Like a Goat in Clover

Goats at work (Margo D. Beller)

There was a time when New Jersey's trees were felled for settlements. White settlers brought flower seeds from the old country. When the flowers bloomed, they eventually went to seed and some of those seeds flew off miles away thanks to wind or birds. These now-wild flowers were joined by those tougher plants we now consider to be weeds, growing wherever they had access to water, sun or, in some cases, shade.

As farms were laid out and fenced, cattle, sheep and goats would roam the pastures. They would graze on grasses and weeds. But as farms have been sold and become housing developments, farm animals no longer grazed, to be replaced by Canada geese despoiling lawns and walkways, and deer browsing store-bought and native understory plants, allowing invasives to thrive.

Pretty goldenrod surrounded by not-so-pretty ragweed
(Margo D. Beller)

When you find yourself with an overabundance of weeds, there are several things you can do. If you have a small bit of land, you can pull out the weeds or use a hoe or shovel to bring them out. But weeds are tricky. Many of them will come out with the roots attached but many more break off, leaving roots in the ground to create another plant the next year. Getting them out takes time and toil, and even then many weeds need disturbed ground to germinate. So pulling out garlic mustard in the spring will likely allow ground ivy or Bermuda grass to thrive in summer.

If you have a larger property, or don't care to spend the time and effort, there are plenty of chemical poisons to buy. However, a sloppy user may kill off good plants along with the bad, including your lawn grass. Weed killer on pavement leaves behind the shriveled remains of the plants, which you'll have to pull out anyway. Worse, the next heavy rain may wash traces of the poison down to sewers and then out to sea.

Weeds along the electrified fence (Margo D. Beller)

If you have more of an ecological bent and a very large piece of property, you can do a controlled burn to eradicate the invasive plants. But you will need a permit, experienced firefighters and just the right weather conditions - dry but not too dry, no wind, It will take many hours for the fire to do its work and you will be left with scorched earth. When the land recovers you will have to plant your natives quickly before the weeds can come back.

Then there's the old way - let the livestock eat it.

Lying in a pasture, surrounded by tall weeds, wildflowers, and staghorn sumac and ailanthus trees, four goats quietly chew. An electric fence surrounds them, protecting them from predators. There is a hut to shelter them, if needed. They hunker down in the weeds or walk around or climb up against a tree trunk to gnaw at the lower leaves. 

All they have to do is eat. It is an easy life. It is also their job.

The four goats from Antler Ridge Wildlife Sanctuary are in their four-acre enclosure just off the parking lot at the Land Conservancy of New Jersey's South Branch Preserve in Mt. Olive. They are tasked with taking down any weed found in their patch, be it the pretty, yellow-flowered goldenrod, the sneeze-inducing ragweed or others including mile-a-minute weed, mugwort, autumn olive, multiflora rose and oriental bittersweet.

According to the University of Arkansas at Pine Bluff, generally 10 goats will clear an acre in about a month. So you can understand why the Land Conservancy is hoping the four goats can clear four acres over the next three years.

Look closely to see the goats in their element. (Margo D. Beller)

Watching the goats can induce calm and pastoral thoughts. That these thoughts come in one of the fastest "developed" parts of Morris County, NJ, where motels, residences and commercial strips have sprung up like weeds in the past two decades is no small irony. 

To be sure, even on the South Branch property there are still more than enough weeds that could take a goat or 20. Ragweed and goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace are among those standing sentry in front of the fencing, making it hard to see where to step if you want to get a better look at the goats. Along the property's hiking trail, native grasses, brown-eyed Susans, purple liatris and milkweed mix with blue chicory, globe thistle, wild asters, crown vetch and ground ivy. 

If you agree with Ralph Waldo Emerson that "a weed is but a plant whose virtues remain undiscovered," this is a pretty wilderness. Weeds are fighters that had adapted to modern life. But if you want native plants to thrive, the "weeds" are the bad guys and must be destroyed to eliminate the competition for water and light.

However, if you're a goat, you don't care either way. You just eat.

Bugged

If there is one thing I dislike more in summer than heat, humidity, weeds and deer, it is insects.

