Conquering Backyard Ivy in an Ivy League Town

After weeks of inaction, paralyzed by inertia and wondering if once again the garden would bowl me over with its growing power, I finally ventured out with gloves, dirt-friendly clothing, and some clippers to take on some of the backyard's longstanding "issues". To my surprise, there was satisfying progress to be made, that actually built on progress past.

Many gardeners have "border issues", that is, plants invading their yards from their neighbors', or vice versa. A friend recently showed me how lesser celandine was continually spreading into his yard from his uphill neighbor, and there are many stories of bamboo's indifference to society's artificial boundaries.

For years, my yard had waves of english ivy coming in from three sides, but two of my neighbors, without my saying a word, got rid of all of theirs. And where my yard abuts the park in back, I was able to get rid of the parkside ivy by taking the liberty of mowing it, after which the parks crews apparently have been weedwhipping any resprouts.

Taking advantage of the soft soil after yesterday's rain, I finally took on the legacy of ivy on my side of the fence, using physical means. The first phase was an on-hands-and-knees approach, pulling and cutting off any ivy growing on the fence.

Ivy heading up a tree got cut at the bottom. No need to pull it down. Cutting at the base is enough, though some people find it more satisfying to pull it all off.

For phase two, large pieces of cardboard were placed along the fence, overlapping, and any ivy still exposed further in was pulled out and thrown on top of the cardboard, where it will dry out. Some native vines--virginia creeper, wild grape, and poison ivy--were pulled as well, though the main goal was to eliminate english ivy. Gloves, long sleeves, and periodic washing of any potentially exposed skin with water should be enough to avoid poison ivy's effects, but we'll see.

The chickens came over to inspect my work, and seemed satisfied. Phase three would be to cover up the cardboard with chips or some other organic material that will hide the cardboard and keep it from getting blown by the wind. But the cardboard will quickly disappear behind a screen of growth in the yard, and some exposed cardboard may prove instructive to park users, who may decide to try using cardboard to deal with their own border issues.

Elsewhere in the yard was additional proof of how even intimidating weeds can be controlled by timely intervention. Only a few garlic mustards came up this year, because they've been getting pulled each spring before they go to seed.

And the big bamboo patch that once was advancing across the fence on the north side is down to a few weak sprouts easily cut. Other weeds--the Canada thistle and the dandelions--got the undercut treatment with a shovel.

There is, of course, the option of eating the young leaves of garlic mustard, and I saw a chinese woman inspecting some bamboo clones across the street, in search of bamboo shoots.

Some of the more aggressive native species got a rebalancing. A native floodplain species of goldenrod that spreads via underground rhizomes got pulled out in places. In the photo is the base of a bottlebrush buckeye--a beautiful native shrub that can start grabbing territory once established. It was a relief to discover that its expansionist ambitions are realized via above ground stolons that can be easily cut.

Mixed with the pulling and digging and rebalancing was some appreciating, of the subtle pendulant blooms of a Bladdernut, a native shrub found in only a few isolated spots in Princeton.

Can-Do Bamboo Control

A photo of the offspring of the Mercer Oak at the Princeton Battlefield would be appropriate for Memorial Day, but lacking that, a post on bamboo will have to do. My understanding is that the Revolutionary War was a war of attrition. The Continental army won few battles, but managed to sap the will of the British over the course of eight years.

You may never completely win the battle against bamboo, but conducting a war of attrition can turn an advancing monster into a minor nuisance. The goal is to starve the massive root system of energy, in other words, to lay siege. Cutting down all the stems immediately shuts down any solar energy collection, forcing the root system to use its reserves to sustain normal metabolism.

The roots then commit additional energy reserves to sending up new shoots. These can reach six or more feet before they start sprouting leaves. As these bare stems grow, be patient. Keep those loppers at the ready, then cut the long, still-soft stems down just as those solar collecting leaves begin to appear. Proper timing will cheat the roots of any return on a substantial investment in new infrastructure. As the roots weaken, each new set of sprouts will be smaller than the last.

For battles waged on the property line, an alliance with the neighbor will be critical.

Invasive Mile-a-Minute Spreading at Princeton Battlefield

Ever find yourself caring deeply about something the rest of the world ignores? We all pick our battles, and here's a really good one for the Friends of Princeton Battlefield and/or our governing institutions to pick.

