Monarch Meadow and Mating Mantises

Each fall, I help a Princeton homeowner weed her marvelous meadow. It's light work because in past years we nipped a couple invasions in the bud, pulling out small patches of mugwort and Chinese bushclover--species that have taken over long stretches of the gas line right of way nearby--and bagging up the seedheads to prevent spread. We found only a few individual plants this year. I recommended removing some Queen Anne's Lace as well, a lovely flower that, alas, I've seen take over fields in the midwest, where it's more established.

Interestingly, what's causing some imbalance in the meadow are some of the native goldenrods, whose advance across the whole field is cutting back on populations of other wildflowers. This is a common shift in meadows. Many native goldenrods spread via rhizomes--roots that spread laterally and sprout new plants, creating expanding clones. I sought advice on the internet for how to bring the goldenrod back into balance with all the other desired meadow species. Midseason prescribed burns? Spot spraying with herbicide? Pulling individual plants? The online search yielded no clear solutions.

We watched a monarch sampling the meadow's millions of flowers, and then my eye caught something else entirely, a pair of praying mantises preparing to mate.

The male, smaller, clung tightly to the female's back. Weeding gave way to nature study, mixed with voyeurism.

A wasp had been visiting a flower just above them. The next thing we knew, the female was clutching the wasp in her claws and chowing down as if the wasp were a shish kebob or an ear of corn. This casual and timely catch of dinner in the midst of procreation, as we learned later, was really good news for the male.

Nice of them to show us their business ends--male on the right. Had a hard time later on finding any nomenclature or function for the antenna-like structures at the posterior end of both male and female.

Several times, the male curved its abdomen over and under the wings of the female. This capacity to bend around may have something to do with the male's greater number of abdominal segments (8 vs. 6), which along with overall size is useful for distinguishing one from the other.

My friend said she'd read that the females have a habit of eating the males after mating. For some reason, I found this disturbing. Is evolution trending in this direction? All the more reason for the male mantis to think twice about breaking out a cigarette.

There are in fact, for your viewing pleasure, videos that capture this charming behavioral trait, and explain that the female is merely reaching for the nearest high-protein meal she can find, to nurture the next generation. And what sort of life does the male have to look forward to, with frost quick approaching?

One video shows that the female begins by eating the male's head, suggesting little respect for the male's intellect. The beheading can cause the male to mate all the more ardently, as if knowing this is its last chance. Plants can have a similar response to stress, bearing abundant seed when death seems imminent.

At some point, my friend's dog navigated its way past us, plowing its way through the dense wildflowers. It may have been at this juncture, with the female mantis distracted, that the male got going while the going was good. It flew a short distance away, looking a bit like a helicopter, its long body suspended below four wings catching the bright afternoon sunlight. Cockroaches, a close but less beloved relative of praying mantises, fly in the same manner.

The female, perhaps satiated by the little snack of wasp earlier on, didn't react. One bit of advice for any male praying mantises that might be reading: though praying could help, it's best to bring a little snack along for the misses. Small acts of kindness could take the female's mind off of biting your head off. Although, given your imminent demise as winter approaches, giving your body to feed the next generation could improve prospects for your progeny. Tough choice.

Though there are native praying mantises, we mostly encounter the two species introduced from China and Europe. I just hope they stick to wasps, and each other, and don't include monarchs in their diet. A quick googling brings up this post, which suggests that we may want to reassess our view of praying mantises as an unalloyed good.

(Track the Monarchs' progress towards Mexico at this link.)

Event this Sunday: Milkweeds and Meadows

UPDATE: Rain continuing through to noon. The basins are busy doing their good work. Will reschedule.

Let's say the rain will have passed by tomorrow morning, in which case you are welcome, this Sunday, October 9 at 9am, to join us at the Smoyer Park wet meadow. The park's out Snowden Lane in Princeton, just before you reach Herrontown Rd. Drive down to the end of the park's parking lot, where we are converting a large detention basin into a native meadow. After describing the process of converting turf to meadow, we'll plant some milkweed contributed by Don Stryker, property manager at Princeton Friends School. Don has been restoring the woodlands behind the school, and would like to establish more populations of milkweed in town. He found out about our Friends of Herrontown Woods nonprofit during a walk through the preserve, which is just across Snowden Lane from Smoyer Park.

