Year in Life

I had my 'its that time of year again' moment this morning, when I spotted a dark juvenile Merlin perched atop a telephone pole on my way to work. Upon arriving, a coworker remarked that two Harriers were coursing our grasslands that morning. The grasslands, last week alive with fledgling Ammodramus sparrows, are silent save for the occasional 'jimp' of a lingering Bobolink or the rattling alarm call of a Meadowlark. Most of these birds have passed on as well. Our fields peaked at nearly 50 Meadowlarks in one day two weeks back and they've been in short supply ever since. Autumn is here.

'Autumn?' you say, 'but its only August!'. That's true, but other species have no regard for the Julian Calendar and a good naturalist must remember that. I count the day I ceased to pay attention to seasons as defined by solstices and equinoxes and instead began to follow the cues of migrants as one of my greatest revelations as a birder. It was then that I realized I was missing more than half of migration!

To me, the greatest joy in naturalism is gaining insight into the sychrony of the landscape and the organisms that use it. The flight of migrant birds does not occur unassisted; it times perfectly with swells in insect populations and the ripening of fall fruit. Predatory birds come along for the ride, dependent on the big concentrations of their small cousins to better chances of obtaining a much needed meal. In a great choreographed dance the whole food chain rolls down the continent, leaving the landscape to sleep behind it, and the animals that remain behind to eke out a living until the whole thing happens again.

You don't have to go far to find something extraordinary about nature. A Black-throated Green Warbler foraging in an Eastern Hemlock will do. Such a scene tells a story; of bird, insect, and tree in a relationship rooted in time and sustained for millenia. A single thread in the tapestry of life that defines a year in nature. Endless delight awaits those who take the time to pay attention to it.

Pictures

Just a few pictures I snapped this weekend. Most of these were taken around my "pollinator garden". I use the term very loosely; its only three plants. One purple giant hyssop, one anise hyssop, and one narrow-leaved mountain mint.



A spring peeper perched on a hyssop leaf, laying low in the hot part of the day. Do you think it was coincidence that this is where it happened to choose? I doubt it, this plant was teeming with insects. Backyard food chains in action!



This daddy longlegs (thats the scientific name right???) appeared to be nectaring at hyssop flowers. I've always thought this group was strictly detritivorous, so if anyone has any insight I'd love to hear it.



One of about ten species of hymenoptera (bees, wasps, etc) frequenting my plants.



a dog-day cicada

more on invasives

Following up on my post yesterday, I had two thoughts about adjustments that could be made to the jargon that might avoid misconceptions about the ecology of biological invasions

1. Think of the alien species problem not as a series of unrelated 'invasions', but as an overall homogenization of the world's biota. On a global scale, thats exactly whats happening. Sometimes you hear people refer to non-native plant introductions as environmentally beneficial, as they 'increase biodiversity'. Even if you allow for this to be true on locally (which I would contend it usually isn't, not to mention the fact that biodiversity alone is by no means an accurate yardstick of ecosystem health), what we are seeing across the planet is rapid range expansions by certain groups of organisms, with regionally endemic species losing out. Some of these changes in distributions are driven by changing climate patterns, but others are directly linked to humans shuttling species all around the world for one reason or another.

2. The use of the term 'native plant'. The meaning is far too nebulous for someone who does not come from a science background. Also, as demonstrated by Mike Pollan's article, it incites erroneous accusations of secondary motives and a desire to keep nature 'pure'. I can't say I have a catchy new term in mind, but it would have to frame a species' place in relation to it being vital for the ecological integrity of an area. If anyone has any suggestions, leave a comment!