The huge amount of rain that fell in August spawned a bumper crop of mosquitoes that, along with the biting flies, hornets, gnats and no-see-ums, make walking difficult, even without heat and humidity. I walk in the bedewed grass in the morning and I come to the porch with bare ankles burning from bites. I walk along my favorite path and where there is standing water a cloud of mosquitoes follows, biting my arms despite flailing them around, or swarming around my knees, smelling the blood from veins near the surface.

State bird of New Jersey (a free picture courtesy of Pixabay)

The estimated ratio of insects to humans is 200 million to one, say Iowa State University entomologists. In the United States, the number of described species is approximately 91,000, according to the Smithsonian Institution. One site that catalogs the bugs found in New Jersey says there are 584. They include the pretty butterflies, the not-so-pretty cockroaches, beetles, spiders, the aphids that will suck the life out of your plants, the ladybugs that will eat the aphids, the almost prehistoric-looking praying mantis and the ticks that are the bane of hikers who go off-road or travel through long grass and rough terrain. The cicadas call during the hot days, the katydids during hot nights and the crickets at all times.

There are also the many types of wasps, hornets, yellow-jackets and bees plus the midges known as no-see-ums, sandflies and chiggers. Travelers to the shore must contend with biting green-headed flies, whose numbers can force birders to look from inside their cars, windows rolled up.

When it comes to mosquitos we are told to remove all standing water. In my case that means frequent changing of the water in the dish I keep out for the birds, the ant moat that keeps insects from covering (and drowning in) the hummingbird feeder and emptying out the excess water from saucers underneath potted plants. But the other bugs I can't see or hear are worse. I push aside the large leaves of the potted canna to water the soil and something bites my arms. I walk in the grass to pick up brush and something bites my ankles. I cut back the overgrowth of the multiflora rose or a vine and something bites my elbow. 

Yes, I know, bugs are part of the circle of life. They are food for birds. While some have been cutting chunks out of the leaves of my plants and shrubs, others have been eating the offenders. Many pollinate the flowers. A bite once in a while I can tolerate, but the increase in the number of bites I am finding on me (some of which don't start getting very itchy until hours after the fact) is, with the intense heat, forcing me indoors more than I'd like, and that has me bugged. 

MH rarely wears short-sleeved shirts in summer. He usually wears long sleeves to protect his arms, particularly when he mows the lawn and disturbs the many insects in the grass that don't appreciate the intrusion. Many of these insects also hide in my garden plants, such as the hornets I discovered using my pot of perennial geranium for their nest last year when I attempted to water it. 

So when the next cool-down comes and it is time to start cutting back the garden - very soon, I hope - I will have to do more to protect myself, too.

Why I Don't Like Cowbirds

It is the Sunday of Labor Day weekend and I am far from laboring. There is a large spider on one of the poles holding netting in front of the hummingbird feeder, taking in some sun. The squirrels don't seem as active in the trees. As usual, people are not rushing around in their cars or with their lawn mowers. There is the faintest tinge of red in the leaves of the dogwood, another signal that summer is ending, the days are getting shorter and soon I'll be closing up the garden and taking in plants for winter.

Male cowbird, Cape May, NJ (RE Berg-Andersson)

Birds should've ended their breeding and raising of young by now. Many birds are on the move southward, taking advantage of those recent cooler days when the wind comes from the north to give them a push along.

However, amid this sluggishness I hear a high-pitched chatter I recognize. Then I see them, the male cardinal flying across the yard with a begging, scolding, badgering cowbird chick close behind.

It has been some time since I've seen this. Cowbirds are a peculiar species, at least to me. The only way the species can continue is the female - a drag brown, easily overlooked or confused with something else - drops one of her eggs into another bird's nest. The egg hatches, usually ahead of the bird's own eggs, and the chick is usually bigger too. To make sure it gets fed, it can push the other eggs out of the nest, monopolizing the parents. This is what the cowbird chick in my yard was doing with the adult cardinal pair.

And yet, somehow when the chick grows to maturity it knows it is not a cardinal, a robin, a Carolina wren. It flies off and joins with other cowbirds in large flocks, frequently joining with even larger flocks of grackles, redwinged blackbirds and starlings in winter as a way of finding food and protection.

