Forest Restoration Setback

In 2003, our organization expanded a forest restoration project originally begun in 1990.  In the expanded planting of 200 trees, we included a dozen pure American chestnuts (Castanea dentata) that we obtained from a nursery in Oregon.  The Oregon nursery said it believed its seedlings were resistant to the chestnut blight fungus (Cryphonectria parasitica), a pathogen introduced into the United States in the 1920s via imported Chinese chestnut trees.

For those who don't know the story of chestnut blight, the fungus quickly spread from the point of introduction (New York City) throughout the eastern United States.  By the time the pandemic had subsided, one quarter of all trees in the eastern deciduous forest had died, and what had been a major component of the forest became, for all intents and purposes, ecologically extinct in only a few decades.  (Not all chestnut trees died outright; the roots of some of the trees remain alive and continue to produce sprouts.  Once the sprouts reach about 20 feet in height, they are attacked by the fungus again [the fungus remains in the environment] and die back to the ground.  Some saplings even survive long enough to flower and set seed.)

With regard to our planting, the chestnuts have grown tall and beautiful over the last decade; perhaps, I hoped, they really were resistant to the fungus as the nursery suggested.  Then, two weeks ago while on a walk, I noticed that one of the trees had a wound located right a the top of the tree shelter we use to protect all trees from deer damage.  Maybe the tree shelter had rubbed the bark and caused the wound...  But, you probably already know where this is going.  On closer inspection and upon comparison with references, the wound turned out to be a canker caused by the blight fungus.  In fact, there are tiny tell-tale red fungal fruiting bodies on the bark surrounding the canker as well, visible above the canker if you look closely at the image accompanying this post.

I contacted the American Chestnut Foundation (which is trying to develop a resistant chestnut strain) to determine if I should destroy the tree to prevent or delay the fungus from spreading to the other chestnuts.  The Foundation's representative told me that my story was all too familiar and that destroying the tree would only delay spreading the fungus by a very short time.  Better, the person said, would be to let nature takes it course and, hopefully, the roots will re-sprout once the above-ground portion of the tree dies back.

Annual Autumn Fest

 

Because of rain two weekends ago, we postponed our organization's annual autumn festival until Sunday afternoon, October 27.  Though it didn't end up raining on the date the event was originally scheduled, the sky that day was still mostly overcast and chilly; in contrast, last Sunday offered a perfect fall weekend, so I'm glad we waited.

The hayrides are popular with children, their parents, and their grandparents.  Our wagon will accommodate about 25 people for a 45-minute ride.  The first two rides weren't full, but we were stuffed into the wagon on the third ride; I much prefer the more spacious rides.

You can see from the images that the native grasses are at their peak right now - tawny and beautiful - but the trees in the background remain dull green or muted shades of tan and brown.  Our forests are never as vibrant as the New England forests on October calendars because we don't have many maples in our woods, but this year's colors will not be among the best regardless.

There's a 10-acre private in-holding in our grasslands: a gentleman's horse farm.  While the in-holding breaks up the sweep of the grasslands, it nonetheless adds an aesthetic accent to the landscape.

Following the hayrides, children had an opportunity to decorate pumpkins and have their faces painted with Halloween themes.  A few kids took advantage of early leaf-fall to dive into a pile and have a great time.

Joy and Misery at Valley Forge

Washington's Headquarters during the Valley Forge encampment

With the end of the recent federal government shutdown, Kali and I were able to visit Valley Forge National Historical Park again - seemingly along with half the population of Philadelphia - on the second beautiful autumn Sunday in a row.  Although Valley Forge is criss-crossed by public roads, the park's own trails and internal roads were closed during the shutdown; a "trespassing" runner made the local news when he was slapped with a $100 citation for running through the park when it was closed.

Kali and I have come to enjoy the fairly strenuous 4-mile Mount Misery-Mount Joy loop hike.  We usually climb and descend Mount Misery first, cross Valley Creek (which separates the two hills), and then return by climbing and descending Mount Joy.  However, last Sunday, I suggested that we complete the hike in reverse.  At the end, Kali said that she didn't have much of a preference for direction.