Princeton has been graced in many ways of which it is not even aware, and one of those is the up-to-now absence of Mile-a-Minute, a thorny annual vine that grows up and over everything if allowed. Gardeners beware. This one's particularly nasty, and though it has gained a foothold in nearby areas, I've encountered it in only two locations in Princeton. One location is the Princeton Battlefield. The other is on the gravel road in to Rogers Refuge. Each year I pull it out, but by the time I remember to do it, a few of the vines' little blue berries have matured, so the infestation has been growing.

Obviously, my efforts are not enough. The town of Princeton has fortunately hired the NJ Invasive Species Strike Team in recent years to treat invasions by new species, but the Battlefield is state owned, and because of a lack of intervention it is now serving as a seed source that will affect all Princetonians, and not only for Mile-a-Minute.

Another issue at the Princeton Battlefield is the massive invasion by porcelainberry--a vine that rivals kudzu in its capacity to sprawl over anything and everything. Its overwhelming presence may seem to dwarf the problem with Mile-a-Minute, yet it can also be seen as proof that we really need to catch these invasions early, before they get out of control. Porcelainberry is not only at the Battlefield, but is also dominating large areas all along the Stonybrook in Princeton.

Here are the copious berries produced by porcelainberry vines as they smother the flowering dogwoods planted in 1976 for the nation's bicentennial. The berries turn pretty colors--blue, purple, pink, or white--thus the name, and the original appeal of the plant. But the plant has escaped the usual checks and balances that otherwise sustain balance in nature.

Birds eat the berries of porcelainberry and Mile-a-Minute, thus the concern that what's allowed to grow at the Battlefield will impact the rest of Princeton.

The Friends of the Battlefield group, by the way, has been doing a great job knocking out big stands of bamboo around the Clark House during its annual workday in April. Look in the distance in the photo and you'll see an open field, with only a small remnant of bamboo back near the woods.

But bamboo doesn't spread by seed, and so poses no threat beyond the Battlefield's borders. Volunteer sessions can slow down porcelainberry and Mile-a-Minute a bit, but for any lasting benefit, we need to get some professional intervention. Maybe the Friends of the Battlefield could apply for a grant.

In the meantime, be on the lookout for its distinctive triangular leaf, put on some gloves, and pull it out.

The Grass That Ate The King's Highway

There's a curious sight as you approach Montgomery from Princeton on Route 206. Something is eating the Kings Highway. 

That something is Phragmitis, most frequently encountered in its highly aggressive, non-indigenous form. In wetlands, it displaces even the tough native cattails. On the other side of town, in Rogers Refuge just below the Institute Woods, we've been working for years to keep it from taking over the marsh.

Spreading its tall tassels along freeway ditches, it dominates the New Jersey meadowlands and can be considered a worldwide weed. Its scientific name is as sprawling as its growth habit: Phragmites australis subsp. australis. The native version, less aggressive and now hard to find, is termed subspecies americanus.

One source describes the introduced variety as "a hardy species that can survive and proliferate in a wide range of environmental conditions." Sometimes it's planted intentionally, to treat wastewater or reduce soil erosion. Mostly, it plants itself, then expands relentlessly, oblivious even to normally intimidating barriers, like asphalt.

The common reed is a grass, like bamboo is a grass. Unlike bamboo, which lives for decades without flowering, Phragmitis blooms each year, combining abundant seed production with bamboo's powerful capacity to spread underground. That combination makes it a transformative force not only in nature but in human habitats as well. 

Taming Bamboo and Forcing Forsythia

While visiting Merida on the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico, we stayed at a hotel with rooms so tastefully decorated that one could turn in any direction and see a composed scene.

One object that put to good and decorative use what in Princeton is often an overly aggressive plant was this wrapping of dried bamboo cuttings into a vaselike pattern.

The same effect can be rendered with cuttings of forsythia, which have the added benefit this time of year of opening their flower blossoms after a week indoors.

15 Flowering Dogwoods Rescued from Smothering Vines at Princeton Battlefield

Saving legacies is what Princeton Battlefield is all about, and one legacy we sought to save during a big workday organized by Kip Cherry were flowering dogwoods planted for the nation's bicentennial in 1976. I do most of my habitat restoration work at Herrontown Woods in eastern Princeton, but have been visiting Princeton Battlefield periodically to help tame bamboo monsters, care for native chestnuts and prevent vines from completely smothering the dogwoods. Having ten able and spirited volunteers at this year's Battlefield Society's Clean-up Day made real progress possible.

Kip Cherry (front left) began the afternoon with a moving description of the great battle that took place there in 1777.

