Hay field as observed from within a wetland reserve, with so-called “invasive” plants in foreground
The other day I went into the nearby town of Sebastapol to do grocery shopping. In no hurry to return to the sweltering heat of the farm, I went to a wetland reserve on the edge of town to seek some shade by water. I found a good spot to enjoy and on the way I stopped to take this photo to share with my readers.
Between the path and border of the reserve is mostly Himalayan Blackberries and Poison Hemlock, both much maligned as “invasive” plants, as well as a collection of other “weedy” plants below them, at least some also categorized that way. Beyond the border is a huge irrigated field of what I assume is a hay crop because it’s grass (or grasses). Beyond that is a line of trees, mostly native Oaks. I don’t know what’s on the other side of the trees, but the landscape of Sonoma County is dominated by agriculture, vineyards more often than not. Indeed, I was surprised to see a crop that wasn’t wine grapes. Oaks also grew along the path, and their branches are hanging down in the top of the photo.
The very first Blackberries were ripening, and no flowers remained. The clusters of berries, resembling loose bunches of grapes, dangled invitingly towards the path, but most were still green, only a few were red, and precious few dark purple. I’m happy to report that I got to enjoy a single, perfect juicy one, sweetened by the sun. I’m looking forward to more!
The Hemlock was past flowering but its fruits were not yet dried into seeds. The foliage was drained of its vibrant green but was not yet desiccated. Given that they are not perennial, I was seeing these plants near the end of their lives, at their peak of maturity, fulfilling their raison d’être: to reproduce.
The Hemlocks here hold a slightly different profile than ones I’ve seen in other areas of the West, and when I first started spotting them here, along Highway 1 on the Coast, I had to inspect them to confirm their identity. This was strange to me because I’m so familiar with the species from my years in Oregon that I can easily spot them when I’m zooming past at 65 mph on the highway up there. I surmise that the difference in climate must account for the contrast.
Even on this walk, I needed to look closely. Out of the corner of my eye, I first guessed Fennel, but when I picked an umblet of seeds and rubbed them between my fingers to smell them, there was no trace of Fennel’s distinct licorice scent. The Fennel I’ve been seeing up in the hills is still green, if beginning to fade, and its yellow flowers (unlike Hemlock’s white) are on their way out, replaced by plump green fruits which I love to eat at that stage, and I thought maybe they might be further along down in the valley. Fortunately for me, I used my nose before my tongue in this case, since Hemlock is deadly poisonous, and had I just eaten them, that might well have been my last walk in a wetland reserve or anywhere else! (I mean, I’m depressed but not that depressed, I’m grateful to say.)
But back to the view. I took this photo because it illustrates a point I’ve made time and again: When institutions or researchers define “invasive plants” they never include introduced farm crops, and it’s rarely mentioned that the alleged ecological harm of “invasives”—even if the worst horror stories are true—is minuscule compared to the widespread habitat destruction perpetrated by agriculture.
For wildlife, for example, the biggest problem in this picture is not the Himalayan Blackberries—whose fruits feed birds and mammals and insects, and whose dense brambles provide shelter for the same, and whose roots break up compacted soil that they enrich with their fallen leaves and berries—or the Hemlock—who, like most members of the Carrot Family, bears umbels of flowers that are very popular among a wide array of bees, flies, butterflies, wasps and other insects, including beneficial wasps who prey on garden pests. This is such a signal attribute of the family that scientifically it’s known as Apiaceae, in which the prefix api means “bee,” as in “apiary.” These unwanted plants on the margin are truly providing many “ecosystem services” (a term I find crass, but which makes the point).
The hay field, on the other hand, is majorly problematic for a number of reasons.
First, its low level of biodiversity caters to very few other species. There is actually much higher biodiversity in the narrow, eight foot wide space between the path and the border, than in the wide expanse between the border and the distant line of trees.
Second: the irrigation. Water is drawn up from the ground, pumped around in pipes, and sprayed out of sprinklers, disrupting whatever other processes once occurred. On a hot day like this, much of it evaporates in the air or shortly after falling on the grass blades below. Sonoma County, like many other locales, is becoming hotter and drier due to the Climate Crisis, so this is waste we cannot afford.
Irrigation sprinklers
Third: the probable use of toxins. I’m not familiar with hay-growing in Sonoma County, but it’s telling that I observed no thistles or anything else like that. “Broad-leaf herbicides” exist that spare plants in the Grass Family, so that’s a possibility. But if this were a vineyard, like so much of the rest of the ag land in the county, there would be an arsenal of chemicals sprayed throughout the year to suppress weeds, kill insects, prevent mold, etc.
Fourth: habitat loss. As I’ve pointed out in previous writing and will continue to point out in the future, habitat loss is the single greatest threat to biodiversity in the world today, and agriculture is the single biggest driver of habitat loss. Given that the area in this photo is lowland adjacent to rivers and creeks (and that it’s next to a wetland reserve) it’s very likely that this was once wetland, engineered by beavers, and home to innumerable species of plants and animals, interacting in a dynamic, ever-changing web of life, which is to say, of introduction, adaptation and response. It was all happening here once: flower and pollinator, foliage and herbivore, prey and predator. If the concern is “ecological harm,” the worst thing that can be inflicted on a place is wiping it out like this. Here it’s for animal feed, and elsewhere in the county, as I’ve mentioned, it’s for a bourgeoisie product.
So what’s “invading” in this photo? Is it a few introduced species in a narrow strip beside an agricultural field, as is so commonly seen? Or is it the plants in the field? Or is it us, civilized humans, who so drastically remade the landscape like this?
I would say “none of the above.”
The Himalayan Blackberries and the Hemlocks and their companions are opportunistic, not “aggressive,” and many plant species like them have become well-adapted to human disturbance after centuries or millennia of co-existence with us and our business. While they might be from somewhere else, they are “at home” in this setting. They are not “invading.”
Crops in fields cannot be blamed either. They did not choose to be here. They were imported and put to work for us—not at all of their own volition—and are always in danger of being killed and removed for another crop when owners or markets change. Their life here is akin to enslavement. They are also not “invading.”
Nor is it Homo sapiens who, after all, lived here before the arrival of European settler-colonialism, and who were a keystone native species in this region, though we don’t usually put it that way. So no, not even humans are “invading.”
What’s “invading” here is a system, a system based on a Bronze Age worldview of “dominion” over nature, imposed on 40% of the land in the continental US, and executed primarily for the profit of a few. Some Anishnaabe tradition bearers refer to an “invasive land ethic”[1] and that really hits the nail on the head as far as I’m concerned. A cultural disease of the mind and the spirit has—to borrow language from the “invasive” plant narrative—encroached, taken over and outcompeted what was formerly here.
This is why I am so frustrated by the “invasive” plant narrative. The presence of such plants—whose claimed negative ecological effects are quite difficult to objectively measure in a way that’s free of cultural bias—is a minor consequence of a hugely destructive machine of which agriculture is only one component. Other components include deforestation, mining, industry, roads, pollution and militarism. We are facing some immense challenges today that threaten the existence of so much life on planet, including our own. The fact that Mother Nature’s response to our heartless activities includes the thriving of plants well-suited to conditions we manufactured is not a problem. It’s part of her solution.
[1]Reo, Nicholas J., Ogden, Laura A. “Anishnaabe Aki: an Indigenous perspective on the global threat of invasive species,” Sustainability Science (2018) 13: 1443-1452. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11625-018-0571-4
