-70MFJYN4XIPrs3fKDzgr2UIQ/w337-h451/GuineaGrass.png" width="337" /></a></div>But what invasive species? <a href="https://cms.ctahr.hawaii.edu/littonc/Research/Invasive-Grasses-Wildfire-Restoration">A University of Hawaii website</a> points to one that has been particularly destructive:<div><blockquote>Guinea grass <i>(Megathyrsus maximus)</i>, a nonnative invasive grass in Hawaii, forms dense stands that outcompete native plants and has very high fine fuel loads that greatly increase fire potential, spread, and severity.</blockquote><p><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Megathyrsus_maximus">Wikipedia describes guinea grass</a> as a tough customer, growing ten feet tall. Though it can thrive in full sun, it can also tolerate shade, allowing it to invade native woodlands and thereby increase their vulnerability to fire during droughts. Native to Africa, the grass was introduced not only to Hawaii but also to south Texas.</p><p>How did guinea grass get to Hawaii (also spelled Hawai'i)? <a href="https://www.wired.com/story/the-scary-science-of-mauis-wildfires/">Wired provides an answer</a>:</p><div><blockquote>When Europeans arrived in the late 18th century and established plantations for growing sugarcane and pineapple, they also brought invasive grasses. Now the economics have changed, and those fields lie fallow. But the grasses have spread like a plague. “Those fire-prone invasive species fill in any gaps anywhere else—roadsides, in between communities, in between people’s homes, all over the place,” says Pickett. “At this point, 26 percent of our state is covered in these fire-prone grasses.”<br /><br />This stuff is highly sensitive to short-term fluctuations in rainfall. The grass will grow like crazy when the rains come, then quickly desiccate when the landscape dries. “When we get these events like we’re seeing these past few days—when the relative humidity really drops low—all those fine fuels become very explosive,” says fire ecologist Clay Trauernicht of the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa.</blockquote><a href="https://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory/fast-moving-hawaii-fires-heavy-toll-states-environment-102188124">An article in ABC News</a> explains how the more intense and frequent fires affect the soil and human health: <blockquote>Elizabeth Pickett, co-executive director of the Hawaii Wildfire Management Organization, a nonprofit working with communities to prevent and mitigate fires, lamented the changes wrought by fire.<br /><br />Invasive and fire-prone grass species have moved in over time and during a fire they can burn into native forests, which means the forests are replaced by more grass, Pickett said. The soil burns and sloughs off, leading to massive post-fire erosion that smothers coral, impacts fisheries and reduces the quality of the ocean water, she said.<br /><br />The state is windy and the dust blows for years, harming human health, she added.<br /><br />“When you lose your soil, it’s really hard to restore and replant. And then the only thing that can really handle living there in many cases are more of those invasive species,” Pickett said. “It’s systemic. Air, land and water are all impacted.”</blockquote><b>A Philosophical Footnote</b></div><div>It's important to note that both climate change and the spread of invasive species are largely unintentional. Our world is threatened by excess carbon dioxide and other planet-heating gasses--lowly biproducts of our economy and lifestyles. We are used to thinking of collateral damage as minor and incidental, and tend not to judge people by what they do unintentionally. In fact, the cumulative impact of unintentional acts is the central threat we face. We live our days trapped in a predicament in which humanity, largely well-meaning, is allowed to collectively and unintentionally create problems, but not allowed to collectively and intentionally solve them. </div></div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Additional reading:</b></i> Thanks to a comment (see the critical comment and my response below), I found a couple more interesting articles about guinea grass. One gives <a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/wre.12512">a good overview of guinea grass</a> as both an excellent, deeply rooted forage grass for cattle, and a weed that has disrupted ecosystems and croplands around the world. The other invests the grass with <a href="https://daily.jstor.org/plant-of-the-month-guinea-grass/">cultural connotations</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Other Invasive Grasses Fueling Fires in Hawaii</b></div><div><br /></div><div>My friend Fairfax sent a <a href="https://phys.org/news/2023-08-invasive-firestarter-non-native-grasses-hawaii.html?fbclid=IwAR2774XKDgGKI2WPtiBi734vvUK4cuqp_KNADTn50UbJhHiRxbdzw2Dp_5I">link to another informative article</a> that mentions three other introduced grass species fueling fires in Hawaii: fountain grass, buffel grass, and molasses grass. It also stresses that these and other highly flammable introduced grasses are altering fire ecology in the mainland U.S. as well.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidxbFBMKNu-x5h63gF_pzvsearpGJEtVK-aKPu6TO7IgeDEJIuc9t5DDMtDIoAEjYUQnzEBegiHBw1lzTbVmNuMHa_TkjEvGiaT4OY8UrCTUp-rQPTQ1vkC1Jp01VYkpGWWKLJ67wsYY6Km83sj3stgZk790O7jqZGiNgHA_YKVftGLV4JUIaIaQ/s1738/InvasiveGrasses-Hawaii.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1480" data-original-width="1738" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidxbFBMKNu-x5h63gF_pzvsearpGJEtVK-aKPu6TO7IgeDEJIuc9t5DDMtDIoAEjYUQnzEBegiHBw1lzTbVmNuMHa_TkjEvGiaT4OY8UrCTUp-rQPTQ1vkC1Jp01VYkpGWWKLJ67wsYY6Km83sj3stgZk790O7jqZGiNgHA_YKVftGLV4JUIaIaQ/w501-h426/InvasiveGrasses-Hawaii.png" width="501" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><b>What Guinea Grass Has in Common With Japanese Stiltgrass</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Some people aren't aware the extent to which grasses affect our lives, for better and for worse. Corn is a grass, as are sugar cane, bamboo, and sorghum. In Princeton and up and down the east coast, the most dominant invasive grass is Japanese stiltgrass, which like guinea grass can grow in sun or shade, and uses what's called <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/C4_carbon_fixation">C4 photosynthesis</a> to fix carbon from the atmosphere. Plants that use the C4 process--corn also being an example--are more efficient than other plants that use C3. Stiltgrass has invaded most areas of Princeton, growing from a zillion seeds each spring to blanket large expanses of woods. Wildlife don't eat it, so as it takes over, the landscape becomes increasingly inedible. I've long wished that someone would come up with a highly selective herbicide that would impact only C4 plants. If stiltgrass's impact on eastern habitats hasn't been sufficient to stimulate research, maybe the fire hazard in Hawaii will get researches to take a look.</div>Steve Hiltnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13814809440369173963noreply@blogger.com2