Invasive plants have become a problem for modern man since we figured out how to traverse oceans. Sometimes you have to give in, such as with autumn olive.
Invasive plants, bugs and animals have become a problem for modern man since we figured out how to traverse oceans. Whether by design or chance, invasives arrive to North America and find the climate and the land ideal. They rapidly propagate, sometimes dominating the space they inhabit, destroying or severely limiting the native species.
Is that a bad thing? If so, what can you do about it?
I ask those questions whenever I encounter an invasive on my land. Unlike some people I know, I don’t make a crusade out of fighting invasives. Being that most invasives are intentionally introduced, it is rather comical that a plant that is introduced by experts as a garden specimen evolves to be an invasive, and the only way you are going to stop it is to pay salaries to experts who will study the phenomenon and engineer chemicals to eradicate them. I have observed several such invasives in my life time, introduced by experts: multiflora rose, Bradford pear, and Japanese honeysuckle. Growing up, I recall having to haggle with the prickly rose bush which seemed to be everywhere in our forests and fields. The Bradford pear was introduced as an ornamental tree for suburban yards, and today it is scattered along our highways. The Japanese honeysuckle has transformed the periphery of our yard in the past decades. Each invasive has its own story, its specific effects on the environment and unique challenges controlling them. Thus, are they a bad thing? Possibly.
“Bad” is a matter of opinion and common sense. The dandelion, for example, is an invasive. For the suburbanites of Columbia, Missouri, there are entire neighborhoods where the yellow flower is no where in sight. Homeowners diligently apply lethal herbicides every year on their lawns to be sure they never set root. But in Alaska? The dandelion has won the battle as the highway shoulders are now blanketed with these lovely yellow flowers.
Japanese knotweed, on the other hand, was deemed bad and dangerous in Alaska. Communities funded eradication of the plant wherever it was spotted. The plant was profoundly dominant, making it impossible for other plants to survive as it spread further and further out. But it was also limited enough in scope that there was some hope in winning the fight, usually growing in towns along roadways.
But back here in Missouri, I am now in the position of choosing what battles I will fight as a landowner. Multiflora roses seemed to have reached a climax decades ago and have waned in population. I rarely need to remove one. It is quite possible that nature has done the hard work of curtailing its harmful effects. It is also a useful plant in some respects, producing small rosehips that one can grind up and mix into your teas. As for Japanese honeysuckle, I remove them when necessary but by and large this small bush provides excellent cover for deer, birds love to nest in them and their seeds are edible for some bird species, and their flowers are quite fragrant providing a banquet for bees and hummingbirds.
But then there is the persistent invasive that requires some serious thought: the autumn olive. I have observed its emergence on the family land over the past decades. Not sure how it got here, most likely from seeds transferred by birds and mammals. I first saw them emerging along the periphery of the yard. Nothing alarming, but popping up here and there. They also appeared along the pond and a few could be seen growing in the understory of our forest.
Working for the US Forest Service, I had several resources readily at hand: books and experts. No doubt, the plant was an invasive. It is a problem because it significantly changes the ecosystem of what I would call “recovery” land, land that was once a vacant field and beginning to change into a forest. During that space in time, several native plants emerge that make this transformation possible. But the autumn olive can complicate that process as the shrub can literally fill the entire space in a matter of a few years. The shrub can blanket the ground making it difficult for trees to grow. Just on that basis, land owners need to be watchful.
But I am not in that situation. I have a three acre yard and the pond and periphery where autumn olive is “managed.” Yet I can attest from the two prairie plots I have, you have to stay on top of it. Autumn olive sprigs come up all over the place and must routinely be cut down or burned out. Yet I have come to the conclusion that this plant seems to have a place. My interest in the plant began to change when I read that experts stated that the fruit was of no use. I observed different birds could be seen sampling the berries, most particularly migratory birds. Later, the experts changed their argument, saying the fruits were edible for birds, but not good for birds. They did not provide adequate nutrients. My thoughts? Are birds really that stupid? What I was seeing was nature adapting to a changing environment. My favorite: the seeds can cause birds to get drunk – something rather common amongst any fruit-bearing tree.
Two other positive aspects of the shrub became apparent. Not sure if this is truly a cause-effect situation, but I noticed upon clearing out a large autumn olive along the pond that it created a large empty space – with no cattails! I looked around the pond and noticed that whereever autumn olive grew along the bank, cattails were diminished or simply not there. I will be watching that. The other positive benefit is that the shrub, being about fifteen feet tall and sprawling, produces a great natural barrier, blocking the dust from the nearby gravel road and providing added privacy.
The bonus is that autumn olives are tasty. True, it takes a lot of picking to make a bucket of berries. But the autumn olive is probably the most flavorful fruit I have encountered. I discovered it was edible when watching Learn Your Land, a YouTube channel. I later found this recipe for preparing autumn olive jelly. I went further and used the jelly to flavor filling for an apple pie. The results were amazing.
I love to go berry picking, especially in Fall. I collected an early batch of autumn olive this past week. It was “cooler” for a Missouri August, so it was pleasant weather. I loved the quiet. I took out my Merlin bird app and recorded the bird calls. Almost a dozen species were recorded within an hour. A couple of birds actually alighted near the bush I was working on. I could hear the fluttering of their wings as they went limb to limb, doing what I was doing.
Returning to the kitchen, I spread the berries out into a pan to ripen. Wild fruits are typically tart, and some are not very pleasant to taste at first. But open-air ripening increases the sugar content. For autumn olives, it only takes a couple of days. For persimmons, probably a day. For wild plums? Sometimes a week. The results are usually a unique, flavorful experience.
And so it is I have come to terms with this invasive. It is nearly impossible to eradicate this persistent shrub, but it can be managed. I have cut many of them down throughout the property, but I have also selectively reserved several. And I do so without the use of herbicides. It is a blessing that the fruit is edible and good to eat.
Check out the recipe below.
© Copyright 2024 to Eric Niewoehner