When the adults pair, they are not monogamous and the female can lay eggs from a number of mates in the nests of more than 220 species of birds, according to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. (Yellow warblers have been known to recognize cowbird eggs and build a new nest and lay a new clutch of eggs over the old. Other birds toss the cowbird eggs out. Cowbird eggs placed in goldfinch nests don't survive because goldfinches eat only seed rather than the insects a cowbird needs.)

Male cowbird flock, Cape May, NJ (RE Berg-Andersson)

Some people find the male cowbird handsome but I do not. These birds were once found solely on farms, following cattle (hence their name). However, according to the bird people at Cornell, once the open grasslands became towns and suburban developments, the birds spread. Now you are as likely to see them at your feeders. I try to chase them off mine whenever possible.

I pity the cardinal. This species seems particularly vulnerable to the parasitizing of its nests. It does not see a cowbird when the bird begs to be fed, it sees young and must feed it. The adult bird is programmed to do that. It does not "see" that this is not a cardinal. In fact, both parents are "blind" to that fact. All they know is the bird must be raised to fledge and then fed until it can take care of itself so it can mate and continue the species next year.

Luckily, cardinals, unlike several other types of birds whose numbers are down because of the cowbird as well as habitat destruction, are far from endangered. They will have several broods a year. There are many cardinals. They will come to my feeder and I will keep it filled for them. 

Unfortunately, cowbirds aren't endangered either. For now, I will have to put up with hearing the continual, annoying, badgering, high-pitched begging whine until something in the cowbird's mind tells it it's time to go find more of its own kind.

In the Weeds

"In the weeds" definition: "A colloquial expression used when persons are near or beyond their capacity to handle a situation or cannot catch up."

It is one of those rare summer mornings when you get a break from the heat and humidity. It is Sunday so the neighborhood takes its time waking. As I sit outside on my patio enjoying the cool, dry breeze I hear only the whirring of insects and the occasional bird call. It is so cool, even the cicadas haven't started calling yet.

Apple tree losing its leaves, Aug. 26, 2018
(Margo D. Beller)

The apple and pear trees have been losing leaves for weeks, although the other trees are still leafy and green. A catbird quietly flies to the apple, perhaps curious about my sneezing. There have been no hummingbirds yet but the squirrels have been active. The rain-like sound I hear are pieces of acorns being dropped as the critters use their sharp teeth and strong jaws to crack into the nut. The squirrels are jumping rather acrobatically from tree to tree, searching. At some point they'll stop eating and start storing, and that is when I will find holes in my lawn.

But for now it is a solid carpet of green MH mowed the other day for the first time in two weeks. I am thankful he did it because he lopped off the weeds as well as the long grass. There have always been weeds in the grass, and over the years I've learned the names of some of them:  ground ivy, wood sorrel, crabgrass, locust seedlings pushing up from the long tree roots I know are spreading under the turf. But this year I have been finding other things I've learned to identify to pull them up before they spread: poison ivy, Virginia creeper, Rose of Sharon, many raspberry seedlings and even a few poplar trees, the latter particularly strange because there are no poplars in my immediate area.

As MH mowed, I completed my third straight day of weeding, taking advantage of the relative coolness and the decrease in humidity.

Ground ivy and other weeds (Margo D. Beller)

I don't know why I am compelled to bother. The weeds are everywhere, this year even more so because of all the rain. The trenches I dug last year kept down, but not out, the ground ivy but the Bermuda grass was everywhere. Bermuda grass, unfortunately, is a perennial and it is one of those weeds that you have to use a spade on if you have any hope of getting out the whole plant. Just yanking on the leaves won't help you get rid of the plant although removing the long foliage will allow you to see the other plants you want to keep.

You might ask, why not use weed killer? Because using such poison indiscriminately will kill your garden along with the weeds. And there are some good weeds. The clover and the marigolds draw bees. Sometimes I find a flower growing in a weed pile and dig it up and plant it elsewhere. Recently I pulled up a raspberry cane and put it near the compost pile to see if it will grow and give me berries, if I can get out ahead of the birds. (Canes are thorny, like roses, so deer shouldn't be a problem.) 

