Update on Native Butternuts and Chestnuts in Princeton

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

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 came to town 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. 

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. 

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.

Related posts

From 2021: Butternut Redux--A New Generation Bears its First Crop

From 2010: The American Chestnut Returns to Princeton

Coyote Spotted at Princeton Battlefield

 A coyote was spotted at Princeton Battlefield this past Friday, March 24. 

Thanks to David Padulo for sending around this photo of the beautiful animal. 

At the time, David (hopefully not the coyote), was on his way to Port Mercer "to check off a Mercer County Life bird (Tundra Swan)," and so happened to have his camera. Port Mercer, for those like me who would assume there aren't any ports near Princeton, turns out to be just a couple miles upstream: the historic settlement where Quaker Road crosses the canal. According to David, the tundra swan was off track, a half hour away from where they are more typically seen, at Assunpink in Monmouth.

As an avid birder, David has taken an interest in Princeton's birding mecca, Rogers Refuge, and now leads the Friends of Rogers Refuge. David, shown here carrying a wood duck nest to a more auspicious location, represents a new generation of stewardship at the Refuge, taking over from Lee and Melinda Varian, who have done so much to keep trails open and control invasive species. 

Turning 83 has not deterred Lee from wielding a chainsaw to maintain the refuge. After meeting with David to discuss how the refuge's marsh might hold more water (a lot of water drains out of the refuge where this photo was taken), Lee and I spent a highly productive hour cutting a clone of wisteria vines that has been growing up and over some trees. If left to grow and expand, the wisteria would eventually swallow the forest surrounding this remarkable marsh. The nonnative wisteria can expand without restraint because there isn't the equivalent of a coyote to keep it within bounds. 

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.

The Emerald Ash Borer Quietly Changes Princeton's Skyline

Scan any skyline in Princeton and you're likely to see dieback in the trees. This happens to be the view from the front step of Veblen House in Herrontown Woods, but the same can be seen in the woods surrounding Princeton Battlefield, and most everywhere else in town. 

We're losing thousands of trees in Princeton, some quickly, some slowly. As described in past writings on this blog, dating back to 2010, the Emerald Ash Borer is proving every bit as destructive as predicted, killing all species of ash tree. And many red and pin oaks are succumbing to an introduced disease called bacterial leaf scorch. 

Many of the trees lost to introduced insects and pathogens in the past century or so--first the American chestnut, then the American elm, and now the ashes--had been dominant trees in our forests. Until the Emerald Ash Borer arrived, sweeping east from its point of introduction (hitchhiking in packing crates from Asia) in southeastern Michigan, the ash had been Princeton's most common tree. The physical gaps, if not the ecological ones, get filled by one thing or another. At Herrontown Woods, tulip trees, red maples, hickories, and sweetgums grow into the voids. 

These radical changes in the forest canopy present challenges for those of us who manage Princeton's woodlands. Dead ash trees become brittle over time. Branches and sometimes whole trees fall across trails, requiring removal. Though the town arborist and his crew have been helping, oftentimes it's volunteers who carry chainsaws deep into the preserves to reopen a trail. 

At Rogers Refuge, Princeton's birding mecca just downhill from the Institute Woods, it is avid birders who work on the trails. Lee and Melinda Varian have been particularly active. Melinda recently sent an email to the Friends of Rogers Refuge group, of which I'm a part, to report that "Lee and I just went out with our chainsaws for the third time this week to
clear fallen Ash trees from the Red Trail. It’s really heartbreaking."

She sent us these photos of a 50 year old ash tree that had fallen across a trail. Another volunteer at Rogers Refuge, Winifred Spar, wrote about how the history of the refuge is embedded in each tree's growth rings.  

In this section of trunk, where the bark has fallen away, you can see how the Emerald Ash Borer larvae consume the tree's cambium. Like the earth's total dependence on a thin surrounding layer of atmosphere (which of course our machines' invisible emissions are radically altering), a tree's vascular system depends on a thin layer of tissue surrounding the trunk, just below the bark. Lacking any evolved defense against the introduced ash borers, the native ash trees quickly become girdled and die. 