After planting the milkweed, for anyone interested, we'll head around to the other side of Herrontown Woods, park at Hilltop Park, and walk down to the massive detention basin that receives stormwater runoff from the roofs and streets of Community Village and Copperwood. I recently visited the basin with students from Princeton Learning Cooperative. Underneath the masses of late-flowering thoroughwort, which make for a striking effect along the giant berm,

we found small populations of mugwort

and a particularly worrisome invasive called Chinese bushclover. Mugwort forms monocultures along the nearby gas line right of way, and the Chinese bushclover has been showing up in a few places in Princeton, with the same potential to aggressively displace other species.

Recent rains and unripened seedheads make this a perfect time to pull out these two species while they are still few in number along the berm.

If you're at loose ends tomorrow morning and would like to help out, bring work gloves. A spading fork is also useful to lift the roots of the Chinese bushclover. With soft soil, the mugwort is small enough to pull by hand.

There's a sad story of how Chinese bushclover was planted widely by departments of transportation and gameland managers, touted as a wildlife food only to discover that its seeds were too small and tough to digest. Birds then spread it around without gaining any nutrition. Native bushclovers with digestible seeds were displaced, and wildlife ended up worse off. I once tried to manage a right of way in North Carolina for native bushclovers, but it's really tough to remove the nonnative species once it becomes established. Thus, the proactive weeding expedition tomorrow morning.

Some technical info here: A thorough compilation of information on Chinese bushclover (Lespedeza cuneata): http://www.fs.fed.us/database/feis/plants/forb/lescun/all.html#ImportanceToWildlifeAndLivestock.
Surprisingly, the research that questions the habitat value of the species dates to the 1940s and 1960s, so the view that the seeds are too small and tough to digest appears to date back a long ways. This post includes a photo comparing seed size of native bushclovers and L. cuneata.

A Weeding in Time Saves Nine

My daughter and I planted one of the raised beds at Princeton High School with wildflowers. Part of the logic was that attracting pollinators to the area would be beneficial for the vegetables being grown in some of the other raised beds.

Not sure if there's actual data to that effect, but what was clear is how easy it is to make a wildflower in this framed context thrive. Easy does not equate with the "plant and run" approach, which typically involves planting a garden and then assuming nothing more is entailed than patting oneself on the back. Instead, easy means planting wildflowers where they are likely to thrive, and then making brief but strategic follow up visits to water during droughts or weed out any would-be competitors. This planting required two or three follow-ups of a half hour each, until the wildflowers were so well established that nothing else had a chance.

Care of the other beds varied from neat rows of vegetables to a rambunctious weedfest, like this one with pigweed (amaranth) and lambs quarters--the taste of at least the latter when young rivaling any of the greens intentionally being grown.

Horseweed and ragweed, both native, are also quick to populate bare ground.

Here's ragweed closer up, with a foxtail grass. All of this is on the backside of the high school, where plants don't have to conform to cultural norms of beauty.

If ever the school raised the bar for beauty, though, it's good to know that the difference between a weedfest and a "really big show" is just a well-timed half hour here and there.

In the photo: late-flowering thoroughwort (white), New England aster (pink to purple) and cutleaf coneflower (mostly seedheads at this point, rising high in back).

Mushrooming in Nature's Living Room

Our Friends of Herrontown Woods nonprofit hosted a mushroom walk last weekend. Philip Poniz (right), who had offered to co-lead, began by saying he is not an expert, but offered as evidence of his knowledge that he had been foraging for many years and is still alive. In keeping with the egalitarian nature of our walks, others contributed their knowledge as well, including Peter Ihnat (left in the photo).

The weather had been dry, and scouting around a few days before, I had found only one mushroom rising from the ground. It was quickly identified by Philip and others as an "avenging angel", one of the most poisonous mushrooms of all. If the angels are seeking revenge, what hope do we have? This is why, in addition to any laws against foraging on public lands, I encouraged participants to only harvest knowledge and pleasure during the walk.

We headed up the red trail (check out the newly completed, remarkable remarking of trails at Herrontown Woods in our updated brochure), past the Veblen cottage, finding a few fungi here and there, clinging to fallen logs.

I didn't ask what this one was, found during the scouting trip, but it looks reminiscent of a fungus called turkey tail. One participant asked if observing what animals eat can give clues as to which mushrooms are edible. We heard a story of two squirrels being tracked after having eaten a certain mushroom. Both died. Some animals may get more tutelage from their elders than others.

There was another story about the "big laughing Jim" mushroom, which can contain varying amounts of psilosybin.

Though the mushrooms would have preferred rain, we basked in the comfort of dappled shade, heading off trail to see Herrontown Woods' special mix of nature and culture, scrutinizing the fungal legacy on trees toppled by past windstorms.