Invasive Plants- its not evolution

"So why aren't people just another means of plant dispersion? Isn't the spread of non-native species just an example of an organism evolving into a new environment?" If ever there was an argument invasion ecologists would love to put to bed, it is that one. Though never reaching wide acceptance, this idea has existed in the gardening world in varying degrees of extremity for as long as the term 'invasive plant' has been known beyond the realm of theoretical ecology. Such arguments usually run along the same theme: the case against non-native plants is at best anti-humanist and at worst an expression of latent xenophobia. The argument is summed up quite nicely in "Against Nativism", a New York Times article by noted science writer Michael Pollan from 1994. It may not be quite fair to hold words written by Mr. Pollan, whose books I quite like, fourteen years ago against him (though he apparently reconfirmed his convinctions more recently in the blogosphere). But I only read the article recently, and its a good medium from which to make a few points.

I'm going to leave the philosophizing aside. Of course such conjecture about the extent to which humans should influence the natural world is a value judgement. In a broad sense, I actually agree with quite a bit of this article. There are roughly fifty thousand introduced plants in use throughout the United States. Of those, only a fraction are considered invasive, with as few as thirty marked as high conservation priority in New Jersey. Many naturalized weeds confine themselves to old lots and other waste places, such as the wild carrot to which Mr. Pollan refers. Such plants can hardly be thought of as invaders and, much like the House Sparrow, their global distribution has become part of the story of human immigration. Of course one can say, "well they still occupy a place a native plant could be", but ultimately their impact is miniscule compared to more pressing issues.

But what of the thirty that do not behave themselves? Here, Michael Pollan's argument takes a turn that took me by surprise. Here's what he had to say:

"There's no question that these migrations are sometimes destructive of the ecological status quo, if indeed such a thing even exists. But migrations of species by whatever means is an abiding part of natural history; in any event, they're almost always irreversible. Turning back the ecological clock to 1492 is a fool's errand, futile and pointless to boot. It seems to me we gardeners would do better to try to work with the mongrel ecology we've inherited -- to start out from here."

Coming from the champion of food production as a complex system, I was struck by the over simplification implied in this statement. An ecosystem is a mind-bogglingly complex thing, this we've already established. To suggest that a plant out of its ecological context, free of its natural predators, pests, and competitors, will merely be a blip in our region's natural history seems incredulous. Its like throwing a rock at a glass house and not only expecting the house to rebuild itself, but to find a useful place for the rock as well. Can we truly call this evolution? I would argue that we can't. To me, evolution is the sum of a species' trials and tribulations, the series of influences that defines its niche. In absence of this, is a species truly evolving? In a strictly biological sense of course, but in an ecological context its role becomes boundless and therefore meaningless. A different word is in order, and 'invasion' certainly describes what happens quite well.

I am also bothered by the suggestion that human transport represents merely another form of migration. I don't think it is quite that simple. While I'm sure there is a myriad of reasons one could point out as to why thats true, a big one come to mind for me. First of all, these introductions are not random. Most invasive plants were purposely selected and brought here for horticultural purposes. Given the harsh nature of formal landscape, a species' resilience is often heavily considered. I wrote more about the ecological issues associated with this idea here, so I wont go into detail. But if we accept that this "human selection" plays a role in vetting invasive species, how can such a 'migration' be akin to movement by wind or water? Mr. Pollan is right to say evolution will draw no distinction, but he fails to consider the fact that we've already taken care of this before a plant can even make it to the natural environment.

Ecology is very much a "sum of all its parts" concept. I certainly do not prescribe to the idea that humans play no role in shaping the natural world, but I am skeptical that moving plants between natural environments at distances of thousands of miles constitutes a helping hand or represents a natural process. The level of disruption is too great for me to accept that it is merely a change in status quo. Trying to frame the results of biological invasion in philosophical argument stems from a failure to recognize that we as a species are quite capable of being a negative influence on the natural world. If believing such makes me anti-humanist, than so be it.

Anyway, I'm sure there will be more on this later. For now it is a great day and I'm going back outside.

vegetables

It must be mid-summer...here's a picture of one week's haul from our CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) share at Honeybrook Organic Farm. For those not familiar with the concept, a CSA is sort of a group investment in a farmer's success. Share members pay a lump sum prior to the growing season, fronting the farmer capital to run the operation, and reap the benefits in the form of weekly vegetable shares all season long. It turns out to be a great deal...ours averages under 30 dollars a week. Of course earlier and later in the season the volume is nothing like the picture above, but I've been consistently impressed with the volume of food we've received. If you're interested in buying your food local (which you should be) it is a great way to keep costs down.