Though other tree species like oak and elm may be considered more statuesque, I have been surprised on occasion by just how gloriously big an ash can become. Two examples stood along the oval drive leading to George Washington's home at Mount Vernon. Another stood at the top of the bank of the Delaware in Lambertville. I was in awe at the thickness of their trunks. Surely the one in Lambertville has been lost, but might those at Mt. Vernon have been saved through chemical injections?

As tens of thousands of ash trees die in Princeton, requiring a vast expenditure to remove, has anyone actually seen an Emerald Ash Borer? I have seen a grand total of one, and that was a decade ago in Ann Arbor, MI, close to where they first were discovered in the U.S. By contrast, everyone has seen, and squashed, a Spotted Lanternfly, yet compare the harm done by the these two introduced insects and it's clear the largely unseen ash borer has been far more devastating in its impact. Our senses largely fail us for discerning the greatest threats to our world, be they an elusive insect or, far more devastating still, too much carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. To coin a phrase, call it "quiet radicalism."

By allowing light to reach the understory, the gaps in the canopy created by so many dying trees present a mix of problems and opportunity for managing our preserves. What shrubs will take advantage of the extra solar power, previously harvested by the trees but now reaching the forest understory? Native understory species like blackhaw Viburnum, highbush blueberry, and spicebush can now flourish and produce more fruit. If the deer didn't eat them, rarer native species like shadbush, pinxter azalea, and hearts 'a bustin' could make a comeback. But oftentimes, it is nonnative invasive shrubs that have colonized our woodlands--Photinia, honeysuckle, linden viburnum, winged euonymus, multiflora rose, and privet. Left uneaten by wildlife, the nonnative shrubs have a competitive advantage that could render our woodlands clogged with foliage inedible for local herbivores. 

Changes in the understory can affect whether wildlife thrive. Winifred, a keen observer of bird life in Princeton, wonders "if the gaps in the canopy and increased invasive understory may already be having an effect on birds in the Institute Woods. It might explain why there were noticeably fewer Ovenbirds this past summer; they are ground nesters." 

The ash tree won't disappear altogether. One old post, from 2014, entitled After Emerald Ash Borer, What Will Princeton Look Like, describes a visit to Ann Arbor, where the ash borer had already swept through. We still found young ash trees. My best guess back then remains my best guess now:

I would speculate that, once the native and introduced parasitic wasps become widespread, they in combination with woodpeckers could allow ash trees to persist in Princeton, though perhaps few would grow to maturity unless regularly treated with systemic pesticide.

Carolyn Edelman, a poet and nature enthusiast, recently posted a quote of Adlai Stevenson, II, dating back to a speech he gave in 1952. Its sentiment is part of a vein of American thought that views love of the American landscape as deeply connected to the love of freedom. For me, it is not coincidence that we live in a time when both nature and democracy are being undermined.  Read the quote through today's filter of gender equality and inclusion to find its relevance.

It was always accounted a virtue in a man to love his country. With us it is now something more than a virtue. It is a necessity. When an American says that he loves his country, he means not only that he loves the New England hills, the prairies glistening in the sun, the wide and rising plains, the great mountains, and the sea. He means that he loves an inner air, an inner light in which freedom lives and in which a man can draw the breath of self-respect. Men who have offered their lives for their country know that patriotism is not the fear of something; it is the love of something.

A great tree species passes from the landscape, but the love remains, and in that love reside both grief and possibilities.

Autumn Hill Reservation--Past and Present

Perched on the Princeton Ridge and yet standing in the shadow of better known preserves is Autumn Hill Reservation. When the Friends of Herrontown Woods formed in 2013 to reopen long-neglected trails at Herrontown Woods, we adopted Autumn Hill Reservation as well, which was in a similar state just across Herrontown Road. By "we" I mean largely Kurt and Sally Tazelaar, who did most of the much-needed trail work, with periodic help from the rest of us. 

