Kayaking Through A Wetland Garden--the Lehigh River and Glen Onoko Falls

Say you love to whitewater canoe, and want your kids to experience the same joys of running rapids that you remember from childhood. But you live in New Jersey. Chances are, your internet research will lead you beyond the Delaware River to the Poconos, which turn out to be in Pennsylvania. As it happened, they were right on the way to a family gathering we were having at ancestral grounds further west.

Rentable canoes for whitewater apparently no longer exist, but Blue Mountain Sports offers a ten mile do-it-yourself kayak trip through some easier rapids on the Lehigh River, starting at the town of Jim Thorpe.

The rapids were a perfect introduction for my daughter, who quickly figured out how to follow the current and steer clear of the rocks.

Meanwhile, Dad was getting distracted by the native plant diversity flourishing along river's edge. Conducting plant inventories while negotiating rapids may prove to be the next new fad in extreme botany. Cardinal flower (red) and JoePyeWeed (pink) grew thick along the shore, mixed with a host of other familiar native species that sometimes made me feel like I was kayaking through my backyard.

One surprise was the streamside stands of big bluestem, a tall native grass more typical of midwestern prairies. It's also called turkey foot, for the 3-pronged seedheads it sticks up into the air like an upside down turkey. (Other species seen as the current pulled us along: river birch, red maple, alder, spiraea, buttonbush, deciduous holly, buckthorn (hopefully the native Rhamnus lanceolata), meadow rue, fringed loosestrife, cutleaf coneflower, and what looked like a native hosta.)

Causing some worry were a few sightings of Japanese knotweed, an exotic species that can replace native diversity with a monoculture over time.

Here, a cardinal flower is trying to hold on at the edge of an expanding Japanese knotweed clone. A several-acre field of solid J. knotweed seen on the way in to Jim Thorpe foretells what could happen to this beautiful river corridor if no preemptive action is taken to nip knotweed's invasion in the bud.

Later on, camping at Mauch Chunk State Park, the lakeshore offered still more familiar wetland garden species. Here's deer tongue grass, which in Princeton is numerous along the towpath.

Pickerelweed blooms all summer long just out from the shoreline, thriving in the stable water regime of the park's impoundment.

The next day, after making a note to research better pads for sleeping in a tent, it was back to the Lehigh River for a hike up a narrow valley to the Glen Onoko Falls.

The trail is unmaintained, and described as steep and dangerous. On a dry day, and exercising some care, the hike was easily doable. We had almost as much fun going up as the water clearly was having cascading down the hillside.

For a picnic at the top, the view provides the main sustenance.

Flood Alert--Basement Recall

Heavy rains in late August can cause major mischief in Princeton, with many people gone on vacation and a lot of basements left unwatched. This is a good time to recall someone who's out of town, and consider contacting them to ask if their basement is prone to flooding. Typically, the worst flooding happens during the last of a series of downpours, after the ground has already become saturated from previous rains.

For my part, as the last downpour was easing up at dusk, I headed out across flooded streets to the high school ecolab wetland, where past overwhelmings of the stormdrains had caused water on Walnut Street to flow under the back doorway into the performing arts center, ruining the stage floor. Since that fiasco, the school has sandbagged the doorway during heavy rains. But in late August, it's quite possible that the staff who know about the sandbagging procedure are on vacation.

 

The first evidence of heavy flooding was a green frog playing the role of refugee from its own wetland,

which was filled to the brim with water from nearby roofs, parking lots and streets. It's supposed to fill up like that; the design flaw is in the overflow, which sends extra water not out into the street but instead towards the school. The hallway of the performing arts center looked a little wet. I slogged home, called the borough police and asked them to have someone at the school check for flooding indoors.

Of course, it would be nice if product recalls could include flood-prone buildings and basements. Simply send them all back to the original builders for a redesigned version.

Berry Abundance

This year's crop of wild berries shows promise. These native shrubs, aided by the solar energy reaching them through an opening in the tree canopy, will be offering organic produce to the birds before too long. Found at Mountain Lakes were silky dogwood,

the hips of swamp rose,

and, on higher ground, blackhaw viburnum.