Posting about vegetables may seem like an aside from my blog's focus, but it really is not. In fact, I made this post so I could discuss exactly that. I've touched a little bit on how connected our food production is to the natural world in a previous post about grassland birds. Lately, 'buy local' has been heavily touted throughout the green world, though usually in reference to savings in energy (the amount of oil involved in producing food on an industrial scale and shipping it from centralized growing locations, often not even in this country, is truly astronomical). However, small operation organic farms can also act as exceptional natural places, particularly for pollinating insects. The plight of the European honey bee has been well publicized. The major declines in our native pollinators; bees, wasps, beetles, butterflies, moths, bugs, etc has not. Where are these native insects going? They're succumbing to habitat loss.

Suburban sprawl has all but vanquished the meadow from New Jersey's landscape. What little of such habitat remains is usually (you guessed it) choked with invasive species and non-native weeds that provide substandard food for native insects. I'm sure you wont be surprised if I say that deer don't help, following the same pattern as with woodlands, eating the natives and passing up the invasives. Of course, you see little patches of native flowers here and there, especially this time of year, but crucial links between these habitats have been destroyed. These little isolated patches of flowers are inhabited by little isolated populations of insects. Without the ability to mix with other populations and breed the survivorship of such insect species is greatly diminished.

This example is illustrative of an ecological concept called the metapopulation; essentially a 'population of populations'. The interactions between populations, also called metapopulation dynamics, is crucial to species survival. Individuals leave one population and travel to another. Upon arrival, they breed with individuals outside of the population from which they came. Such links are crucial for maintaining genetic diversity and are severely compromised when habitat is overly fragmented. The very reason grassland birds are doing so poorly in New Jersey is because we have severely damaged these links by isolating populations beyond distances individuals are capable of traveling. The exact same thing is happening with native pollinating insects. The difference is that the path to their conservation is much clearer.

So this is where the organic farmers and backyard gardeners come in. We can't all create a grassland, but we can all provide pollinator habitat. Field margins on small farms can can easily and cheaply be planted with native wildflowers. In exchange, insects will be happy to pollinate vegetable crops as well. These patches of dense native vegetation also serve as shelter for predators, beetles such as ladybugs and others, that devour plant pest insects by the thousands. Free pest control! The same principles can be applied to a home garden, plant an edge of native vegetation on one side and reap the benefits. Before long you'll find yourself making a bee line (ha ha) for the flowers as soon as you get home, just to see who's hanging around. A lot of these little critters are really, really cool looking.

Our culture has a tendency to separate the natural world from the spaces in which we inhabit, whether its through rejection or assumption that nature can't integrate. That simply isn't true and the survival of our local biota depends on that notion coming to an end. We need to bring nature into our yards and farms; to de-sterilize our lawns, landscapes, and row crops. Doing so will help reconnect the 'wild areas', the green spaces and preserved natural lands that dot New Jersey's landscape.

The way we produce food in this nation currently is a deliberate attempt to step away from the natural world, to remove the vagaries of environment from the equation. I don't think its coincidental that as an industrial food chain fed the suburbs, the suburban landscape likewise became obsessed with symmetry, cleanliness, and an obsessive desire to simplify the environment as much as possible. Boiling down the incredible, wonderful complexity of the natural world into a series of logical, orderly steps is a failing enterprise. If we accept what I said at the beginning of this piece, that our food is inexorably linked to the natural world, than the same is true of the industrial food model. In the future, buying local may cease to be a virtuous act of those concerned with such issues and instead become a practical necessity.