Ten of us then headed across Mercer Street to liberate the flowering dogwood trees lining the edge of the field. The dogwood flower buds, poking through the drapery of vine growth, provided inspiration, with their promise of beauty in the spring, and nutritious berries for the birds in fall.

This was the curtain of vines we cleared away with loppers and pruning shears, while dodging poison ivy and the thorns of multiflora rose.

Here's a "before" shot, showing porcelainberry draped over three dogwood trees. (photo from last fall in a previous post)

And here's the "after" shot, taken from underneath the rescued dogwoods. We worked to create an open space between ground and lower limbs so the vines cannot easily climb back up.

Thanks to our brave and skillful crew, who came from near and far to liberate fifteen dogwoods over the course of three hours.

I liked this pose when the work was done. As always happens on workdays, there were good conversations to go along with the physical work. I gained some Veblen House-relevant information about Long Island and Connecticut, and heard some positive testimonials about electric cars like the Chevy Volt, which combines 60 mile battery range with a backup gas engine. One owner said she'd spent only $9 on gas since last summer, and hadn't noticed any rise in her electricity bill from charging up the car at home. While restoring some history, it was good to hear the future in the form of electric cars might be at hand as well. The same thinking goes into saving legacies, whether they be dogwood trees or the world's climate.

Senator Kip Bateman and Assemblyman Reed Gusciora dropped by to help out.

Here is Kip Cherry's summary of the day:

"Our Clean-up Day was a big success! The sun peaked out, and from all reports everyone had a great time, the Park looked a lot nicer when we were done, the CWT t-shirts were well received, and the Sierra Club came through. Senator Bateman and Assemblyman Gusciora both arrived and put their shoulders to the wheel. A large group of kindergartners picked up fallen sticks, while others removed invasive porcelainberry vines from dogwoods, cut down bamboo, and cleared encroachment along the pathway to the Quaker Meeting House. Special thanks to Kim Gallagher and Steve Hiltner for leading teams, and to Gary Nelson and Randy Riccardo for their hard work!"

The Second Forest of Institute Woods

In the Institute Woods, towards the end of the day, towards the end of autumn, it's not just the trees that cast long shadows. In the understory, a shadow forest grows, composed mostly of nonnative shrubs--winged euonymus, linden viburnum, asian photinia, shrub honeysuckle, multiflora rose and privet. Having evolved on a different continent in a different climate, they hold their leaves long after most of the native woodies have dropped theirs. Dominating the understory, these shrubs and vines constitute a second forest that serves up a second autumn, shedding their conformist green to show late-season reds and golds. 

There are second forests all around Princeton and beyond. The light green close to the ground in this photo is honeysuckle shrubs along Terhune Rd.

Here, viewed from the Streicker Bridge over Washington Road a week or two ago, are Norway Maples pushing up into the canopy of mature native oaks, beech, and blackgum, some of which are two centuries old. 

Bamboo at the Princeton Battlefield, bordering the Institute lands, offers another variation on the theme.

The different colors of the second forest provide a convenient code for easy long-distance identification. The pink here, down near the Friends Meeting House entrance to Institute Woods, means you're looking at winged euonymus. If it were growing in full sun, the color would be a vivid red, from which comes its other common name, burning bush. 

Here the pink of the winged euonymus mingles with the still green multiflora rose. 

Linden viburnum has its own distinctive fall color, 

as does Asian photinia, whose leaves tend to be broader towards the tips. It's usually more golden than this photo shows, and in Mountain Lakes and along Princeton Pike has turned whole woodlands golden this time of year. 

Mingling with the photinia here is the viny ever-green Japanese honeysuckle. 

Wineberry, with its fuzzy purple stem, is another Asian species with lingering green in late fall. 

Privet holds onto its green as well, here growing up around the tan stem of a shrub honeysuckle. 

Add global warming, which is bringing unusually warm and comfortable autumn days, and the feeling of gratitude for unseasonal warmth and color begins to  mix with a foreboding about the ecological consequences. Awareness creates an emotional undertow pulling against the uplifting effect of weather and color. The second forest flourishes in part because it is inedible to wildlife, which prefer and depend upon native species for food. The colors that greet our eyes this time of year signal a diminishing edibility for the forest's inhabitants. 

Four plaques tell the story of how the Institute Lands were saved from development in 1997, a half century after they were acquired. Though a couple key elements are left out--the Lenape Indians and Oswald Veblen--it is an extraordinary story, listing the major donors, 

the Taplins who led the way,

the coordination of governmental, institutional, and nonprofit entities that in NJ has been so effective in saving land. 

