Tag Archives: Aggressive Plants

Boundaries & Buttercups

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Green buttercup leaves in a mat/
Buttercup leaves forming a mat.

Earlier this summer, I discovered a few lovely yellow buttercup flowers under the Honeycrisp apple tree. I didn’t think too much about it. They were so pretty. Later, when I was mowing the orchard undergrowth, I mowed those flowers along with everything else. But more recently, I realized that the buttercups had spread all over the ground near that tree, and were crowding out any other plants. So once again, I did some research and discovered that Ranunculus repens, creeping buttercup, is considered invasive in Maine.

I don’t know how it got here. And it is likely that I won’t be able to get rid of it entirely–each plant puts out horizontal stems that take root at its nodes and form new plants at each node. But I have to try. Further research suggested that using a garden fork to loosen the soil and lift up the plants was a good way to pull the plants with their roots. Also, it prefers acidic soil, so adding lime to make the soil less acidic can discourage them. I started pulling them yesterday, and did some more this morning before the rain came.

Small tree with a few apples on its branches, at the ground we see green all over, except in one area where soil is visible, and a garden fork in the lower right.
Here you can see the section I pulled and the other huge section covered with buttercup plants.

I was complaining about all this to Margy, and she reminded me that a large part of our gardening is removing problematic plants in order to encourage beneficial plants. So while I delight in the violets that spread everywhere, and the wild strawberries–both native ground covers that have flourished in the orchard, I also have to reckon with these invaders that come in from who knows where.

Invasive plants don’t have good boundaries! Now, there are also some native plants that are quite aggressive growers too. One example is Canada anemone, or anemone canadensis, which Sylvia planted in the herb garden. The difference is that native plants have more benefits for the local ecosystem. But I pulled hundreds of these plants to make room for the littlest apple tree. I put down cardboard boundaries around the circle, and over the circle, then covered it with wood chips. I may also use that method for the buttercup areas to see if that helps.

Very small tree in a circle of wood chips, with lush green plants at the back of the circle.
Small Blue Pearmain apple tree, with a ring of Canada Anemone around the back.

So once again, lessons can be learned from plants and the process of tending them in the garden. Plants have many different relationships with each other. Can aggressive or invasive plants eventually find some sort of balance? Some non-native plants find a useful niche and honor the boundaries of plants around them. We might also ask ourselves, How are we in our own relationships with others? Are we aggressively pushing out others to claim all the space and goods for ourselves? Or are we good at sharing space and goods with our neighbors? Are we also careful with our own boundaries, not letting others treat us aggressively?

And I can’t even consider these questions without thinking about the early colonization of this continent by Europeans–they certainly fit the definition of an “invasive species,” destroying so much in their spread across the continent. Yet here we are now. Can we learn to live in harmony with all beings around us?

Humble

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Red rain barrel in front of house, heat pump seen on upper right, behind oregano plants all over the place, green with white flowers
Overgrown oregano all around the rain barrels and heat pump.

I love sharing photos of beauty in the yard. But it is harder to know how to share the challenges and failures. I actually feel like a failed gardener right now. Yes, there are little harvests, yes there are elements of beauty. But there is so much that is overwhelming. I don’t enjoy “weeding” which seems to be what real gardeners often talk about enjoying. A weed is merely a wrong plant in the wrong place. We make further distinctions to talk about invasive plants that are harmful to the local ecosystem. And there are also native plants that are aggressive in the ecosystem.

One of my overwhelming senses of failure comes from the oregano that is spreading all over the orchard. When I originally planted some donated oregano as a companion plant to the orchard trees, I had no idea how it would take over. Oregano is a tasty herb, not native, but useful, and the bees love the flowers; I’ve dried some of the plant for seasoning. Last year as it spread, I thought, okay, just let it go where it wants. This year I tried taking out a tiny patch using a garden fork. Its roots form a thick mat under the soil. Even a tiny patch was challenging to remove. I’ve lately taken the mower through the orchard a few times. With the rain and heat inhibiting our outdoor time this summer, I can’t imagine how to get it under control. I hate the feeling of needing to get a plant under control.

Everything in the yard is ragged and overwhelming. For each native plant I newly discover and appreciate (like the evening primrose that the goldfinches adore), there is another tall unknown plant that I have no idea about. The orchard trees have to be pruned each year, and face challenges from mysterious pests and diseases. Will the Lapins cherry survive its challenges?

Perhaps in all of this, I discover that I don’t enjoy tending and caring for this patch of earth the way I thought I would? I am not good at gardening? I’ll never be good at harvesting much food? I want to give up sometimes, but how can I? Everything is right outside my door. I acknowledge that it is much more difficult for all gardeners because of the climate catastrophe of our times. I realize that I don’t have teachers to show me how–mostly just books really, and the internet. I don’t think gardening was meant to be so all alone.

But I have made this commitment to a spiritual journey into earth community. These overwhelming challenges are part of that journey too. So what can I do? This morning, I took myself out to our new screen tent, placed a blanket on the ground, and sat on the ground. It has been a while since I have done that. At our old yard, I used to sit on the ground in a screen tent almost every day. Lately, instead, I have been walking around looking at things that need tending. Today, I sat on the ground and let the ground tend to me. I turned to each of the four directions, to honor the powers of east, south, west, and north–and the powers of the earth below, the sky above, the spirit within.

The sun shining through in the eastern sky, from within the screen tent.

It reminds me that I am small, and these powers are large. Spirit is large. They are my teachers and carers. I hear the cardinal singing from the tall trees. Truthfully, I am not really the one who tends the earth, the earth is the one who tends to me.

I am remembering a chant song I learned from a friend in English, and then heard later in Wolastoqey; As far as I can discern, it originated from Wolastoq people, and has since been performed by other indigenous people as well. My friends and I sang it something like this, in several verses substituting the word “creator” with all manner of beings, such as trees, ancestors, water, stars, dragonflies, children–all the creatures around us.

We've got to humble ourselves in the eyes of the creator, we've got to bend down low.
We've got to humble ourselves in the eyes of the creator, we've got to know what they know.
We can raise each other up, higher and higher. We can raise each other up.

Perhaps the failures are also teachers, a reminder of our ultimate dependence, an opening into something more mysterious and powerful in whose eyes we are seen and held.