So what do you do with three bowls of tomatoes, weighing in at 8.5 lbs (especially when you expect the same amount next week)? Slow roast and freeze them for the winter! Winter tomatoes always come from Mexico or somewhere else where food eaten in New Jersey really shouldn't. Besides, shipping a tomato that kind of distance really results in a tasteless and mealy experience. Cover a baking sheet with aluminum foil. Half small tomatoes and quarter large ones, and arrange them cut side up on the sheet. Preheat your oven 225 F. Sprinkle tomatoes with olive oil and salt, pepper, and herbs (thyme or oregano) to taste. Let roast until they're done (trust me, you'll know). This is a project to start in the morning when you have all day. Pack in quart-size tupperware containers or ziplock bags and freeze. The insects will thank you.

If you're interested in reading a more thorough and better written account of the ideas I've begun to lay out here, check out Bringing Nature Home by University of Delaware entomologist Doug Tallamy.

Pictures from Cushetunk Mountain

I finally remembered to upload my pictures from a visit to Cushetunk Mountain a month or so ago. This little nature preserve is part of the Hunterdon County Parks system and is definitely worth a visit. It has some of the healthiest, most intact forest I've seen in New Jersey, let alone in a largely suburban county like Hunterdon! It really is truly amazing.















You don't have to stray off the trail to find a variety of native plants; this picture was taken pretty much right at my feet! Geranium maculatum (Wild Geranium), Arisaema triphyllum (Jack-in-the-pulpit), and Amphicarpa bracteata (Hog Peanut) flourished. There was numerous Galearis spectabilis (Showy Orchis) as well, though we had missed their bloom time.


















The understory was amazingly intact. It is difficult to see in this picture (I truly am a lousy photographer) but pretty much all of that green is Viburnum acerifolium (Maple-leaved Viburnum)! This shrub, once the dominant component of the understory in central New Jersey forests, has all but disappeared due to intense levels of deer browse.


















A bunch of Maple-leaved Viburnum seedlings. Another striking feature of this site was the high levels of recruitment (seedling survival). In deer disturbed forests, seedlings are rare. Very few of them manage to make it through their first several years of growth, after which they will be above the "browse line" and less susceptible to deer damage. As a result, there are no trees to fill canopy gaps when elders fall. These gaps tend to stay open and fill in with weedy invasives.


















Taken from the same spot as the photo above, but with a wider perspective. There is SO MANY SEEDLINGS! Not just viburnum, but also plenty of Quercus (Oak), Acer saccharum (Sugar Maple), and Carya (Hickory).



















This shot shows a pretty good healthy forest profile. Note all the layers: ground level thick with seedlings and herbs, low shrubs, high shrubs, lower canopy trees, and the big guys looming overhead. Now think about the last patch of woods you were in and compare. If it was in New Jersey it was probably something like: stiltgrass, barberry, nothing, nothing, canopy. That simplification of forest structure doesn't just mean doom for native plants, it interferes with the forest's functional capabilities and provides low quality wildlife habitat.


















Cimicifuga racemosa (Black Cohosh) inflorescence, before bloom. I liked this picture so I'm including it!


In conclusion, GO! This weekend. In fact, go right now. Everyone with a vested interest in preserving New Jersey's biodiversity and natural beauty needs to see this place. Human involvement in restoring function to our forest ecosystems has become a necessity in this state, and areas like Cushetunk Mountain provide an excellent baseline. They are also great points for interpreting goals of ecological stewardship. Most of us have heard the "restore to what?" argument against Restoration Ecology before. There is sometimes a misconception that the goals of the discipline are rooted in time, and it is driven by a desire to recreate an 'untouched wilderness' in New Jersey, a snapshot of what the landscape looked like before humans arrived. That couldn't be further from the truth. Its also not an obtainable goal, since New Jersey has never not been inhabited by people in its post ice age ecological context, but thats another story entirely. We strive to restore ecosystems to function, to reintroduce the plants, create spaces for the creatures that inhabit them, and allow for balance with soil and air. Perhaps it is better to think of it as healing, seeking to encourage healthy environments upon the landscape you're given. We all know of wildlife rehabilitators, so just think of environmental stewards as ecosystem rehabilitators!