You can click on each photo to hopefully make it large enough to read.

Here, on this plaque, would have been a good place to mention the Lenape Indians as early occupants and stewards. A whole additional plaque could be dedicated to telling of Oswald Veblen's role as primary instigator of acquisition. As partially told on the IAS website, and more fully told by George Dyson in a talk at DR Greenway, Veblen convinced the early Institute leadership to acquire the land, then did the legwork necessary to bring all the parcels together. Over ten years, beginning in 1936, Veblen laid the foundation for open space in Princeton, with the acquisition not only of the Institute lands but also the 100 acres on the east side of Princeton that he and his wife Elizabeth later donated as Princeton's and Mercer County's first nature preserve, Herrontown Woods.

It's interesting to look at the chronology of open space initiatives in the Princeton area. The Institute lands were acquired between 1936 and 1945. In 1949, the Stonybrook Millstone Watershed Association was formed. Around 1959 Herrontown Woods was officially opened. In 1969, the Friends of Princeton Open Space came into being. In 1989, the DR Greenway was formed. Whether there's meaning in the 20 year increments of their foundings, all three nonprofits played a role in purchasing from the IAS the conservation easement that now protects the Institute lands from development.

Preservation tends to be celebrated more than management, so it's good to see there's a plaque celebrating maintenance, at least of the trails. The leadership and persistence needed to keep the woods accessible was first provided by Veblen, then later by mathematician Paul Dirac, then still later by what appears to be lasting funding in 2008 provided by Addie and Harold Broitman.  

Though the land is preserved, and the trails continue to be kept clear, and the richness of the Institute Woods has been researched and documented by Henry Horn and others, there is still a missing element for insuring the Institute Woods' longterm health. It's not clear that the woods hold the same biological richness seen in Veblen's time, or even Henry Horn's. With habitat restoration and deer management, we might lose the colors of the second forest, but gain a second preservation, this time saving the flora and fauna not from developers but from ecological imbalance and attrition of native species over time. 

The first preservation, in 1997, prevented intentional alteration of the woods by developers. But the woods is still being altered indirectly, unintentionally, through the invasion of introduced species and the banishing of predators that once kept deer numbers in check. The second preservation takes responsibility for the unintentional changes humanity has unleashed, and requires us to be active and informed participants in the forest's ecology. Clearing the invasive species that crowd the forest, and reducing the intense browsing pressure of deer, would begin to bring back the lovely vistas and sweeps of wildflowers that surely helped inspire the community investment in saving the land more than twenty years ago. 

Callery Pear and Deceptive Appearances

Callery pear, widely known by one of its cultivars, Bradford Pear, is a good example of how appearances can deceive. People crave blooms after a long winter, and callery pear comes through with its masses of radiant white flowers that look like someone turned on a giant 100 watt lightbulb in the landscape. Though it originally was thought not to spread, callery pear has been popping up along roadsides across the U.S., looking as if someone strung masses of Christmas tree lights along the highways. The visual effect is pleasing at a time of year when most of the native species are just coming out of dormancy and the landscape still looks otherwise drab.

At that superficial level, which is how most people see the landscape, the callery pear seems an unmitigated blessing. People who plant it would seem to be doing everyone a favor, as the tree's beauty spreads far beyond the original planting. The specimens on Witherspoon Street in Princeton lift the spirits of passersby, and are celebrated as harbingers of spring by the local newspapers.

At a deeper level--if you take a look underneath the ecological "hood", peak behind the visual soundbyte--you'll find the story is the complete opposite. The rapidly proliferating callery pear poses a profound threat to America's landscape. Across the country, callery pear is spreading rapidly into forests and fields, displacing native species and steadily imposing a monotonous conformity. It was originally imported from China specifically for its adaptability to a wide variety of soil types and moisture and light levels, produces abundant fruit that starlings spread across the land, and so can quickly invade a broad spectrum of habitats. The website naturalbiodiversity.org calls it a "bio-bully". A county in Indiana suffering from an advanced stage of invasion calls the callery pear "a bad, bad plant with pretty flowers." This lovely flowering tree is like the celebrated town figure who, unbeknownst to the local citizenry, has been running a seedy operation on the outskirts of town.