White Pines Turning Brown

When this neighbor's white pine started turning brown, I was secretly pleased. Growing to the south of my house, it had started to block out the sun's warmth in the winter. I had hoped the neighbor would take it down, to save the fig tree underneath it, and to give growing room to a nearby red oak. He had said he would, but didn't. Usually such an impasse continues for years, given the power of procrastination, but this year my wish came true in an unexpected way. The tree simply died.

Lest I think there be power in a wish, a recent email from former Princeton Environmental Commission member Grace Sinden implicated the herbicide Imprelis, manufactured by DuPont and approved last year by the EPA. It's used only by landscape professionals. Several other white pines around town have turned brown recently, though there's no definitive word on cause.

Cicadas "Clean up real good"

This fellow was found crawling across the front walk, still bearing evidence of its long stint underground. Seeking a mate, a shower might be timely, but given the lack of facilities, the cicada has come up with a far better strategy. It climbs up to a good perch, sheds its old skin in the privacy of darkness, and pumps blood into newly unfolding wings.

The underside of a tree limb works well, since there's no obstruction that could rub against and bend the delicate wings as they take shape.

My daughter discovered lots of these shed skins still attached under the limbs of a red oak.

Some cicadas don't bother climbing a tree. This one latched on to the petal of a coneflower in preparation for moulting.

Canal Walk This Saturday, 9-11am

This Saturday morning, I'll be leading a nature walk along the towpath that runs next to the canal between Washington Road and Harrison Street. The walk is free and open to the public. There's parking off Washington Rd just past the canal, on the left before the turnoff for the university athletic fields. A quick walk downstream along the canal will get us to a wider strip of land between Lake Carnegie and the canal where a variety of wildflowers are in full bloom, including JoePyeWeed,

wild senna,

swamp milkweed,

and cutleaf coneflower. Off the towpath, DR Canal State Park staff have mowed a path through the expanse of wildflowers under spreading oaks. Raindate, if needed, is Sunday morning, same time. Check this website for any last minute weather-related change.

Free-Range Musicians To Perform this Thursday and Friday

Unlike industrially raised music, the original compositions of the Sustainable Jazz Ensemble are performed by musicians who live their lives roaming freely outside of cages. In addition to the obvious benefits for the performers, music performed by free range musicians is said to be higher in nutritive value.

You can sample locally grown compositions like Scrambled Eggs and Lemon Merengue while eating lunch on Palmer Square tomorrow (Thursday) from 12 to 2pm, as part of Palmer Square's Lunchtime Music on the Green series. Thanks to Palmer Square for having us.

We'll also be performing for free this Friday from 6:30 - 8pm, surrounded by and taking inspiration from books in the basement of Labyrinth Bookstore. The trio is composed of Jerry D'Anna on bass, Ron Connor on piano, and myself on saxophone, clarinet and woodpile.

Note: To supplement your musical diet, you can hear selections from our repertoire at www.myspace.com/sustainablejazz. Upcoming performances are usually listed here.

A Magical History Tour

It seemed a straightforward drive out into the country, to help a currently carless friend check out a cottage to rent at a small farm. The farm came with 40 sheep, which help mow the neighbors' lawns, and a retired draft horse named Gentle Ben. I found the big horse with the ornate Clydesdale-like hoofs impressive, though if this picture looks curiously composed, it's because I cropped off my daughter holding her nose. Kids tend to exaggerate.

Away from the animals was a fire circle, the likes of which people have told me they wished could be had in Princeton for gatherings of youth groups like the Girl Scouts.

On the way back, the trip took on new dimensions when we stopped out of curiosity at an old country railway station, which came equiped with its very own steam engine, built by the American Locomotive Company back in 1937.

Nearby were an assortment of old train cars and retired cabooses. Some had "stay off" signs, others did not, and the general feel of the place suggested an unstaffed, informal railroad museum.

Seeing no signs disallowing it, we decided to explore the steam engine's cab, packed with levers of many shapes and obscure functions. Lower in the photo you can see a cupholder (a design feature that anticipated the mounting of cup holders on strollers many decades later). Careful examination of all the surrounding levers suggested that this is where the engineer would make his cappuccino during long cross-country trips.

