Meadow management

My wife and I live on a 3.5 acre bit of land in the hills of upstate New York.  We're lucky to have that kind of space, and the place itself is beautiful; it's crossed by a little stony-bedded creek, and has a swimmable pond and lots of big old trees for shade.

And lots of lawn.  At least it did when we moved in here eighteen years ago.  We've been gradually doing battle with the lawn for most of that eighteen years.  We replaced some with gardens -- which was a net loss of discretionary time, since weeding a garden takes a great deal more time than mowing an equal-sized piece of lawn.  My wife got the idea of replacing a lot of the grass in the back yard with clover, and she was helped out in that endeavor by our large galumphing dog Guinness, who essentially does a hockey stop whenever he's chasing his tennis ball, tearing up large strips of turf and thus earning himself the nickname "Skidmark."  But the clover's finally taken hold in a big way, and it not only looks great and needs way less mowing, it's a happy place for the honeybees.

That last bit was our incentive for turning a chunk of our front yard into a meadow.  A wonderful local nursery, The Plantsmen, specializes in native wildlife-friendly plants, so a couple of months ago we went down and came back with my Honda Element packed with such unusual finds as blue-stemmed goldenrod (Solidago caesia), nannyberry (Viburnum lentago), American scarlet elderberry (Sambucus racemosa), two different kinds of bergamot (Monarda spp.), fragrant sumac (Rhus aromatica), serviceberry (Amelanchier canadensis), and in a corner that has a permanent spring, the charming and water-loving buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis).

The Meadow thus far.  Okay, it doesn't look like much yet, but just you wait until our plants have a couple years' growth behind them.

The reason this topic comes up is because of a study that came out this week in the journal Biological Conservation about the role of verges in preserving valuable pollinators and beneficial insects.  Verges, they tell us, are hotspots for flowers and pollinators, often containing a dramatic diversity of different species (not all of which are native, of course; but then, neither is the white clover we seeded in our back yard, and I still consider it to be on balance a beneficial plant).  

Of course, roads themselves are a necessary evil, replacing and fragmenting habitat, not to mention the never-ending problem of roadkill.  (Don't just think of mammals, here; think of the number of insects killed yearly by windshield collisions, and keep in mind that even the National Pesticide Information Center says that 97% of insect species are neutral with respect to humanity, or else actively beneficial).  So given that roads aren't going anywhere, the best thing to do is to figure out how to maximize whatever's positive about them, and minimize the negative ecological impact.

Verges seem to be the biggest positive feature, as long as they're managed properly.  The key, says the researchers (a group led by environmental scientist Benjamin Phillips of the University of Exeter), is to mow as infrequently as is practical for the spot.  Surprisingly, "don't mow at all" turns out to be a bad idea.  The authors write:

An observational study of 19 road verges in the UK found that mown verges (cut once between May and August, cuttings not removed) had on average 67% fewer flowers and 61% fewer pollinators across the summer than unmown verges, experimentally manipulated mowing frequency (cuts/year: 0, 1 (early autumn) or 2 (early summer and early autumn)) and removal of cuttings (left in the verge or removed) in a single road verge (with a species-rich plant community) in the Netherlands.  Increasing the number of cuts from 0 to 1 cut resulted in 3.5 times greater flower density and 2 times greater flower species richness, but no significant effect on pollinator density, though increasing from 1 to 2 cuts/year resulted in 3.5 times greater pollinator density.

This is good information for our own little meadow, because I wasn't sure if we should mow at all, but it sounds like it's a good idea; in our case, not only for the pollinators, but because in our area, completely stopping mowing is a good way to turn a meadow into a tangle of walnut saplings and nasty, fast-growing exotics like Tatarian honeysuckle and multiflora rose.

So it sounds like mowing once or twice -- maybe once in spring and once in fall -- might be the way to go.  That way the plants that die all the way back to the ground in the winter (like the goldenrod and bergamot) will get a fresh start each year, and we won't have competitors for the woody shrubs (such as the sumac, nannyberry, serviceberry, and elderberry).