Large expanses of the Autumn Hill preserve reflect a common condition of central NJ woodlands, with native trees above and invasive shrubs massed below. But there are some memorable spots that attract hikers: the large, flat, butterfly-shaped rock that once had a wonderful view out across the valley, and the charismatic wreck that I believe someone told me was an abandoned ambulance from the 30s or 40s.

 

That was part of a squatter's homestead commemorated by a plaque on one of the boulders, 

and Kurt and I found the foundation of another homestead dating back even further. Native wildflowers become more numerous as one heads to the back of the preserve, which with other publicly owned lands extends to River Road, creating an unbroken corridor of open space all the way down to the Millstone River. 

There's still evidence of a previous pulse of energy put into the Autumn Hill preserve--an Eagle Scout project by John Shaw in 2004 commemorated in this sign at the entrance. Probably arborist Bob Wells, who was very involved with scouting, had something to do with the project. 

Some of Autumn Hill Reservation's deeper history came to light more recently, after Robert von Zumbusch of the Friends of Princeton Open Space contacted me, asking if I'd ever heard of Helen Hunt and the Friends of Autumn Hill Reservation. I hadn't but was quickly able to get an answer for Robert by doing keyword searches at the super-helpful Papers of Princeton website, where Princeton newspapers are digitized dating back to the 19th century. 

Up popped an article from April, 1998 about a series of nature walks being organized for Earth Day by the Princeton Environmental Commission. It was like a Who's Who of Princeton environmentalists, with nature walks being led by Henry and Betty Horn at Mountain Lakes, Tom Poole at Rogers Refuge, and Bob Wells at Herrontown Woods. Additional walks with Nicholas Carnevale and friends at Pettoranello Gardens, and John Mills at the Princeton Battlefield were also planned.

And there was Helen Hunt, leading a walk at Autumn Hill, where "trails have been resurfaced, widened, and extended down to the great rock overlook. Work has been progressing all winter." Clearly, Autumn Hill received a good pulse of stewardship energy back in 1997-98. Conveniently, the article included a phone number to contact her. Though knowing that most land lines are dead ends these days, I gave the number a try, left a message, and soon was talking to Helen about her initiative back then.  

Helen said she briefly led a group called Friends of Autumn Hill Reservation, back in the late 90s. The group wasn't much more than her and Bob Wells, whom she paid to expand the trails by helping him buy a machine for the purpose. Her main interest was to have an off-road alternative for jogging--a smaller version of the towpath. The trails were wider than normal hiking trails, but it was hard to get them smooth enough for jogging. Once the trails were made, the group didn't go much beyond that. 

Further delving into the time machine that is Papers of Princeton reveals snapshots of Autumn Hill's history that extend back from 1998. 

An early presence out Autumn Hill way, east and south of the present day preserve, was Camp Tamarack, the 30 acre Girls Scout camping ground  that dates back to 1948. Remnants of a foundation and outhouse can still be found by following an old abandoned trail down from the end of Autumn Hill Road--a deadend street that was built as part of a subdivision in 1956. Girlscouts would camp there on weekends, sometimes combining the camping with sailing on Carnegie Lake.

A 1966 article announces obliquely that Township Open Space Commission "has obtained use of the Autumn Hill Reservation," and in 1969 the preserve is described as "new", with a parking lot but trails not fully laid out. The sign on the kiosk says that most of the land was acquired in 1967, with funding from township, borough, and the state's Green Acres fund.

The 1970s, which began with the first Earthday, brought a new level of accessibility for the preserve, this time thanks to the YMCA Rangers, as reported in 1972:

"Autumn Hill" is the newest of the Open Space lands in terms of a good loop trail you can follow. The trail was built by YMCA Rangers. Picnicking is invited in Autumn Hill, too, and later this spring, there will be picnic tables. Right now, there is drinking water and you can bring your own picnic lunch. 

In 1984, a big battle raged to fend off a proposed road, Route 92, that would have destroyed large swaths of open space, including part of Autumn Hill Reservation.