Flowering ornamental onions (Margo D. Beller)

I don't mind the weeds in the lawn. They keep it green in hot weather and the purple flowers of the ground ivy are quite pretty in the spring. MH will put down fertilizer for the grass, which is why we still have most of it in the lawn despite the weeds, but putting down poison that can run off in heavy rain down the driveway and into the storm drain just hurts the environment. I see neighbors getting their lawns treated - the company has to put in a flag to warn people to keep their kids and dogs off the grass - and yet there are still weeds. 

So I'm out there pulling.

Some weeds let you pull them out completely. On the first of the days I spent weeding, I was pulling out a type of grassy weed that comes back every year. I pull and it comes out easily, in large handfuls. I filled a pail going along the area between our yard and the next house, an area falsely called "the dead area." This dead area has all sorts of weeds, but removing this thin, grassy stuff allows me to see the wild strawberries and any fruits I can pick. These are not the large, cultivated, sweet berries in the grocery stores. These are small and dryer and not very sweet but quite edible.

This year's weeds atop the compost pile. (Margo D. Beller)

The next day, even dryer than the first, I pulled out weeds from the area where I have three ornamental grasses, many daffodils and ornamental onions including two plants that flower in the fall. I remove the weeds as best as I can so I can see the other plants and remove some of the competition for moisture. I also get an idea how much room I have in case I follow through with a plan to divide the astilbe that has not flowered for two years.

The last day, as MH mowed, my plan was to put the coneflower I'd bought into the ground. I did so, dislodging eight daffodil bulbs I then had to plant in front of it. Then I started pulling weeds from the plot and saw the encroachment of the Bermuda grass under the rhododendron. Then I saw it all over the plot at the side of the house, under the andromeda bushes and around the ferns. I had a bigger pail with me and it, too, got filled to the top as I worked my way along other parts of the back yard.

At the end of those three days my compost pile had a hefty pile of green on top. When more of the leaves fall and we start raking, a layer of brown will go on top of those weeds. But for now, with the return of summer heat and humidity forecast, I can take a break from these garden labors and wait for the next spate of cool weather to cut down what's done for the year and prepare the garden for winter.

But the weeds will keep growing and next year, as usual, I won't be able to keep up.

Update: Today, Aug. 29, the New York Times has announced, in its food section, that weeds are the new big deal in food and flower arrangements. Really? How nice of the Times to inform me of something I've known for years. I still find weeds a pain, however. 

Sunday on the Porch, With Junior

It is quiet on the porch this Sunday morning. Despite the rain I have windows open and it is cool enough to not need the fan to air things out. It is quiet except for the sound of the rain, the occasional call of a jay or cardinal or a car driving on the next street.

I am sitting with my coffee and trying to wake up after a long Saturday visiting with friends in the City. I turn my head and there is the immature ruby-throated hummingbird that has been visiting the feeder for the last couple of days. It is grayish green on the back with white on the front. Since this could be either a male or a female (and even be more than one bird) I have been calling this visitor Junior.

Juvenile ruby-throated hummingbird
(photo courtesy Birds of North America Online) 

This has been the wettest summer I can remember. Some of my plants have thrived - the tropical cannas, the peppers in their pots, the basil, the coleuses - while others have struggled. The joe-pye weed I grow near the hummingbird feeder has not produced many flowers or grown very tall, likely because of the nearly continual deluge of rain off the garage roof above it. The pink flowers of the coral bells and the perennial geranium are long gone. In a sea of green shrubs, the red feeder and the red ant moat above it stand out like a beacon.

And yet hummingbirds have been few in the backyard. Junior has only been coming the past few days. During the usual peak (for my yard) period of July I saw one. That might've been because of the heat. I can't sit long on the porch, even with the fan, when it feels like close to 100 degrees. Also, while the feeder is in the shade, the sugar water can still go bad if not changed after a week, and there were times I did not do that. (When a hummingbird hovered and then flew off, I knew it was time to clean the feeder.)