Just to be clear, aspersions are not being cast on all non-native plants. Whatever you think of the exotic forsythia (this imposing hedgerow runs parallel to the American elms along the Washington Road entry into Princeton), it has not become a menace to woodlands and fields. It may offer little to wildlife other than cover, but it stays where its planted.

Callery pear, then, is a symbol of the time in which we live, when the present is in deep conflict with the future. This is a time when that which is much loved and enjoyed, and which appears on the surface to be completely benign, is quietly working beyond most people's awareness to dismantle our cherished inheritance. How does one convey this to people without seeming to be a killjoy? Such knowledge, by threatening our enjoyment of the world we've made, poses an emotional challenge that people are left largely unprepared to handle. Is there a way to still experience the simple pleasure of a callery pear's beauty while at the same time understanding that they collectively pose an extraordinary danger? The same challenge awaits anytime one climbs into an automobile, needing to get somewhere yet knowing that collectively the use of cars is destabilizing our climate. Some means of handling cognitive dissonance, preferably not complete denial, is necessary just to get through the day.

Only by making these connections, and coping with the responsibility they imply, can towns like Princeton step out of a pleasant bubble and begin to question the way we unwittingly contribute to massive changes underway beyond our borders.

As we collectively remake the world, there are other impediments to our understanding these connections between individual acts and collective impact. One is the notion that nature is in control, that if I plant an invasive species, anything it does after I plant it--spread into the neighbor's yard, or into the local preserves--is in nature's domain and not my fault. There is also the belief that nature will eventually mend itself--a capacity being severely tested. Perhaps the most interesting impediment is a skewed notion of what constitutes freedom. The increase in one freedom can lead to a precipitous drop in another. For instance, the freedom to buy and plant highly invasive species like callery pear essentially consigns the larger landscape to the tyranny of invasion, and deprives future generations of the freedom to enjoy the beauty of a diverse native woodland or field, and the wildlife that needs a diverse food supply to thrive. On a small scale, many of us are forced to deal with ongoing invasions of english ivy or bamboo from neighboring yards. What are the property rights of those being invaded?

This is the less than lovely backstory on a lovely display of flowers on Witherspoon Street in April.

Note #1: For alternatives, google "native alternatives to callery pear".

Note #2: A quick and fascinating primer on callery pear can be found at this link. There is also a very informative webinar that just came out, combining an appreciation of the callery pear's beauty with an objective discussion of how it is spreading, and why. Below are instructions on how to navigate to the presentation by researcher Theresa Culley:

"Last week, the Midwest Invasive Plant Network held our first webinar on Invasive Plants in Trade.  We had some technical difficulties at the beginning of the presentation, but we did manage to record Theresa Culley’s talk on Callery pear.  The recording is now available at the following link: https://gomeet.itap.purdue.edu/p67o689ypt4/. After the first minute, the recording goes silent.  Skip ahead to minute 15, and you’ll be able to hear the full presentation.  Make sure your computer’s speakers are turned on to hear the audio portion."

Nature at the Princeton Battlefield

(Thanks to those who commented. Scroll down for an update.)

As a lover of both nature and history, I experience the Princeton Battlefield differently than most. There's gratitude for its preservation, along with some grieving for the way the land is managed. Nature here is pushed to the fringes, as if to replicate a giant ballfield. But the battle took place on a working farm, not an athletic field. 

The Clark House has been restored, its 18th century charms highly valued. So why would the landscape not be similarly treated? In the winter of 1777, the soldiers would have been treading through corn stubble, or pasture, or an orchard. 

One answer would be that visitors and re-enactors benefit from a clean surface. The question then would be how much to mow and where, so that people could enjoy a lawn, but also have areas that evoke more a feeling of the 18th century. 

As I walk across the field, I feel a sense of space more than place. Perhaps if I tried I could feel grandeur, or solemnity. Graveyards are mowed, after all. A big sky and a big field help us to understand that something big happened here, when a nation was being born, its future stretching far off towards the horizon. Maybe the landscape works in some spiritual way to evoke freedom and possibility. But as I walk these hallowed grounds, I'm also feeling a sense of a long ways to go before reaching anything interesting. Okay. Perhaps that long trudge could generate some appreciation for the long overnight march of Washington's amateur army from Trenton to Princeton. 

One tree stands in the middle of the giant lawn, an offspring of the great Mercer Oak that had witnessed the battle and lived through two more centuries before falling to a windstorm in 2000. Trees growing at the time of a great battle are called witness trees. The soldiers who fought that pivotal battle are long gone, but centuries later a tree, especially the long-lived white oak, could still claim "I was there!"