Fast forward to 1995, when local arborist Bob Wells proposed to officially adopt Autumn Hill Reservation. Bob was renting the nearby Veblen House from the county at the time. 

Committee accepted an offer from Robert Wells that his tree and landscape firm adopt the park at Autumn Hill Reservation off Herrontown Road. Mr. Wells, chair of the Township Shade Tree commission and a Herrontown Road resident, has performed extensive tree and trail maintenance in the park on a volunteer basis over the past several years. He also supervised the creation of one trail that was an Eagle Scout project. He now proposes to reestablish the picnic area off the parking lot, rebuild the frost-free water spigot and erect an additional foot-bridge. He also plans to install tree identification signs and a trail map and do general maintenance to the trails and path system. In accepting the offer, Township Committee signaled it was launching an "adopt-a-park" program to enable other businesses and individuals to volunteer their services for Township parks.

There's been an increase in interest in Autumn Hill recently, particularly from people living on the other side of the ridge in Montgomery who would like a better connection to the preserve from that side. Though we've done some small reroutes of trails onto drier ground, there is more we hope to do this year, laying boardwalk and shifting some trails to drier ground.

Winter is a good time to look for better routes for trails. Andrew Thornton and I recently noticed a potential improvement that would run along the edge of a stone wall currently hidden by densely growing honeysuckle, winged euonymus, Asian photinia, barberry, and privet. The nonnative shrubs flourish because deer and other wildlife don't eat them. I made some headway one afternoon, cutting through the thicket with loppers and a saw, constantly dodging the thorns of multiflora rose. Who's to say what the dominant motivation is. Love of a good trail? A desire to leave the world a better place than one found it? The satisfaction of work where progress is clear? A stewardship ethic engrained from youth? One strong motivation is the standing water that makes the current trail route nearly impassable this time of year. Rerouting the trail along higher ground, next to a rock wall, will give us a trail that's both drier and more interesting. Win-wins help to spur one on. 

Looking back through time, it can be heartening to see how people in the past stepped up to take care of public lands, just as we do now. It can also be unsettling, though, to see that periods of care do not always last, and can be followed by periods when trails slowly return to thicket, awaiting the next inspired steward to come along. What makes us think current efforts will be any different? That "adopt a park" program started in 1995 was well-intentioned, but the groups that stuck with it after the first flush of interest are few. 

During my Durham days, I started a program in which interested neighbors could adopt 20 feet of a paved bike trail that went through a nature preserve. The aim was for each family or individual to gain a sense of ownership of a small section of trailside vegetation, planting native plants and weeding occasionally, until the entire length of trail would be a verdant showcase for sedges, rushes and wildflowers. There was early interest, but most people didn't stick with it. What I learned is how few people are hardwired to garden, and even fewer hardwired to garden in a public space. 

Back in 1973, recycling was in a similar "heroic" stage, with a few dedicated volunteers trying to divert newspapers, bottles and tin cans from the waste stream. Like many municipalities across the country, Princeton was grappling with how to "get recycling out of the garage and volunteer stage and into the solid waste volume reduction and resource recovery stage on a long term regional basis." I was part of that 70's era volunteer recycling stage as well, standing on a flatbed truck as we drove through a neighborhood, stacking homeowners' bundled newspapers on the truck, and crushing glass--brown, green, and clear--in oil drums, as part of a pilot curbside recycling program in Ann Arbor, MI. Curbside recycling ultimately became institutionalized, but stewardship of open space is still in the "catch as catch can" volunteer stage. 

Postscript: There's another question that lingers from this dive into history: Where is that water spigot from which drinking water once flowed in Autumn Hill Reservation?

PostPostscript: Didn't take long to find the old water spigot, just a few feet away from the parking lot. 

