Dog Days

It’s wild raspberry season and our morning routine has been amended. We head out while the dew is heavy and are soon wet from wading through brambly patches, but the dew is cool and welcomed on days that are hot and muggy even as they begin.  We enjoy berry picking and the growing pile of frozen fruit in the freezer that will be rationed out for morning oatmeal all year long.  It’s an activity as old as humankind, wrought with simplicity and wholesomeness, and takes us to hinterlands where birds nest and box turtles lurk and deer flies and mosquitoes find value in us.

These are the dog days of summer.  The Old Farmer's Almanac has it commencing July 3 and ending August 11, a period of 40 days.  The Greeks and Romans associated it with the rise of the star system Sirius and deemed it the hottest time of year, a time of weather related distress, mad dogs, lethargy, and just bad luck, sometimes catastrophic.  

Catastrophe seems to be teetering on multiple fronts: COVID, racial protests, economic strain, dysfunctional and corrupt governments, take your pick or add your own.  The Arctic just recorded a temperature exceeding 100° F, the highest in 12000 years, but little has been reported of its link to misfortune. 

In our pursuit of raspberries we encounter invasive species, bush honeysuckle and brad pear being most common.  Back when we had the plant nursery the industry promoted both species, ignorant of their invasive tendencies. Today they are everywhere, on river banks, in odd areas and woodland edges.  Honeysuckle has tremendous shade tolerance and can claim the understory of woodlots, outcompeting native plants and bringing tree regeneration to a standstill.  In some instances, the existing woodland trees are essentially the last. When they’re gone, the woods will be a shadow of its former self. It’s a tough reality. 

Invasive and nonnative plant species have gotten a lot of press in recent years, most notably from entomologist Doug Talamy who has researched and written books on how these plants do not support insects and so do not provide food for native birds.  His work and books demonstrate an incredible potential for pollinating insects, songbirds, and other wild species if we simply start using more native plants and mow less grass in our man-made landscapes, 

So there is something we can do, regardless of the size of the land parcel we control or influence.  Think native. But there is another problem. Invasive plants are typically tough to control.  Physical removal or killing plants with herbicides does not remove dormant seed which can remain viable for years. On larger tracts particularly, the commitment is significant and requires vigilance and a dedication that might need to last hundreds or thousands or hundreds of thousands of years while we await natural processes that will keep populations of introduced species in check. Meanwhile, in forests and conservation tracts, on riverbanks and wildlife areas, wherever war on invasives has been declared, chemical treatments will often be implemented for the foreseeable future. There will be collateral damage to non targeted species and general poisoning of some environments.  

Our property is surrounded by acres of rampant honeysuckle so a steady seed source is assured.  If we commit to its eradication, our efforts will last only as long as we do unless subsequent owners take up the charge.  Ultimately, on many properties, honeysuckle will win.  This is not a defeatist attitude but a common sense concession. 

Every threatening global calamity could be met with the same attitude of inaction. If we ignore economic and social injustices, ignore climate change, ignore pandemics, everything will eventually get sorted out in the immensity of time, but what remains may well be radically different from what we know and experience today.  We must choose our battles. 

Lee and I have started rereading Rachael Carson’s Silent Spring.  Lee can only take a few pages at a time, any more is bad for her general welfare. Many of the chemical atrocities that spurred Carson’s warning of 60 years ago are still alive and well.  DDT, the highly persistent insecticide that causes egg shell thinning in birds at the top of the food chain, has been banned in the US but is still in use elsewhere.  Aldrin, which was pelletized and broadcasted over SE Michigan by aircraft for Japanese beetle control in the late 1950’s, left a swath of dead birds and animals and sick people. It, too, is still being used outside the US.  Worldwide, 5.6 billion pounds of pesticides are applied annually, more than a billion pounds in the US alone. Our first reaction to pests is almost always a chemical concoction, often with poorly understood environmental consequences, sometimes with dire consequences that are understood but ignored. 

In the dog days, raspberries ripen and sweet corn and garden peppers grow with great zeal.  But there is an underlying restlessness, a foreboding, a wish that these days would pass and be replaced with better ones. 

Tonight we took a late drive through the country. In the darkness we could not see the invasive plants claiming the understory of woodlots. We poked along under a full moon on mostly unpaved roads. The heat of the day had retreated, the dog’s head was out the window, her nostrils engaged, deciphering unseen details of the night. Over a distance of less than 20 miles we saw a couple dozen deer and nearly as many raccoons. There were opossums, broods of killdeer, several cottontails, including one in the jaws of a red fox. The corn stood 5 and 6 feet tall, fireflies hung over beanfields, the air was sweet. The dog days with all it’s predicted unpleasantries had taken leave. Tomorrow will be a new day, and there will be berries to pick.