Broom Berries, Yeah, Right...

Day 350: "Well, that's bloody weird," I said aloud when I spotted a tight cluster of orangey-red berries on a sprangly plant. "I've never seen huckleberries do that before!" And then I took a closer look at the plant. It wasn't a huckleberry bush. It was Scotch Broom (Cytisus scoparius) which, as a legume, makes pea pods filled with little black seeds, not bunches of brilliant berries. "What the heck? Waitaminit, that's on a different stem." I followed the vine downward (and it was clearly a vine once I really started analyzing), and eventually arrived at a few sickly leaves about a foot from the ground. "Oh, dumb me!" I said, laughing at myself. "It's a freaking honeysuckle!" Sure enough, once I pushed the tangle of blackberry thorns away from the base, I could see where the honeysuckle vine (Lonicera ciliosa) had come up right beside the main stem of the Scotch Broom, and had taken advantage of the natural trellis. Satisfied that I had laid a major botanical mystery to rest, I moved on. Sometimes Ma likes to play jokes, and she got me good with this one.

Multicoloured Asian Ladybird, Harmonia Axyridis

Day 206: Harmonia axyridis has more common names than it has spot patterns, notably "Hallowe'en ladybug," "harlequin lady beetle," "multicoloured Asian ladybird" and assorted variations on those and other themes. It can appear in an entirely red or orange form, or it can have as many as 22 spots on its shell. The identifying feature which sorts it out in the field is its size. It is quite possibly the largest ladybug you'll see in the Pacific Northwest. A typical specimen (i.e., one which shows numerous distinctive markings) will have a white pronotum marked with black, as is the case here.

Introduced to the US to help control aphids and scale insects, these ladybirds frequently appear in large numbers during the spring and fall. Despite their abundance, they are not considered an invasive species, although anyone who's ever picked 38 of them off their shower walls before having a wash as I once did might disagree with that assessment.

The Business End

Day 204: The term isn't used much in today's vocabulary, but fifty years ago, you might have heard a shovel described as an "idiot stick," which is to say it has a blade on one end and an idiot on the other. In some regions, it applied to other manual tools as well, the principle being exactly the same regardless of what the "business end" might look like. I tend to think of weed-wrenches in much the same light. You have to be a few crackers short of a barrel to volunteer for a weed-wrenching work party, and I guess I qualify as prime crumb material. I spent the morning pulling Scotch broom with a weed wrench as part of a Nisqually Land Trust restoration project at Powell Creek near Yelm. The idea is simple: you set the jaws so that the stem of the offending weed is between them, then step on the tip of the tool and pull back on the lever which closes the jaws on the stalk. Once the stalk is pinched (sometimes not as easy as it sounds), you lean on the lever using the ground as your fulcrum, and if Archimedes is smiling, the earth moves as the roots are withdrawn. That's the theory, anyway. In practice, it's never that simple. The jaws slip, the stalk breaks, leaving the roots in the ground, thereby ensuring that you'll have a job again next spring. That said, we removed a lot of the nasty stuff, but it may be days before I can stand upright again.

Bloomin' Broom

Day 212: Invasive and pervasive, western Washington counties have all but given up on trying to eradicate Scotch Broom (Cytisus scoparius) from public lands. The best "weed warriors" can hope to do is control any further spread into areas not already infested. I won't claim it's easy to pull. Even small plants have a taproot extending to China, but with a weed wrench, it's possible to remove an established plant with a stem as thick as a child's wrist. Ideally, this should be done in the spring before the seed pods have had a chance to dry. Like many other weeds, Broom's pods burst explosively, discharging seeds over a radius of several yards.

I have to admit I think this pest is pretty when viewed en masse as a rolling sea of yellow, and there are a couple of colour variations less often seen, most commonly the red and yellow petal arrangement shown on the left. Rarely, you may find a plant with purplish-mahogany lower petals and creamy upper ones, but these are invariably smaller blossoms and are a hybrid. The scent arising from a broom-covered embankment is unmistakable; not quite sweet, a little pungent, pleasant to some and offensive to others. In the '60s and early '70s, dwarf hybrids were commonly planted along the freeways. Many people objected to the use of the plant in this manner, citing allergies to the pollen until eventually, the practice was stopped. Drivers on I-5 may still see examples of the dwarf varieties here and there.

Weed Killer Weekly

Day 12: You can't blame us for getting a little goofy after the job was done. After all, it doesn't happen very often that you leave home for a work party under a forecast of "heavy rain and strong, gusty winds" only to arrive at the job site under blue skies and warm temperatures. Oh, the storm came in as predicted, but by the time it arrived, I was sitting here processing the photos from the event.

This little corner of Nisqually Land Trust property is now ready to be planted with native species. The little Scotch broom which remains will soon be shaded out by snowberry, twinberry, native willows and a variety of other trees and shrubs scheduled to go in the ground in November. Our efforts today met with the approval of a Chickadee overseer whose cheerful commentary was as welcome as the sunshine. He seemed to know we were working hard to restore his habitat.

Scotch Broom Pull

Day 317: This one is for everybody who asked, "What's a weed wrench?" after a recent post. Cris Peck, volunteer coordinator with the Nisqually Land Trust was happy to pose with this most marvelous tool during our Scotch broom pull today.

And now for the story. It didn't quite go according to plan. We had been slated to pull broom along the bank of the Mashel River not far above its confluence with the Nisqually, but in the process of descending to the river's edge, the rudimentary trail passed through a thicket of Snowberry. That was when the first evidence of yellowjacket activity made itself felt...on my temple. I ki-yi-yied that I'd been stung, and no sooner than the two people in front of me reacted by picking up the pace, another one nailed me on the back of the neck.  Then one of the other members of the group was attacked.

There didn't seem to be any angry "bees" on the rocky river bar, but once we left the open space to reach the Scotch broom-infested section, I got nailed again on the hand and another member of the group was also stung. Charly, one of the Land Trust's representatives bravely returned to the truck for Benadryl in case any of us had an allergic reaction. I happen to be severely allergic to honeybee stings, not so much so yellowjackets. Nevertheless I'll be miserable for the next few days before my skin turns black and peels off in great thick sheets.

With the Scotch broom heavily guarded by killer yellowjackets, we readjusted our priority to pulling Spotted Knapweed and Tansy Ragwort from the safer shingle. After about two and a half hours of extracting invasives, we all zipped ourselves snugly into our raingear, leaving as little skin exposed as possible, and beat a very hasty retreat up the embankment via a slightly different route. No one was stung on exit.

At this point, one member of the group left us. The three Land Trust representatives and I went to a different site where we spent the next four hours with the weed wrenches, gleefully pulling Scotch broom. I now have in enough hours for a special award which will be handed out at the annual picnic next month. Who says it's not about the numbers?

Arachne's Lace

Day 14: This moment of quiet beauty was brought to you by a tiny spider who has no knowledge of the tangled webs we humans weave.