Ignorance is Bliss
Ignorance is Bliss
note; l'm still plugging away trying to re-create the lost part of the book Of Grease and Chaff, The Three Seasons of a Country Mechanic. Thank you for all of your suggestions as to how l might equip myself in order to avoid such a disaster in the future. To paraphrase Mark Twain, l'll avail myself of these methods with the next $800 l find floating up-river on a mill stone. Though the magazine work is holding steady, things have been a little slow on substack. l think we all have theories as to why. lf an economy could be built on nostalgia then l would be President!
There just isn't much that l can't compare to orchard work and fruit growing in general. The current situation reminds me of growing peaches in a year that the crop has frozen out. Unlike apples which grow on two year old wood, peaches grow on one year old wood. To skip a year of pruning apple trees usually doesn't cause much of a problem. With peaches, in order to produce more one year old wood one has to prune the trees every year even if the crop fails. Sure, we can let the trees simply grow and produce new wood naturally but since a peach tree can put out as much as five feet of vertical growth in a season, the poor grower would find his next crop too high in the tree to reach for thinning and picking.
Like the peach grower, l have to keep putting more material out there even if the returns are a litttle slow in coming. But l don't mind. lf one is to have any degree of success in the arts, a genuine love for the audience is essential. Who knows when a bumper crop might come along. l guess we're all farmers in one sense or another.
lgnorance is Bliss
The volunteer crew of invasive species weed pullers visited the Nature Conservancy property at North River Mills, West Virginia last weekend. The event also transported my memory to a grassy creek bottom on the New Jersey farm long ago.
There were just enough large oak trees to shade this little world where the dappled sunshine would move on the ground as breezes high above rocked the treetops to and fro. (l wonder which is which.)
To the east, the land lay flat to and across the confluence of two creeks then rose gently into the field of a gentleman farmer, Mr. Heinke. To the west, the land rose more abruptly to an old orchard and our house. The plant life in this little hollow was diverse with three types of violets, large colorful and fragrant roses, spring beauties and so-forth. For a kid, though, the real attraction of this idyllic little place was a thick stand of anise or ''sweet Annie's weed.'' This may have been the remnant of a cultivated patch. Since anise is supposedly prized in French cuisine, this patch may well have been planted in the 19th century by the farm's previous owner, Frenchman Charles LaTourette.
lndeed, in a landscape settled so long ago, it seems as though any random patch of ground has a story with its roots in Europe. Other examples are the pieces of ancient Dutch pottery that l would find among the pebbles in the bottom of the creek. Whether cultivated or wild, my generation of youngsters enjoyed chewing on the sweet stalks of ''sweet Annie's.''
During one visit to the sweet Annie's patch, l noticed another tall weed growing among the usual stand of this herb. This weed was about the same height as the other plants and, like anise plants, bore a small white flower. l concluded, as any seven year old botanist might, that the plants must be related somehow. Picking one of these supposed anise sports, l stripped off the leaves and took a nibble of the stalk in the customary manner---not the same. l said to my cousin Ray, who was grazing nearby, that this weed would gag a gorilla. The name stuck and in our end of the community the plant became known as ''gorilla weed.''
Most of the 170 acres of my grandparents' farmland sold around 1967 though my aunt held on to the farmhouse, barns and orchard. The house, circa 1750, then went through a number of questionable renters and finally had to be demolished. After my father passed away in 1986, we decided to sell what had been my home place, built in 1954 in an outer pasture of the farm. 1987 saw my final visit to the sweet Annie's patch.
l found that in place of the anise and the usual diversity of flowers, ''gorilla weed'' had completely taken over. With its little white flowers, though, the weed had a beauty of its own. The sight wasn't all that unappealing unless one knew the little hollow's former glory. But this was 1987, not 1957. By then much color and character had gone out of things like architecture and automobiles in favor of a more stark, utilitarian style. The subtle and repetitive shape and color of this weed seemd to fit right in with a more modern theme and, in an odd sort of way, actually seemed to make sense. l didn't consider it an invasion, anyway--though it apparently was.
About this time last year, l heard about a ''garlic mustard pull.'' Rather than an exotic ethnic food festival, this was an event organized by The Nature Conservancy where volunteers pull up invasive weeds along the Conservancy's woodland trails. Someone from The Nature Conservancy left a case of the brochure ''Fighting Invasive Plants in West Virginia'' in the old inn at North River Mills which the Conservancy occasionally uses for meetings. l snagged a copy and, lo and behold, there was my ''gorilla weed'' right on the front cover. Gorilla weed is actually the infamous garlic mustard.
Since then, l can no longer see a patch of flowering garlic mustard as a thing of subtle beauty. Now it's pull--pull--pull. Noticing some of the weed at the private farm museum near Middleburg, Virginia where l maintain the collection of antique machinery, l decided to plague its owners with this knowledge as well. l left a copy of the brochure there. There, a small infestation of garlic mustard is advancing into a stand of winter wheat. With its considerable head start, the wheat is holding its own but the competition for sunlight is close. l'm closely watching the ''wheat and the weeds'' in order to see who wins. (The Biblical example probably refers to bearded darnell, which resembles wheat until it goes to seed. However, in this case, we can see who the bad guy is already.)
l was surprised to to learn that a very prolific bush, Autumn Olive, is also an invasive plant. As l write this, the bush is in full bloom. Autumn olive's overpowering fragrance has earned it the name ''bathroom deodorizer bush'' in our household. Like garlic mustard, autumn olive crowds out the diverse native plant species. Birds love the berries and so the seeds are easily spread though the birds receive almost no nutrition for their effort. What a rip-off!
l've actually seen an upside to autumn olive. A tractor repair customer near Purcellville, Virginia uses this invasive bush for landscaping and privacy. His place is easy to spot amongst the small estates and McMansions with their manicured lawns. From the road, his place looks like Boo Radley's. Once inside the outer perimeter of bushes, though, one finds a neat, well-kept house and out buildings (and a well-maintained tractor).
What makes this place truly unique is that autumn olive is used to divide the place into hidden yards, gardens, small orchards and grape arbors. The place is very pleasant to visit. As one wanders about the place, the feeling of total privacy is constant even at midday--a great environment for a nudist whose idea inspired the design. Another upside to the ''bathroom deodorizer bush'' is that it's a nitrogen fixer. lf we manage to eradicate the bush, which doesn't yield eaily to a dozer blade, we can be assured of nitrogen rich soil which should make the beans and 'taters grow. lt also means that this bush can grow on a rock.
If you want to learn more and happen to notice some activity while passing through North River Mills, stop and ask for a copy of Fighting Invasive Plants in West Virginia. You may also send me an SASE--business size, two stamps--and l'll send one along while supplies last. That is, unless you would rather not know which plants are invasive and just enjoy them for what they are--l understand.
lgnorance is indeed bliss--at least it was for me, anyway
Thanks for the memories!