Happy Saturday! Howsabout a bunch of dog pics from the back yard? How about if I was messing with the settings on my camera seeing what weird effects were possible? Are you in?

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Over the past month I've become slowly aware of a separation between two communities that should be closely aligned. It's similar to the division between cat-lovers and ecologists, but with its own distinctions.

Wild food foragers are excellent naturalists. The best can tell the difference between many different confusing plant species--the difference between life and death in some cases. They understand ecology--that is, they are aware of seasons and habitats, and know where and when to find their quarry. Their senses are honed by practicality. I love having foragers along on Urban Nature Walks--they are some of the best, most confident naturalists I've met, with a profound respect for nature and an obvious delight for being in the out of doors.

That's why it's so distressing to me that I have detected this separation. The issue is invasive species. Many invasive species are attractive targets for foraging--this makes perfect sense, since the usefulness of a plant is what makes it more likely to be brought to another continent to begin with. Ecologists who dabble in foraging (like myself) tend to tolerate a certain level of useful invasive species. I like that the cities are full of white mulberry, and I relish the Himalayan blackberry that plagues the Pacific Northwest.

But when it comes to species that create monocultures, that reduce biodiversity in the areas that they thrive, I am intolerant. Norway maple, black swallow-wort, Japanese knotweed, and garlic mustard are simply bad news. They are all admirable plants in their own ways--you must at least admire their ability to thrive in the most difficult urban ecosystems. I am able to appreciate them as beautiful plants--just go and read the entry for black swallow-wort from 2006, you'd think I was in love. And many of these are useful to humans in various ways.

But each of these and many others cause ecological damage. Phragmites replaces cattail and blackbird habitat is lost. Japanese knotweed moves in and there are no more frogs on the water's edge. A monarch lays its eggs on a black swallow-wort leaf and the caterpillar starves to death. Garlic mustard moves into the yard and begins exuding fungicide, making it more difficult for mycorhizzae to form.

The foragers cry "eat the invasives!" I'm all for it, make all the garlic mustard pesto and strawberry knotweed pie you want. Please try to harvest it until there is no more left. But eating is not controlling. Proper agriculture and proper wild foraging have one thing in common: you take measures to ensure the plant survives, through replanting or judicious harvesting. I don't think anyone is really worried that they will over-harvest Japanese knotweed until it is extirpated, and it may not even be possible at this time. I just worry that the foragers will stand in the way of sane control measures.

I detected a tone and philosophy regarding invasives in the new book Dandelion Hunter: Foraging the Urban Wilderness that unsettled me. Author Rebecca Lerner uses scare quotes when referring to "invasive species," "native species," and terms like "noxious" and "harmful." She states that "like people and animals, plants have been migrating around the world and always will," without distinguishing between those "migrations" (now I'm using the scare quotes, but she's talking about the spread of species into new areas, not actual migration which is a to-and-from movement) caused by humans and those which occur for other reasons. A species may move into a new environment because of a weather event, or because of continental drift, but these causes are very very very slow and gradual. In the past 500 years, humans have caused species to move into new areas, sometimes with little effect, sometimes however resulting in sudden extinction of native species. Can we really be so blase about species moving from place to place when some of those events are entirely preventable (in hindsight) and man-made like the mass extinction of birds from Hawaii due to the introduction of cats, mongooses, and mosquitoes?*

Another book (which I confess I have not read) called Invasive Plant Medicine: The Ecological Benefits and Healing Abilities of Invasives is even more troubling to me. The jacket copy offers "Most of the invasive plant species under attack for disruption of local ecosystems in the United States are from Asia, where they play an important role in traditional healing." So what? The issue isn't that the plants are or aren't useful--clearly they are. The issue should be--in terms of, you know, the sustainability of the maximum diversity of living things on earth--are they causing harm to an ecosystem?

It seems that the foraging community's objection to the control of invasive species doesn't derive from the worry that garlic mustard or Japanese barberry are going to disappear. The bigger issue seems to be the use of herbicides. I have no strong opinion on this--I agree that the extensive use of chemicals in the environment has been problematic in the past. I would prefer that the use of pesticides of all kinds be very careful and well thought-out, with lots and lots of environmental impact studies. I know that there are cases where invasive plant species are controlled with herbicides--can the use of herbicides be reduced? Probably. Should that reduction of herbicide use be accomplished by denying the science of harmful invasive species? I've got a problem with that.

*I've read statements by foragers and free-roaming cat advocates saying more or less "humans are the real cause of this problem, after all." I agree, which is why I think it's our responsibility to take firm sane measures to solve it (them).

I found another cluster of baby orbweavers! These had been disturbed somewhat by the weed trimmer. I got down and put my hand amongst them for scale.

Once again I thank you for donating to the Gilmour Fund on my behalf. I'm proud to have gone through it and I'm still laughing at myself for struggling so much. At least there was no lasting damage, and I feel pretty good already. Would you like to see some pictures from the ride?


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Matching the gorgeous spring weather, the blue chickens are pretty and like to lie in the mulch.
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When my first wife and I moved to San Francisco in December 1998, our housing fell through and we were cast adrift. Our friend Jaina let us stay at her place until we got back on our feet. We never really did, and in May of 1999 came crawling back to Boston.

Jaina's genuine warmth and supernatural generosity in a trying and dramatic time saved us from descending into chaos. Jaina is a grounded center surrounded by people in eccentric orbits, many of whom are very talented artists. Her home is a living museum, an oasis of calm joy in a exhilarating maelstrom of creative overstimulation. It was so delightful to see her again, and to spend the better part of a day with her.

Jaina came east on a combination spiritual journey and family reunion. The reunion with living relatives came later, but while in Boston she looked up one who had passed. Here she is (excited to be part of the 3:00 snapshot) checking the Mt. Auburn Cemetery touchscreen kiosk to find the memorial of her "Uncle Anne."

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Tropical Forest zookeepers and friends take advantage of a warm sunny day to bask on the roof of the building during a lunch break.


A wildebeest regards me warily as I pass through a behind-the-scenes area.


Despite the drought (and probably due to watering by the landscaping staff) a winecap mushroom pushes through the wood chips.

Hey look at all the new babies that appeared by our compost bin! I don't know what kind they are, but Alexis suggested that they might be cross orbweavers, which seems likely. In the spring last year we found a similar baby spider explosion, and there were a lot of cross orbweavers around.



Bugguide seems to agree that these are orb weavers of some kind. I guess we'll see if the fullness of summer brings us big beautiful spiders!

After the Urban Nature Walk I went up to Mission Hill, and somehow ended up with a flat tire.


Back to work on Monday.


And Tuesday.


Skipping to Thursday, hey it looks like Jeff Corwin's got a new thing at the zoo!