Native Chestnuts in Princeton--the Next Generation

Many of us have lived our whole lives without seeing a mature native American chestnut tree. An excellent NY Times Magazine article described it as a true gift of nature, the perfect tree, growing straight and tall, with rot-resistant wood, and bearing nuts that were easily gathered and eaten, sustaining wildlife and people alike. My first encounter with the American chestnut was the sight of their fallen trunks in a Massachusetts forest, 70 years after the fungus that causes chestnut blight was discovered in NY city in 1904. The massive trunks I saw, lying on a slope in the shade of young white pine, were among the billions that the accidentally imported fungus would ultimately kill in the U.S. Since the roots survive the fungus, there was still a living community of underground chestnut trees beneath our feet in that Massachusetts forest. One of the roots had sent up a sprout about twenty feet tall--promising, one would like to think, but its slim trunk was already ringed by the fungus, its fate sealed before it could bear nuts. 

One of the projects I'm involved in is reintroducing native chestnuts to Princeton. The initiative began in 2009 with an email from Bill Sachs, a Princetonian with considerable expertise when it comes to nut-bearing trees. Bill reported that Sandra Anagnostakis, "one of (if not the) world’s leading experts on the pathology of American chestnut," had agreed to supply us with disease-resistant, hybrid American chestnut trees. Sandra's efforts to breed resistant native chestnuts at the Connecticut Agricultural Experiment Station over many decades was apparently unconnected to the American Chestnut Foundation. The trees were 15/16th native, and Bill with occasional help from me and others proceeded to plant them at the Princeton Battlefield, Harrison Street Park, the Textile Research Institute, Mountain Lakes and Herrontown Woods. 

Some fared better than others. Many, despite having been bred for resistance, nonetheless struggled with the blight that had laid the mighty tree low a century ago. This fall, however, paralleling our work to bring back native butternuts, one of the chestnut trees has borne fertile seeds.  

Bill made repeat visits to the tree to collect the nuts as they ripened. The deer likely got many, but he managed to gather quite a few, some of which he encouraged me to cold stratify. Stratification has always been an intimidating concept for me, suggesting sophisticated manipulation to get a seed to germinate, but in this case it turned out to be not much more than stuffing some seeds in a bag of moist peat moss and leaving it in the back of the refrigerator for awhile. 

The tree, hosted by TRI near Carnegie Lake in eastern Princeton, bore generously despite significant pruning by the periodical cicadas early in the growing season. 

This past summer a friend had sent me a photo of another chestnut tree that, being smaller, was much more affected by the cicadas' egg-laying activities. They cut into stems to lay their eggs, which ends up killing the foot or two of stem beyond where the eggs are deposited. 

We'll see how these various trees do over time, and if a second generation of these mostly native chestnuts comes into being. The NY Times article was mostly about efforts to develop a blight-resistant American chestnut through genetic modification. That thirty year project, with a geneticist named William Powell as the main protagonist, has been successful. They managed to find a gene in wheat that confers resistance when inserted into the chestnut's genome. 

Adding one gene would seem a much more precise and less intrusive means of correcting a century old wrong than adding many genes, most of which are irrelevant to improving resistance, from asian chestnuts. But don't expect these ever so slightly and efficiently modified native chestnuts to be available any time soon. There are strict regulatory hurdles that must be overcome. 

For me, the situation demonstrates two powerful forces in the human world. One is the fear of the slippery slope. Would an elegant genetic fix for the American chestnut open the doors to a wave of less admirable genetic modifications of our world? The other powerful force is our focus on regulating intentional change, while allowing unintentional change to run rampant. While the government spends years deliberating over one gene being added to the native chestnut tree, global trade is introducing an ongoing wave of new organisms to the country, any one of which could be the next emerald ash borer or spotted lanternfly. 

In the meantime, we'll be thankful for the mostly native chestnuts we have, and see what we can grow.

Below is more info I've taken from some of Bill Sachs' emails. Click on Read More. 

Mile-a-Minute Spreading into Princeton

 One of the more noxious invasive plants that has been spreading across NJ is Mile-a-Minute. It's a prickly vine that, though an annual that must grow back from seed each spring, grows so fast that it can cover large areas of roadsides and field edges. Over the past several years, I've been knocking out small infestations at the Princeton Battlefield and near Rogers Refuge, but this year I'm finding new patches springing up around town.