In July, the males, having mated and created the next generation, are gone or ready to leave. By August, the females have raised the young and shown them how to fend for themselves. Then the female adults leave. So by this time of the month the juveniles are what come to feed before instinct tells them it's time to head south for the winter. (When I say I have "peak" visitors in July it is females who need to fuel up as they seek protein food - insects - for their young.)

Canna flowers (Margo D. Beller)

What I need is a better garden of flowers attractive to hummingbirds and not attractive to deer. Right now the small yellow-orange flowers of jewelweed are blooming near streams, offering hummers a meal. Gardens with varieties of red - joe-pye, phlox, purple coneflowers, cardinal flower and zinnias -  I have visited in the last month have drawn anywhere from one to four hummingbirds at a time, fighting each other over the same flower despite all the food around them.

I do have more flowers that attract hummingbirds in the front yard. I just bought a purple coneflower, the light pink flowers of the Rose of Sharon are finally opening, the sedum are not yet ready to bloom but are close, there are the purple flowers of the butterfly bush and the bee balm and there are the red flowers of the cannas. Cannas are usually grown for their foliage but I like the flowers. One year I opened the front door and there, through the storm door, I could see a hummer at one of the flowers. It saw me, flew to the storm door, looked at me and then flew off. But I'm not always looking and most hummers are skittish and fly off at the slightest movement.

Soon summer will finally be over. I've already taken in my wooden wren house so it doesn't rot in the rain, and the house wren brood at the birdhouse next door are gone. (What I have seen is a lot of squirrel activity in the trees, gathering nuts. When one squirrel knocked the birdhouse, I knew the wrens must be gone because the parents would never have allowed a squirrel to get that close.) School resumes in a little over two weeks, and the daylight is noticeably shorter.

The leaves will fall, the flowers will be done and the hummers will be gone until next spring, when I hope for better weather conditions and more a more favorable environment to bring them to my feeder.

A Perfect Little Nest

I am not one to seek out bird nests during the summer. Others do. My brother-in-law knows where many of the breeders have nests on his woodlot, and he makes sure to avoid them when he drives to his lean-to on top of his hill in his heavy machinery.

I do not seek out nests for several reasons. The obvious one is the nest is usually in use and I don't want to disturb the parent or the young. The only times I have found nests when they are in use is when a parent bird directs my attention to it, like the hummingbird that flew in front of me to her nest at the end of a branch hanging over a brook. I would not have seen the lichen-encrusted nest without her. She settled on her eggs.

2018 wren nest, on compost pile (Margo D. Beller)

One year I was watering a shrub against my house and a catbird flew out to the nearby spruce. That made me curious so I looked behind and, sure enough, there was the nest with its four blue eggs. I made sure to check first before watering the rest of that summer. In later summers catbirds have made nests in the tangle of shrubs on the border between my house and a neighbor.

Other bird nests I've found have been titmice flying to and from a hole high up in a tree in a neighbor's front yard, the robin that built a nest in my pear tree but didn't stay long enough to incubate eggs and the redwing blackbird that flew from a bush surrounded by water at Great Swamp, leaving its young loudly begging for more food.

More often than not, I see the young birds once they leave the nest, loudly following their parents around the yard begging for food. I don't see the nests they've left until fall when the birds have taken off for the season and the leaves fall from the shrubs or the trees, revealing them.

The best nest I know, of course, is the one in the wooden box hanging from my apple tree.

A month ago the house wrens and their young took off. A week or so later, house wrens took over the box in the next yard, and I took advantage of my vacancy to bring down as many of the remaining apples as I could, no doubt to the tree's dismay. I had hoped the nest box would be used again. However, after what seemed like 200 days of rain and knowing the southbound migration period would come too soon for another brood to be created, I finally decided to bring in the wooden structure before the rain warped and rotted it, as I found it was starting to do.

After letting it dry on the enclosed porch, I took the next rainless day to walk the box over to the compost pile to clear it out.  It took some doing because it was packed full of twigs, which I expected. However, there were some unexpected items, such as a cardinal's red feather. I chuckled to imagine the little wren sneaking up on the much bigger cardinal to pull out its feather for the nest.