The beech forest on the far side of the pipeline right of way has a nice open feel. We were happy with our modest findings, the day, the woods, the company, but a surprise awaited that ended the walk with an appropriate exclamation point.

Most of us had already walked by, but filmmaker Andrea Odezynska had the eye to spot this foot-tall mushroom growing on the bare ground where a tree had been uprooted. Books came out, a name was tentatively offered: 

"stalked polypore?", 

the stuff of lore, 

what we'd all been waiting for. 

We pulled out our cameras and surrounded it as if we were the mama-and-paparazzi, and it were a movie star. It seemed unfazed.

Afterwards, many stayed on for refreshments and conversation next to Veblen House, just off the beaten trail. Thanks to all who contribute to our Friends of Herrontown Woods, and our work to maintain the trails, restore habitat and bring the wonderful Veblen legacy to life for the community.

Foraging on the internet, I found this site: The Three Foragers, a family that has delved deep into wild edibles and speaks to the riches nature has to offer, and the importance of foraging carefully and responsibly. Though foraging is highly discouraged at Herrontown Woods and other nature preserves, the walk offered food for thought (a much safer food than wild mushrooms!) on how we can safely and sustainably connect to the nature around us in more than an observational way.

October Workshops at Mountain Lakes Begin Sunday

I'm passing along info about a nature series being hosted by my former employer, the Friends of Princeton Open Space:

Friends of Princeton Open Space is pleased to announce a fall workshop series that brings new voices into the conversation about the value of nature and open space.

Nature as Muse: A Sensory Exploration of One Landscape Through Four Creative Perspectives

4 Sundays in October from 2PM to 3:30PM at the Mountain Lakes Preserve in Princeton

Friends of Princeton Open Space has invited four creative professionals to lead workshops in the Mountain Lakes Preserve that examine how nature inspires fragrances (perfumer), cuisine (chef), poetry (writer), and branding and design (graphic designer). Each workshop includes a woodland walk to explore - and catalog - the sensory landscape, followed by a simple creative exercise that puts the concepts we learn on our walk into practice.

Instructors:  
October 9: Perfumer: Etienne Bouckaert, Firmenich
October 16: Chef: Gab Carbone, the bent spoon
October 23: Graphic Designer: Sarah Smith, Smith + Manning
October 30: Poet: Douglas Piccinnini, writer and poet; chef at Poor Farm Food

Cost: $100 for 4 workshops
Details and registration at: https://nature_as_muse.eventbrite.com

Series only registration until October 1. After October 1, registration for individual workshops will be available, if any openings remain.

Where Have All the Flowers Gone at the Neuroscience Building?

What's wrong with this picture? Something's missing, and that something is all the native grasses and wildflowers planted here just two years prior, as part of a naturalistic landscaping of Princeton University's neuroscience building.

In 2014, it looked like this, with partridge pea showing its stuff and little bluestem grasses waving gracefully in the breeze. In a post, I celebrated the planting, and an accompanying raingarden that catches runoff from the road. It was a wonderful example of how native meadow could be integrated into a peopled landscape.

But sometime between then and now, there was a decision to abort. Everything got mowed down, making the area look like the lawn didn't take.

The partridge pea is hanging low, blooming where it can in midget form.

And the native grasses show as discrete bunches foiled in their rise towards the sun.

We've seen this elsewhere in town, at Harrison Street Park, and at Westminster Choir College's parking lot. A design is developed, often at considerable expense, the native plants are installed, there's congratulations all around on vision and sustainability, and then a few years later the mowers reclaim the area for a default landscaping of trees and turf.

What happened? Well, here's one reason: crown vetch.

And here's another: mugwort. Maybe they hitchhiked in as contaminant in the seed mix, or in the topsoil trucked in for the landscaping, or were already on-site in the resident soil. Whatever the source, they grew up and over the intended plants, and the facilities crew decided they couldn't possibly weed it all out.

With careful maintenance the first couple years, the weeds might have been few enough to remove and the intended plants could have filled in, minimizing maintenance needs in the years that followed. But as we've seen with climate change, it's not human nature to catch problems early, when they hardly seem like problems at all. Though university facilities staff are probably better trained than most, they still may not have been familiar enough with the intended plants and weeds to know which to pull.

Now everything's mixed together. Here's mugwort in the upper left, partridge pea below, and some sort of blue oats-like grass that was clearly intended.

Here's mugwort and crown vetch intermixed with the native grasses.