I can't mow near where the buttonbush is, however, because the spring keeps that piece of the lawn soggy, and if I try to mow it our lawn mower sinks up to the axle and then I have to tow it out with my car.

Yes, that's the voice of experience, right there.

In any case, this paper was nicely timed from my perspective, as I was wondering what I'd do after the first frost when everything starts to die back.  Since we planted as we did to encourage the bees and butterflies, it's good to know that there's some solid scientific research to back up our choice of how to handle it.

With luck, in a couple of years we'll have something really beautiful to enjoy -- and a nice habitat for wildlife, as well.

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This week's Skeptophilia book of the week is for anyone fascinated with astronomy and the possibility of extraterrestrial life: The Sirens of Mars: Searching for Life on Another World, by Sarah Stewart Johnson.

Johnson is a planetary scientist at Georgetown University, and is also a hell of a writer.  In this book, she describes her personal path to becoming a respected scientist, and the broader search for life on Mars -- starting with simulations in the most hostile environments on Earth, such as the dry valleys of central Antarctica and the salt flats of Australia, and eventually leading to analysis of data from the Mars rovers, looking for any trace of living things past or present.

It's a beautifully-told story, and the whole endeavor is tremendously exciting.  If, like me, you look up at the night sky with awe, and wonder if there's anyone up there looking back your way, then Johnson's book should be on your reading list.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

The tree planter

Yesterday I was thinking about issues of empowerment versus despair.

I guess it's understandable enough, given our current state of affairs, with an ongoing pandemic, and countries all over the world being swallowed up by a me-first populism that values short-term expediency over everything else, including the quality of human lives.  Hard to stay positive in a situation like this.

A lot of times, the issue is framed in a religious context.  Being an atheist, how can I not let my perception that the world is without a divinely-guided plan and final purpose drive me downward emotionally?  And linked to this is the similar question of how, as someone who is very aware of human failings (both in the intellectual and social realms), I don't give up on our species entirely.

I think it has to do with my attitude that even if all I make are small steps, it is still better to make those steps than to give up and stand still.  It is my motivation for writing this blog.  Perhaps a lot of what I do here at Skeptophilia is preaching to the choir; I suspect that most of my readership comes from people who, like myself, are questioners and skeptics and rationalists.  But if by what I write I can prod even one person to take a closer look at his or her basic assumptions about how the universe works, then what I am doing is worth it.

The same impetus kept me teaching for thirty-two years.  I knew all too well that most of my students wouldn't become scientists, but I was (and am) absolutely fine with that.  I also knew I wouldn't be able to reach them all, a truth which is discouraging and perhaps inevitable.  But if I opened up the eyes of some of the people in my classes -- showed them a bit of the world they hadn't ever thought about, made them go, "Wow, this universe is a strange and cool and wondrous place!" -- then in my view, I succeeded.

Which brings me to Wangari Maathai.

In this disillusioned and jaded world, Maathai was a true hero.  She was born in Kenya in 1940, and grew up in traditional Kikuyu culture -- strict gender roles, and an attitude toward the land that it was meant to be used, not protected.  Her shattering of the terribly low glass ceiling for women in east Africa started early, though.  She graduated with a Ph.D. in veterinary medicine 1971, becoming the first east African woman to earn a doctorate, and shortly afterwards was hired to teach veterinary science at the University of Nairobi.

Wangari Maathai [Image licensed under the Creative Commons Kingkongphoto & www.celebrity-photos.com from Laurel Maryland, USA, Wangari Maathai in 2001, CC BY-SA 2.0]

But Maathai was not content with being a college lecturer, as groundbreaking as that was for a woman of her culture.  She looked around her at the environmental devastation in her beloved country, and the lack of empowerment many women felt, and decided that there was no reason she had to accept either of those things.

So she changed the world.

She started the Green Belt Movement, a campaign for tree replanting.  "When resources are degraded, we start competing for them," Maathai wrote, "whether it is at the local level in Kenya, where we had tribal clashes over land and water, or at the global level, where we are fighting over water, oil, and minerals.  So one way to promote peace is to promote sustainable management and equitable distribution of resources."