Directions and more information can be found here. I have no idea how Hunterdon Parks manages their land, but they're doing something right! Cushetunk is only one of several very nice areas they own. Lastly, on a completely unrelated note, here's a photo of a katydid I took as it waited out the day on my narrow-leaved mountain mint. Again, I just really like this picture.

Native plants at Lowes'

Last week I did something I never would have thought possible: I bought a suprisingly healthy looking Solidago caesia from the garden center at the Lowes' Hardware store in Newton. An acquaintance involved with the Native Plant Society of New Jersey had recently told me that Lowes' representatives contacted their organization for guidance on what species they should offer. I had been warned not to expect much. Indeed, when I arrived the selection was small, rife with odd cultivars, and completely devoid of the crowds of interested buyers I dreamed I'd see. I've had many conversations in which I vociferously argued that the only thing keeping everyone from incorporating native plants into their gardens was lack of availability. If the prime retailers were going to tap the native plant market, surely it was only a matter of time until the suburban habitat revolution began, right? Well, not quite, but capturing the interest of a big chain store is certainly a victory.

Small signs were posted at each corner of the display, touting the benefits of gardening with native plants: "Easy to grow, requires less water, needs little maintenance". The concept of a 'native plant' was summed up succinctly, "they thrive here because they belong here". There was no mention of value for wildlife, of the need for gardeners willing to create refuges for these species as they are evermore annihilated in field and forest. Of course that came as no surprise, and I wouldn't dream of asking so much. Baby steps.

I wandered around the display, examining the stock. The NPSNJ folks had guided them well, the species choices were all sensible. Attractive, easy to grow perrenials like Aquilega and Solidago, some hearty graminoids such as Carex pennsylvanica, and a few woody species; most notably several Viburnum dentatum. A group of plants nearly impossible to kill, all of which would enhance habitat value whether the gardener intended to or not. I found myself silently congratulating Lowes' consultants. This had to be a ploy on their part; a covert operation of mass suburban habitat restoration. They had infiltrated the Lowes' garden center, these hallowed grounds of golden mop cedar, Miscanthus grass, and Berberis thunbergii var. atropurpurea, and now natives were being impressed upon the store's hapless customers.

Inspired, I decided to make a sale. A woman had come up, and was examining the goldenrods. Doubt was scrawled across her face. I made my pitch, "Thats a great plant. Really easy to grow, and it will attract tons of pollinators." She seemed to consider this for a moment.
"I already have too many insects in my garden", she said, and moved on to other plant displays. I briefly considered stopping her to explain the benefits of attracting pollinators. That if she gardened vegetables, or even other landscape plants, their very lives were tied to the existence of such industrious little creatures. That habitat was vanishing at an alarming rate, and that the very simple act of buying a goldenrod and planting it in her garden would be a monumental act of environmentalism. But instead I said nothing, and she walked off. Like I said, baby steps.

I paid entirely too much for my plant, and left the store. I went home and planted it in my newly established native plant garden, among other stock I had purchased from Bowman's Hill Wildflower Preserve and NJ Audubon. Needless to say, it will not be possible for Lowes' hardware to replace the niche organizations like Bowman's or small specialty growers like Toadshade Wildflower Farm fill. These organizations are constantly making new species available to their customers, relying as much as possible on local ecotypes, and seamlessly weaving in their business with environmental education. They provide personal touches that the most discriminating plant buyers wont want to do without.

Many of us are drawn to gardening with native plants because it is different. But lets face it, much the way organic food has been co-opted by mainstream retail stores, it was only a matter of time before native plants crept in from the fringe. In the interest of good stewardship, we need to embrace this change. Suburbia has come to dominate too much of the landscape, and is far too crowded with foreign plants our native fauna find completely useless. Don't get me wrong, I worry about the way big box garden stores can influence the plant supply. I turn my nose up at cultivars and aspire to use only plants native to my region. However, changes across society are rarely radical, and I strongly believe in taking what you can get. Personally, I'll buy from purist growers, but I'm glad to know that when people ask me where to buy native plants I can now point them to their nearest Lowes' hardware store.