Barren understory with stiltgrass

Valley Forge is notorious for its dense white-tailed deer population.  The animals, desperate for food, spread out into the suburbs surrounding the park and are frequently killed on the roads.  In addition, the deer have eaten everything they can reach within the park, so the understory is barren with no shrubs and no saplings to replace the aging trees.  The only plants growing within the deer's reach are non-native, invasive species like stiltgrass (Microstegium vimineum).

Autumn colors - though most trees remain green

Kali passing a large rock slab on Mount Joy

Once we had descended Mount Joy, we crossed Valley Creek on a wooden footbridge (though there's an historic covered bridge a few hundred feet downstream).  Valley Creek, mostly spring fed, is cold enough to support trout - the only trout stream in the Philadelphia area.  However, the creek's headwaters were polluted by PCBs dumped in a railroad switching yard, so the trout can't be eaten.

Valley Creek downstream of the footbridge

Valley Creek upstream of the footbridge

Scott captured on the footbridge

On the west side of the footbridge the park service maintains a large grassy area.  During a flood, Valley Creek washed recently mowed grass off the floodplain and the clippings got caught up in the roots of streamside trees - natural artwork of sorts.

Wrapped Roots

Downed trees in the woods along the Mount Misery Trail

Autumn leaves at the base of a maple tree

Near the north end of the Mount Misery Trail, there's an industrial ruin in the woods.  Though the stone wall looks ancient, it is accompanied by decidedly more modern-looking concrete walls nearby, so I don't think the complex is extraordinarily old.  Water gushing from a spring in the hillside runs through a portion of the ruin, suggesting that whatever purpose the building served, it relied on large supply of fresh water.

Perfect October Sunday Urban Hike

View southeast along Benjamin Franklin Parkway toward Philadelphia's city hall

We've visited most of our typical natural area haunts pretty frequently lately, so I wasn't particularly motivated to go to one of our "usual" places last Sunday to enjoy a perfect October weekend.  Plus, Kali awoke really late, so it was getting a bit too late to drive further afield.  Instead, I suggested to Kali that we drive toward downtown Philadelphia, park about two miles from the center, walk into town to peruse a Pennsylvania Guild of Craftsmen's show, and then walk back to the car.  We completed a four-mile circuit hike, got to enjoy the energy of the city, and spent a perfect autumn day outdoors.  

Kali at the craft show at Rittenhouse Square

After enjoying the craft show, we decided to walk back to the car along the Schuylkill River, which forms the western boundary of central Philadelphia (the Delaware River, of which the Schuylkill is a tributary, forms the central city's eastern boundary).  The city is gradually developing a new riverfront park called Schuylkill Banks; it has become immensely popular with Center City's burgeoning residential community.

Fitler Square Dog Park at Schuylkill Banks

The Cira Center on the west side of the Schuylkill River is the city's newest (and most unusual) skyscraper

Schuylkill Banks park; the Philadelphia Museum of Art is in the left background

The huge (and hugely popular) new skatepark near the Art Museum

Funky Feces

On Friday evening, I went out to harvest basil leaves from planters on my patio.  Friday had been rainy all day, and the early evening was still drizzly.  As I approached one of the planters, I noticed a long scat on the flagstones.  Even in the relatively dim light, I could see that there was a long pale projection from one end.  "Poor animal," I thought, "loaded with intestinal worms."  But, on closer inspection, the "worm" turned out to be the tail of a vole that the animal (probably a fox or coyote) had eaten and then very hastily passed out of its alimentary track, completely undigested.

Perhaps even more strangely, when I went out to inspect the scat in better light the next morning, half of the scat was still present, but the half with the vole had disappeared.  Some coprophagous animal had taken advantage of an easy (though, to my human mind somewhat disgusting) meal.

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Porcelain-berry Is Bringing Me Down

Porcelain-berry, the kudzu of the North, on the periphery of my natural area

For some reason (perfect temperatures, soil moisture, carbon dioxide concentrations, or a synergistic interaction of all three), the invasive Asian vine porcelain-berry (Ampelopsis brevipedunculata) "exploded" in my preserve this summer.  The perennial vine is ever present, and always the biggest threat in the natural area.  When I first took my job 25 years ago, one of the first tasks I set for myself was to bring the plant under control in the most heavily infested areas, and I was really able to knock it back with several years' intensive mechanical and chemical control efforts.  But, as I said, this year it has re-surged with a vengeance. 