She fought for the rights of women, successfully instituting a small business loan program in rural Kenya with the hopes of making villages self-sufficient, and making women no longer dependent on men for income.  She fostered tree replanting and environmental protection programs all over east Africa, while simultaneously encouraging sustainable farming practices that did not rely on cutting down forests and exhausting farmland.

And it worked, but it was not without cost.  Her husband divorced her in 1977, claiming that she was "too strong-minded for a woman" and that he was "unable to control her."  The government, then a one-party dictatorship, tried to silence her, first with a disinformation program (they called her women's rights group "a bunch of divorcees controlled by a crazy woman").  She was attacked and beaten by policemen, arrested more than once, and was on a list of people targeted by President Daniel arap Moi for assassination.

It didn't stop her.  "In order to accomplish anything," Maathai said, "we must keep our feelings of empowerment ahead of our feelings of despair.  We cannot do everything, but still there are many things we can do."

Many things.  Yes, she did indeed.  She was instrumental in Kenya's return to a multi-party democracy.  She singlehandedly drove the regreening of Kenya's rural areas.  In 2002, she was elected to Kenya's parliament.

In 2004, she won the Nobel Peace Prize.

All this from a woman who would not accept the role she'd been cast in, would not simply sit back and weep over the way things are.  Maathai never gave up on her vision, and because of that, she overturned generations of repression and sexism and environmental degradation.

No, she didn't eradicate those things entirely.  Kenya, and the rest of the world, still has a long way to go.  Yet Maathai never let the pitfalls and backslides get in the way of her belief that humans are fundamentally good, and the world is worth saving.  When she died in 2011 at the age of 71, she had accomplished more than most of us would in ten lifetimes -- all through being steadfast and brave and, most importantly, not accepting that the status quo was inevitable.

She remained, to the end, modest about what she'd done.  Any of us, Maathai said, could do the same; all it takes is a vision and sufficient courage.  "I don't really know why I care so much," Maathai said.  "I just have something inside me that tells me that there is a problem, and I have got to do something about it...  It's the little things citizens do.  That's what will make the difference."

She smiled, and added, "My little thing is planting trees."

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This week's Skeptophilia book-of-the-week is for people who are fascinated with the latest research on our universe, but are a little daunted by the technical aspects: Space at the Speed of Light: The History of 14 Billion Years for People Short on Time by Oxford University astrophysicist Becky Smethurst.

A whirlwind tour of the most recent discoveries from the depths of space -- and I do mean recent, because it was only released a couple of weeks ago -- Smethurst's book is a delightful voyage into the workings of some of the strangest objects we know of -- quasars, black holes, neutron stars, pulsars, blazars, gamma-ray bursters, and many others.  Presented in a way that's scientifically accurate but still accessible to the layperson, it will give you an understanding of what we know about the events of the last 13.8 billion years, and the ultimate fate of the universe in the next few billions.  If you have a fascination for what's up there in the night sky, this book is for you!

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Trouble brewing

A general rule of historical anthropology is that societies only last so long, and inevitably go into decline and are superseded.

The causes, though, are numerous and often mysterious, which is why your typical one-line explanations -- like "classical Rome collapsed because of the invasion by barbarian tribes" -- are inaccurate oversimplifications at best.  Sure, the barbarians didn't help matters, but centuries of misrule, overreach by emperors greedy for land (leading to revolt in outlying provinces they no longer had the military strength to control), unfavorable alterations in climate, and repeated outbreaks of the plague were all major contributors to the downfall of the Pax Romana.

Some civilizations have collapsed more suddenly, and for a few of them, we have no real idea why.  Mycenaean Greece, the "Golden Age of Heroes," went into decline around 1200 B.C.E., and by 1100 was erased entirely, their cities and palaces abandoned.  From a hastily-scrawled clay tablet found at the Palace of Pylos, one of the main Mycenaean strongholds, we get the impression that invasion (in this case by the Dorians, a tribe from northern Greece) may have been a contributor:

The enemy grabbed all the priests from everywhere and without reason murdered them secretly by simple drowning.  I am calling out to my descendants (for the sake of) history. I am told that the northern strangers continued their (terrible) attack, terrorizing and plundering (until) a short time ago.