Then, driving my daughter to MarketFair along Canal Pointe Blvd a week ago, I saw a massive infestation that surely is a major source of the seeds that birds are then spreading across Princeton. 

The vine has a distinctive triangular leaf. Berries are just beginning to ripen. If you encounter it, put some gloves on, pull it out and put it in the trash. Putting it in the compost would allow the seeds to spread. 

The infestation along Canal Pointe Blvd is behind 701 Carnegie Center Drive. In the aerial, you can see rows of solar panels over the parking lot. To the left of the solar panels is a big mowed lawn, and to the left of the lawn in the photo is the unmowed land upon which the Mile a Minute is growing. My friend Peter researched the owner, which on the deed appears to be "BXP Carnegie Owner, LLC%G". The land has a farm easement, so is only valued at $39,000, which means the owner is paying next to no taxes to hold very valuable property, meanwhile expediting the spread of Mile a Minute and the associated nuisance it will cause. 

It's hard to photograph the cocktail of invasive species at the site. The white flowers are of white snakeroot, a native wildflower, which is besieged by a layer cake of stiltgrass, porcelainberry, and Mile a Minute climbing on top of it all. 

Further down the road is a series of trees damaged, perhaps by a small tornado or similar localized intense winds as the remains of Hurricane Ida came through on Sept. 1. Similar damage to trees was seen in Princeton Battlefield, where a row of mature white pines along the edge of the field was decapitated.

What we're seeing is the increasing impact of plants out of place (species that turn invasive after being introduced from other continents) and carbon out of place (carbon fuels extracted from underground that we burn, thereby releasing additional carbon dioxide into the atmosphere). Our machines have increased global warming CO2 by a whopping 50% over pre-industrial levels thus far. This year has felt like a radicalization of both invasive species and climate change. 

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. 

Mile-a-Minute Vine in Princeton

Each year I conduct a solo campaign to keep the highly invasive weed Mile-a-Minute out of Princeton. It's a prickly annual vine that grows each year from berries produced the year before. Knock it out before it produces berries, and eventually there will be no berries to sprout. Otherwise, the infestation will grow and birds will spread the berries across all of Princeton, to spring up in backyards and vex homeowners with its thorns and rampant growth.

I know of two infestations--one at the Princeton Battlefield, the other down off West Drive on the gravel road to Rogers Refuge. Yesterday, passing by Princeton Battlefield, I stopped to uproot what Mile-a-Minute I could find and leave it on the lawn to dry in the sun. Like most annual plants, it has whimpy roots and can easily be pulled, wearing a good pair of gloves.

Princeton Battlefield has a remarkable history, which makes it all the more remarkable how ahistoric the landscaping is. Non-native turf is surrounded by giant kudzu-like topiaries of non-native porcelainberry vine growing over the native dogwoods that were proudly planted for the 1976 bicentennial. There's little hint of what the Clark Farm looked like on that fateful day in January of 1777. The lack of botanical context doesn't fit with the people and era the Battlefield is meant to celebrate. Plants were important to George Washington and other leaders of his time. They were farmers. It's not coincidence that the United States Botanic Garden was built to stand next to the U.S. Capitol building. What grew upon the land mattered back then. They didn't mow the lawn and think their work done.

Seeing a landscape so invaded and out of balance, I sometimes imagine a hospital with no doctors or nurses, only custodians dedicated to keeping the place clean. The patients are on their own, unless a volunteer doctor happens by to treat some localized infection. That's the situation in the vast majority of our landscapes, cared for by custodians armed with raucous mowers and leaf blowers, oblivious to the complexities of nature and its needs. 

In the meantime, I pull the Mile-a-Minute, trim back some small portion of the porcelainberry vines so the dogwoods might live another year, and wonder at the world's disconnect with nature.

The two photos show 1) porcelainberry vines overwhelming a dogwood tree, and 2) another sea of porcelainberry in which only the similarly invasive Canada thistle can manage to lift its pink flowers above the swarm.

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.