The offspring was donated by Louise Morse, spouse of Marston Morse, a mathematician who Oswald Veblen helped bring to the nearby Institute for Advanced Study in the 1930s. It was Veblen's initiative to acquire the 600+ acres behind the Battlefield that later became the Institute Woods.

The sign tells the story of the white oak and General Mercer. What I've come to look at, though, is not the highly symbolic tree but a thin sliver of golden brown in the distance. 

Beyond the lawn, towards the back of the Battlefield, is a meadow that is mowed once a year. For some reason they mowed the edge of it this fall but have left the rest, perhaps as winter cover for wildlife.

Taking a closer look, I'm surprised to see that, among the blackberries and prairie grasses, goldenrods and asters, are myriad sassafras sprouts, most of them bright orange this time of year. The meadow is a giant clone of sassafras--one root system with ten thousand heads. Can't say I've ever seen that before. 

To the left of the field is a bedraggled woods, dominated by the skeletons of ash trees killed by the introduced Emerald ash borer. A heroic American tree species silently meets its demise.

Behind the Clark House, and also across Mercer Street to the left of the pillars, more signs of introduced invasive species abound. Rampant invasive porcelainberry is stifling the 1976 bicentennial plantings--flowering dogwoods and daffodils around the edge of the field. As is typical of the landscapes we daily tread, the Princeton Battlefield invests in mowing the grass, while leaving the unmowed areas untended and overrun. Each year the Sierra Club organizes a spirited volunteer day to battle against bamboo near the Clark House. In the past, I would lead a group to cut the aggressive porcelainberry vines off of the bicentennial flowering dogwoods, but it's hard to make lasting progress when unsupported by the state agency that views grounds maintenance of this state park as "mow and go." Now all I do is make annual visits to snuff out a small infestation of mile-a-minute I spotted some years back on the Battlefield grounds.

Surely the soldiers who fought here knew their plants better than most people do today, and would feel disoriented by today's massive lawn surrounded by alien weeds. If I were to envision a battlefield landscape that sought to provide a more historically authentic botanical and horticultural context, I'd imagine some portion of the massive lawn being given over to the sort of landscape the battle was actually fought upon--pasture, orchard, corn field, whatever research shows to have been likely at the time. Along the edges would be native forest rather than tangles of kudzu-like nonnative vines. 

According to its mission statement, the Princeton Battlefield Society seeks to "restore the lands and cultural landscape." Maybe once other admirable goals are achieved, someone in the group will get interested in showing people an authentic 1777 landscape, and get the state parks department to help in the effort.  

To acquire, protect, preserve, and restore

the lands and cultural landscape related

to the Battle of Princeton of 1777;

To enlarge and improve the

Princeton Battlefield State Park;

To educate the public about the Battle

of Princeton, the Ten Crucial Days,

and the American Revolution.

Update, Dec. 23, 2022 : It's not hard to find accounts of the chronic underfunding of maintenance for NJ's state park system. This cuts both ways for Princeton Battlefield State Park. It explains why invasive species run rampant along the fringes of the park, but doesn't explain the large investment in mowing. One could have a mowed area around the house and for the areas of the land used for re-enactments and other events, and for visitors to explore the park (we used to fly kites there). Surely that still leaves large areas that could be managed for meadow. 

Nearby the Institute for Advanced Study grounds provide an example of large areas requiring only an annual mowing. 

Ribbons of mowed grass through meadow at the Battlefield would not only reduce mowing but also invite visitors to explore the full extent of the park. Walking across a vast lawn gives little sense of progress, departure, or arrival, and thus doesn't encourage exploration the way a mowed path does. 

The current management, in which nature is either suppressed by mowing or neglected along the fringes, does not reflect the view of nature held by the battle's greatest hero. George Washington was, among many things, a farmer. He believed plants were so important to a nation's future that he "had a dream of a national botanic garden and was instrumental in establishing one on the National Mall in 1820." 

In our era, when most people suffer from plant blindness, it must seem incongruous that the United States Botanic Garden is located immediately adjacent to the U.S. Capitol building. Plant blindness, according to the botanists who coined the term, "results in a chronic inability to recognize the importance of plants in the biosphere and in human affairs."

With this in mind, some rethinking of how vegetation is managed at the Princeton Battlefield could add to the visitor's experience, and shift some funds from mindless mowing to a mindful restoration of a more historically authentic landscape.