I turned over the mass of twigs I pulled and found a perfect little cup. According to the good people at Cornell University's ornithology school, "the cup itself is built into a depression in the twigs and lined with just a few grams (less than 0.25 oz) of feathers, grasses and other plant material, animal hair, spider egg sacs, string, snakeskin, and discarded plastic."

My picture of it is above. No snake skins, but you can see how well it would blend into the underbrush. 

The box is not very big, and I wondered at a four- to five-inch house wren sitting in there on several eggs (anywhere from three to 10, but in my box it is more to the lower end) and then those eggs hatching, the young eventually growing so big the parents must feed them through the box' small, round opening.

But they do get through it every year. It is tight quarters, but I'd like to think the hanging house is safer than a wren nest in the wild. And they must appreciate it, if such a thing can be said for a bird, because the wrens keep coming back as long as I put the house out.

Watching the Neighbors

On Thursday, June 28, we had an intense thunderstorm. I was up early and sitting on the porch before going to work. The house wren young were chattering, calling for food. They were big enough that I could see a bill or two coming out of the nest box opening. A parent would fly there, the chattering would intensify, the parent would fly off.

That afternoon, hours after the rain ended and the sun came out, they were gone.

It took a while to realize this because I was working, but later in the afternoon I came out and did not hear chattering. I stood under the apple tree, next to the box. No chattering. No scolding parent. Gone.

A week after this picture, the birds were gone. Note the tell-tale
twig showing the box is occupied. (Margo D. Beller)

I had expected this. The birds were not happy with all the squirrels and birds going after the apples in the tree. They were not happy with me picking them either. It had been over a week since the little peeps became an almost constant dry rattle, and I admit the sound was getting annoying. Any day they were going to fly from the box.

Once I realized these birds had flown, and knowing a heatwave was coming in the next day or so, I got my extension pole and knocked down close to 30 apples, adding them to my bucket filled with close to 100 more. There may have been one or two left in the highest part of the tree then but I can tell you that now all the apples are gone. Even the apples I had dumped around the yard were gone. (I used what I picked for sauce and a couple of cobblers.)

A couple of days later, as I was sitting on the porch in the early morning with my coffee, a house wren flew to the top of my feeder pole and sang. And sang. It sang all over that part of the yard. From my vantage point I saw it fly to the birdhouse in my neighbor's dogwood tree. Last year, when it looked like chickadees got to my nest box first, a house wren had gone to that birdhouse. (Another one later came to my nest box and evicted the chickadees.) This year a house wren took over my box just a day after I put it up. Now I saw the tell-tale sign of occupancy at my neighbor's - a plastic strip waving in the breeze from the box opening. 

Now there is wren song at dawn again, but from elsewhere as the bird stays relatively close to the nest. 

It made me wonder, why not my nest box? House wrens can have two broods in one summer but I've never had two broods in the box. Are these new wrens next door or the ones I hosted that decided they didn't like having all those creatures around the nest? In past years the brood would fledge and the apples would need to be picked a few weeks later. Not this year when we had sudden heat and the squirrels didn't wait for the apples to fully ripen.

Were these new wrens put off by the twig sticking out of the box, thinking the box is occupied? I pulled out the twig but no wren has come. Meanwhile, the two wrens next door are shuttling to and from the birdhouse. Soon there will be eggs, then young, then fledglings. By then summer will just about be over and the wrens will fly south.

Here in the suburbs we watch our neighbors' yards to make sure there is nothing illicit going on. I mean more than Neighborhood Watch groups. I'm talking about the garden variety sort of looking at what's going on nearby. When I hear the sounds of mowing or drilling or sawing, I make it a point to see where this noise is coming from, to make sure my property won't be affected. I admit, I am rather territorial and sometimes my watchfulness isn't appreciated. Had my neighbor come out and seen me on my porch with my binoculars pointed at his house, he might have become concerned. He has small children to protect. 

Well, he also has a family of young house wrens as neighbors that he may or may not be aware are in his birdhouse. So in my own watchful way I am trying to protect them, too, from afar.