An informal museum can be more "transporting" than the standard formal variety. There was a feeling that these train cars are not necessarily at their final resting place, but might still get taken out for a spin now and then. The smell of oil on metal, and the pre-digital, straightforward nature of the place made us all forget the hurried, multi-tasking cellphone age waiting in our pockets. There is something refreshingly direct in a cord that travels from an engineer's cab down the barrel of the engine to a brass bell,

and the simple utility of a windshield wiper on a caboose.

Even the weeds were authentic, reminiscent of what I used to see along rail lines in the midwest: Wooly Mullein, Queen Anne's Lace, bull thistle, sweet clover and, less endearing, given past run-ins with its invasive capacities, spotted knapweed.

Back in Hopewell, we stopped briefly at their fine old train station, complete with a functioning rail line behind it, and a class in english dancing underway inside. We thought the history tour was over,

until we passed by a gas station on Hopewell's main drag, where some horseless carriages had paused on their journey to Princeton.

The proud owner of a 1905 Oldsmobile even offered to give each of us a ride. One cylinder, two gears, a rudder instead of a steering wheel, and a smooth quiet ride. "The first mass-produced horseless carriage," he said. The Model T was still a few years off. I thought it would get great gas mileage, but he guessed around 18 mpg. The carburetor leaks more gas than it passes along to the engine, he said.

Like my daughter, he emphasized the unflattering aspects of horses, referring to the 10,000 pounds of manure produced in New York City each day before horseless carriages came along.

Future histories, written in a world transformed by climate change, will look more kindly on Gentle Ben than on the machines that followed, but it was a charming bit of serendipity to happen upon so much free-range history out and about on a Sunday afternoon.

Weeding--An Expression of Love or Intolerance?

The New York Times has published a couple curious opinion pieces recently about introduced species. The general conclusion offered is that we should learn to live with all the introduced weeds rather than try to counter those that prove destructive and invasive. One opinion piece, entitled "Mother Nature's Melting Pot", actually suggests that people who fight against any non-native species are nativistic and xenophobic.

It's strange to see such naive and fatalistic thinking finding space in the newspaper of record. Weeding my garden the other evening, I found the act to be informed not by xenophobia but by love. When I was done, hundreds of nut sedge (non-native) and silver maple seedlings (native) were lying in a heap. Spared were a dozen far less aggressive species that would have otherwise been lost in a weedy tide. I have nothing against nut sedge, which has a beautiful inflorescence, or silver maples, which when not producing a million seeds are providing shade and air conditioning. It's just that I like other plant species, too, and experience shows that the nut sedge and maple seedlings in my backyard have imperialistic tendencies.

On a much larger scale, the Friends of Rogers Refuge have been fighting a several acres' infestation of Phragmitis (non-native) which would if left undeterred eventually turn a richly diverse wetland into a monoculture of greatly reduced habitat value.

The paradox is there for anyone to see. People who love plants spend a lot of time killing some of them in defense of the plants and diversity they love. A ready analogy is the act of editing, in which the love of writing leads to an unsentimental excision of weedy words.

The new conceit, expressed in the above-mentioned opinion piece and a subsequent one entitled "The Price of Liberty: Weeds", seems to be that we should abandon largely futile resistance and open our minds to an agreeable acquiescence. Since some weeds introduced from other continents are relatively benign, or even have positive attributes, it is then argued that we should accept any and all introduced species wherever they want to grow. The result of this laissez-faire approach, promoted as a liberation from intolerance, is actually the promotion of "intolerant" plants--the subset of weeds whose aggressive behavior diminishes biodiversity over time.

Though dressed up in a newspaper as synonymous with tolerance, this "let it be" approach plays out in the field as just another form of neglect.

Harrison Street Raingarden in July

Another sight to be seen from Hamilton Avenue is the raingarden at Spruce Circle, just up from the intersection of Hamilton and Harrison Street. Type "raingarden" into the search box at the upper left of this blog and you'll find posts showing the raingarden in various seasons.

In July, the switchgrass (foreground) is fully grown, and the JoePyeWeed is in full flower (tall and purple).

A view uphill from the raingarden shows the long roof that feeds the garden during rains.

Here's a view from uphill looking down. Rain flows through the downspouts and out onto the grass, then down to the raingarden, where it collects and infiltrates into the ground over the next 24 hours or so, creating a nice underground reservoir of moisture to feed the roots of the wildflowers through droughts. Only in the most extreme droughts, such as the two-month long drought last year, does watering prove necessary.