[It may interest other linguistics geeks that the above passage was translated by Michael Ventris, who along with Alice Kober finally deciphered Linear B -- a script which beforehand was entirely mysterious, even as to what language it represented and which characters stood for which sounds.  In fact, it wasn't even known whether the characters stood for single sounds, syllables, or entire words.  Imagine facing that as a task...]

Anyhow, it's unlikely that the Dorian invasion is the sole reason Mycenae fell.  After all, these are the people who kicked some major ass during the Trojan War; a bunch of invading barbarians wouldn't have successfully eradicated the Mycenaean civilization unless there had been other factors at work as well.

My point is, what destroys civilizations, not to mention what keeps them alive, is seldom a single factor.  But some anthropologists working in South America have identified one that seems to be critical to a society's survival:

Beer.

I'm not making this up.  Patrick Ryan Williams (Field Museum), Donna Nash (Field Museum and University of North Carolina Greensboro), Josh Henkin (Field Museum and University of Illinois at Chicago) and Ruth Ann Armitage (Eastern Michigan University) are the authors of a paper in Sustainability that was released last week, looking at the role of breweries in the Wari society, which flourished in what is now the western half of Peru for over five hundred years.  The authors write:

Utilizing archaeometric methods, we evaluate the nature of production of feasting events in the ancient Wari state (600–1000 CE).  Specifically, we focus on the fabrication of ceramic serving and brewing wares for the alcoholic beverage chicha de molle.   We examine the source materials used in the creation of these vessels with elemental analysis techniques. We then assess the chemical traces of the residues present in the ceramic pores of the vessels to detect compounds indicative of the plants used in chicha production. While previous research has identified circumstantial evidence for the use of Schinus molle in the production process, this research presents direct evidence of its existence in the pores of the ceramic vessels.  We also assess what this material evidence suggests about the sustainability of the feasting events as a mode of political interaction in the Wari sphere.  Our evaluation indicates that regional resource use in the production of the ceramic vessels promoted locally sustainable raw material procurement for the making of the festivities.  Likewise, drought resistant crops became the key ingredients in the beverages produced and provided a resilient harvest for chicha production that was adopted by successor groups.

"This study helps us understand how beer fed the creation of complex political organizations," said study lead author Patrick Ryan Williams in an interview in Science Daily. "We were able to apply new technologies to capture information about how ancient beer was produced and what it meant to societies in the past...  It was like a microbrewery in some respects. It was a production house, but the brewhouses and taverns would have been right next door...  People would have come into this site, in these festive moments, in order to recreate and reaffirm their affiliation with these Wari lords and maybe bring tribute and pledge loyalty to the Wari state...  We think these institutions of brewing and then serving the beer really formed a unity among these populations, it kept people together."

[Image courtesy of the Creative Commons http://www.pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?mat=&pg=8748]

Which makes total sense to me.  I don't know about you, but getting together with friends for a nice pint is often the high point of my weekend.  And yeah, we could get together and have soda and Shirley Temples, but... it just wouldn't be the same, somehow.

So next time you have a beer, keep in mind that you're not just drinking a fizzy, mildly alcoholic beverage, you're actually helping society to cohere.  Which, I think, is a noble thing we're all doing.

Bottoms up!

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a classic, and is pure fun: Man Meets Dog by the eminent Austrian zoologist and ethologist Konrad Lorenz.  In it, he looks at every facet of the human/canine relationship, and -- if you're like me -- you'll more than once burst out laughing and say, "Yeah, my dog does that all the time!"

It must be said that (as the book was originally written in 1949) some of what he says about the origins of dogs has been superseded by better information from genetic analysis that was unavailable in Lorenz's time, but most of the rest of his Doggy Psychological Treatise still stands.  And in any case, you'll learn something about how and why your pooches behave the way they do -- and along the way, a bit about human behavior, too.

[Note: If you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]