You could say that the crown vetch has a pretty flower, but what was lost by the dominance of these two invasive species is the way the intended plants, mostly native, grow without displacing what's around them. Little bluestem is a bunch grass that stays in place, at a modest height, and the partridge pea intermingles without smothering. Mugwort, in contrast, grows tall, spreads aggressively, and undoubtedly fell over into the walkway. Crown vetch crawls over the plants around it, tending towards monoculture. The effect of grace, beauty and diversity is lost over time.

So, what's to become of the planting? Will it all be converted to a static planting of liriope?

Or mimic Roberts Stadium, just across the sidewalk?

Or will they find a way to restore some version of the original vision of native meadow, which would take close tending at first but ultimately be lower maintenance than mowing?

Facilities staff are working with their landscape architect to reassess.

A Wet Meadow is Born

It looks like a barren expanse, essentially an acre-sized bowl of brown, just down from the parking lot at Smoyer Park.

But look at it with a vision for what could be, and you'll see not so much the present as the future. The photo below is a wet meadow in Ann Arbor's Buhr Park, where some portions of vast turf were regraded and planted so that runoff from nearby streets and homes can be filtered through native grasses and wildflowers, and seep down into the groundwater, which in turn feeds the local creek. Function and beauty, all in one. Much of its beauty owes to the ongoing care provided by a friend and dedicated neighbor of the park, Jeannine Palms.

Meanwhile, in Princeton's Smoyer Park, rainwater flows down the broad parking lot towards the basin,

Where it ponds and slowly seeps, in or departs through a small aperture in the outlet. Each inundation adds to an underground reservoir to sustain the deep-rooted natives through any drought--a resilience all the more relevant as climate change brings more weather extremes.

There was some suspense, in early summer, whether the seeds for this meadow-to-be would respond, but some timely rains came and the black-eyed susans sprouted, along with a substantial portion of the fifteen or so other native species in the seed mix.

The project is a coordinated effort that was initiated by yours truly and given the go-ahead this past spring by Princeton municipality. Partners for Fish and Wildlife, a federal agency that has done other good deeds in Princeton and across the state, prepared and planted the ground, at no expense to the town. The Rec department put up No Mow signs, and the nonprofit I lead, the Friends of Herrontown Woods, is charged with doing the all-important maintenance.

Thus far, that maintenance has involved spending a pleasant evening hour now and then, doing some light weeding. Passersby stop to ask what's going on, and are happy to hear the park will soon have a little color to go with the broad expanses of ballfields.

The planting has brought back memories of the first garden I ever planted, a 2 x 6' grid of different garden vegetables. I'd look at it every day after school to witness the changes. Each new leaf was a revelation (So that's what a carrot leaf looks like!).

This time, it's plants that are more likely to feed birds and insects, but each new bloom gets celebrated just the same. This is the first Indian grass flower opening. They have golden anthers that can create a subtle but beautiful effect when massed.

First wildflower to bloom was partridge pea, a native that should replace all the highly invasive, exclusionary Chinese bushclover used by various states for erosion control.

Though the native grasses put much of their first year's energy into building a root system, many have now bloomed. Here's a big bluestem, whose branched flowerheads give it the name "turkey foot". Big bluestem and Indian grass, found here and there in NJ, are the same species that dominate the tall grass prairies of midwestern and plains states.

This is side oats grama, a shorter grass that I don't associate with eastern piedmont, but is often found in seed mixes for meadows.

I had to be fast with the camera to photograph this first black-eyed susan flower,

because most are being chowed down by the deer. Hopefully when the grasses become thicker, the deer will be less thorough with their browsing.

There's a lot of variability in the density of the new plants, but even the seemingly bare spots have grasses sprouting.

Identifying which grasses to weed out requires a close look. Generally, the grasses that spread out horizontally, like crabgrass, are the weedy annuals to be pulled before they go to seed.

Foxtail also is also getting pulled. It grows more vertically,

but even without the seedheads can be distinguished because it's fleshier than the leaner looking native grasses, e.g. the one in the foreground of this photo.

Pilewort is a native I tend to weed out, along with 3-seeded Mercury.

Amaranth is another which, if allowed to go to seed, could grow to shade out the intended plants next year.

To be able to do this light sort of weeding at the outset gives a wonderful sense of control. So often, there's a delay in intervention, the weeds assert themselves, and the gardener/land manager scrambles to steer a stampede of plants.

Evenings are peaceful at Smoyer Park, bringing back memories of childhood pickup games of softball or soccer, played until the day had no more light to give.