Scattered through town, taking advantage of wet, sunny spots, raingardens like this one serve as lifelines for pollinators otherwise starved by the trees n' turf landscaping dictated by convention.

New Sprout Next To Princeton's "Mother Elm"

Keep riding up Hamilton Ave. and it starts changing names, which is one of the exciting things about living in Princeton. You think you're on one lazy street, when suddenly, unbeknownst to you, it has changed itself into another.

Hamilton Ave. is one of the most dynamic stretches of asphalt in this respect, perhaps in all the world, because it begins as Tyson Lane down in the lowlands of the east, then transforms itself in the blink of an eye into Littlebrook Road. Before you know it, it's changed again into Rollingmead Street, then settles into Hamilton Avenue for a good six blocks before whimsically becoming Wiggins Street. Subtle clues, which I have yet to discern, tell you if you're on a lane or a road or a street or an avenue.

Just before Wiggins is about to give up the ghost to become Paul Robeson Place, across from the public library, a glance into the cemetery will reveal a new American Elm growing next to the stump-shaped gravestone of the great "mother elm". Unlike many distinguished denizens of Princeton, the "mother elm" did not win a Nobel Prize, but it did earn an article in the NY Times at the time of its passing in 2005, telling of its glorious past and contributions to society. Those are some big shoes for the new tree to fill, but it appears unfazed.

Nut Sedge and Bindweed

My daughter says that what she likes about bike riding is that you're going just the right speed to see everything as you go by. A bike ride up Hamilton Ave. offered some fine displays of weeds for general edification. Most people would see in this photo a royal spread of turf meant to set off Westminster Conservatory to its best advantage. But what I noticed is the expanse of Nut Sedge spreading through the lower parts of the lawn. It's the light green in the photo, contrasting with the darker green of the turfgrass.

You likely have Nut Sedge growing in your garden. Like all sedges, it has a triangular stem. Most sedges are native and perennial. This one is non-native and an annual. It pulls out of the ground very easily, but is intimidating in its abundance. Either keep it well pulled, or suppress it with mulch, or, if you don't mind it taking over your garden, enjoy the attractive inflorescence it constructs on top of the stem.

As to what can be done about such an invasion of traditional turf, it's doing a good job of defining where Westminster could plant an expansive raingarden to feed the local pollinators and birds.

Further up Hamilton Ave., a fine display of Bindweed, the weedy member of the morning glory family, here seen crawling over boxwoods and a fence. Like Nut Sedge, it can be very hard to get rid of, but staying on top of the weeding will slowly starve the underground portion.

Diverting a Neighbor's Runoff Away From the House

During heavy downpours like yesterday's, water from my neighbor's driveway used to head straight for my house. This flow of water from one property into another is a common source of tension between neighbors.

Rather than complain, I dumped some extra dirt under some bushes on that side of my yard, forming a berm that redirects the neighbor's water towards the front of my lot. The water flows into a raingarden under the dogwood tree, where a buried, perforated pipe carries any unabsorbed water out to the sidewalk.

It's subtle, but you may be able to see the water flowing across the sidewalk into the row of hostas.

The goals here are 1) divert water away from my foundation, to reduce humidity in the basement, 2) capture some runoff in a raingarden so it has time to infiltrate into the ground to feed the trees, 3) use the city stormwater system in the street as an escape valve for any extra water the raingarden can't hold.

The only drawback is that, if you want to have the satisfaction of seeing that the system works, you have to go out in the rain, which, after the lightning and thunder has passed over, may not feel like a drawback at all.

Struggling Trees Amidst the Splendor

Walking home from the Dinky through Princeton University's campus, my eye was drawn to two struggling trees amidst the splendor:

Why browned oak leaves in early summer?

Maybe this newly planted tree, with only a few green leaves left at the tips of branches, simply didn't get enough water, but another factor is its size. The bigger the tree being transplanted, the bigger the shock, not to mention the sticker shock. Hopefully it will recover and leaf out fully next spring.

Signs telling of recent pesticide application don't give one the warmest feeling,

but it's the only way to keep some of the university's remaining American elms alive (probably through injection into the trunk). This one isn't as graceful as some elms, but shows the distinctive vase-like shape that made elms such a wonderful street tree before Dutch Elm disease arrived on the continent.