Porcelain-berry fruits in varying stages of ripeness

Porcelain-berry was introduced to the united States from eastern Asia, probably as a garden ornamental.  It's fruits are attractive for about two weeks in the fall, but the rest of the year the plant just looks like a sprawling grapevine - to which it is very closely related.

Once the plant escaped the bounds of gardens (undoubtedly aided by birds that eat its fruit and then defecate the seeds elsewhere), it found a perfect home in the Mid-Atlantic.  It grows up into the canopy, spreads out to capture sunlight, and blankets the trees supporting it, eventually shading the trees to death or ripping off their limbs when the weight of the vines becomes too much for the tree to bear, especially when covered in snow and ice in the winter.

Porcelain-berry flowers attracting a honeybee

Porcelain-berry is served by generalized pollinators, so it is not dependent on a specialized bee, wasp or bat to spread its pollen.  And, while it's an introduced species, our native North American songbirds (and white-tailed deer) consume it readily, helping to spread the plant across the landscape, probably because it is so closely related to the grapes that are already familiar to our native species.

The only insects I have ever observed damaging porcelain-berry leaves are invasive, non-native Japanese beetles, but they never become numerous enough to inflict real harm to the plant.  I suspect that even if the plant has a specific disease or insect pest that keeps it in check in its homeland, such a disease or insect could never be imported into the United States as a biocontrol agent because it likely would also attack commercial grapes.

A porcelain-berry rhizome

Porcelain-berry develops an extensive, thick underground stem or rhizome.  The rhizome grows through the soil and sends up shoots ever few feet or so.  An infestation of porcelain-berry may actually consist of only a few plants all growing from the same underground stems.  Cutting off a few of the above-ground vines hardly fazes the plant, which has plenty of resources stored underground.  The only feasible method of control is to poison the plant with a broad-leaf herbicide applied either to the foliage or directly onto the rhizome after an above-ground stem is severed.

One of my board members asked me to do a photographic inventory of land parcels on the periphery of the preserve that we might be able to acquire to add to the natural area.  I completed the inventory and prepared a PowerPoint program that I presented at the last board meeting.  In my remarks prefacing the presentation, I alerted the board members to note that every single one of the 10 parcels I had photographed that was not maintained as a meadow was completely overwhelmed by porcelain-berry.  The Vandals are at the gates, and the endgame doesn't look good. 

Porcelain-berry is really bringing me down; it's the last straw.  I have psychically and physically invested nearly half my life in the stewardship of my natural area preserve and, if anything, it is in worse condition now than when I started working.  Storm-water flooding is worse, streambank erosion is worse, white-tailed deer damage is stable but is not declining, the invasive non-native emerald ash borer is on our doorstep and will kill perhaps a third the trees in the preserve, and porcelain-berry (and other invasive vines) are, if anything, even more prolific than they were a quarter-century ago.  If I haven't already crossed the threshold, I'm close to the point of despairing about my professional career.

Wounded

The president of my board of directors - a man I respect, admire and count as a friend - asked me to prepare a photo essay of 10 properties located adjacent to my natural area preserve that our land trust could potentially acquire for conservation in the future should money become available.  He wanted me to prepare the essay for presentation at a board meeting.  His "simple" request touched off two weeks of intensive work during which I had to photograph the properties and then prepare a PowerPoint presentation of my findings.  (My board president was very satisfied with the result.)

Our natural area preserve is embedded in a very suburbanized landscape.  The protected area is bounded by a network of old, narrow colonial-era roads, some of which bear a lot of traffic.  In a few instances I felt like I was taking my life in my hands as I stood on the verge of a road during rush hour (the light was best at that time of day) taking a picture with semis roaring by at 45 mph a few feet away.

Some of the roads were less heavily traveled, though, and I could be more leisurely with my photography.  On one of these roads, as I was nearing the end of my photo shoot, I looked down and saw a small garter snake coiled up at the edge of the pavement.  I nudged the snake but it didn't move; it was stiff, attracting flies and clearly dead.  But it wasn't obviously squashed.  I didn't straighten out its lifeless body, but I suspect that it had been mortally injured by a passing vehicle and had coiled into this incredibly tight ball in its death throes.

I drive this road frequently, and it just as easily could have been my car that dealt the fatal blow as any other.  I imagined this snake's misery as it died as reflected in its final configuration and was overwhelmed by sadness.