Getting the upper hand on mighty phragmites

Phragmites australis australis in North Canaan.
John Coston
Phragmites australis australis in North Canaan.
Finally rain. For weeks, the only place there had been moisture was in the marsh and even there, areas that usually catch my boots in the mud were dry. I could not see the footprints of the bear (or is it deer?) that have been digging up and eating the underground skunk cabbage flowers. Not that I could do anything to stop it. A layer of snow that actually sticks around for a while seems like wishful thinking these days.
Masses of skunk cabbage, Symplocarpus foetidus, appeared one spring, like magic, after we hired a team to remove the barberry from about an acre of the marsh adjacent to the driveway. Of course, it had been there all along, waiting patiently underground or hiding in the barberry’s thorny shrub-cages, but we had not seen it. That was about eight years ago; after the barberry’s removal there have been successive infestations of invasives but also, as with the skunk cabbage, some welcome new sightings of native plants.
I wrote in this column last year about Japanese stiltgrass, Microstegium vimineum, and the success in using the weed torch on a large patch of it in the marsh. It remained largely free of this annual invasive grass this year but we switched to hand weeding the area as, given the dry weather, we could not use the torch even in the marsh. Over the course of three weeks, we pulled out what amounted to 6 trash bins stuffed solid with the hairlike strands. As many of them have seedheads we will burn them once the ban is lifted. I should have paid attention to the stiltgrass infestation earlier in the season but walking near Route 7 is not the most peaceful thing to do so I tend to avoid it.
Twice a year I make my way into the marsh as far as I can go until halted by barberry and multiflora rose to hold at bay another grass, this one a giant compared to stiltgrass. Phragmites australis is a tall reed with a pouf of a seed head that is abundant in moist and wet areas everywhere in the US. It is so aggressive in wetlands that it quickly becomes a monoculture- a sea of swaying beige. It not only crowds out other plants but changes the pH of the surrounding soil and water so nothing native can grow in it. It is a real habitat killer. Drive on route 41 toward Sharon from Hotchkiss school and you will see a large field of phragmites on the left-hand side of the road. Once identified you cannot unsee how it has hijacked our landscape.
Thanks to my gardener’s help cutting down barberry, multiflora rose and honeysuckle in the marsh last winter, this year my access was greatly improved to a stand of phragmites-about a third of an acre of it. With each visit I cut down as much of it as I could to eliminate the possibility for it to grow a seed head. Though loathe to use an herbicide, last year I experimented on a small area, dabbing the cut ends with a wetlands ‘safe’ herbicide. (No herbicide is really safe for the environment but often the chemicals that are added to the herbicide to help it penetrate the leaves are especially damaging.) That application seemed to work so I may repeat it next year on another area.
With all invasives, getting rid of them when you see a first few pop up will pay off. That is what is happening on Cream Hill Road in Cornwall where a small stand of phragmites was recently cut under the water line, a natural technique that attempts to ‘drown’ the plant. The next step will be to cover with a black tarp any remaining phragmites that come back from this first effort. According to Heidi Cunnick, who chairs the Cornwall Conservation Commission, their new policy prioritizes the invasive plants for removal so that small infestations can be eliminated early. Cunnick reminds me that there is a biological control for phragmites that remains under review by a US government department but the future possibility of such an eradication method is not stopping activities to reduce populations- now - in Cornwall.
Another example of successful eradication comes from the Twin Lakes area; a couple who moved to a property that came with a quarter-acre of phragmites colonizing in and around their pond. They valiantly did the work themselves as they could not find anyone who would do it for them. A cut and tarp method was used here for the on-land plants; the ones underwater were cut a foot below the water surface over several years. While most is gone, the battle continues with stragglers; these are tackled with aquatic use herbicide using a dabber on the cut end of a stem or sprayed on a glove that is rubbed over the green stem.
It is hard to stay positive; the work can be hard and tiresome. And it is always a gamble that the area you are working on will grow in with native plants rather than with more invasives. Sometimes you clear a patch of barberry and it gets filled with stiltgrass; you try again. Sometimes you get a patch of goldenrod- nice to have but you don’t want it crowding out the other native plants. And sometimes you get a big reward- the discovery of natives so new to you that you can’t identify them without an app on your phone. In the marsh, where I worked as the weather turned cooler, I noticed quite a few new grasses popping out of the damp soil, especially where the weed torch had been used the prior year. So far, I have identified: Carex albursina, White bear sedge; Carex pedunculata, Longstalk sedge; Carex obnupta, Slough sedge; Carex pennsyvanica, Pennsylvania sedge; Carex frankii, Frank’s sedge; Carex blanda, Eastern woodland sedge; Carex eburnean, Bristleleaf sedge; Danthonia spicata, Poverty oatgrass; Deschampsia cespitosa, Tufted hairgrass; Glyceria striata, Fowl mannagrass and Leersia virginica, Whitegrass. The deer have already helped themselves to a few of these but I am hopeful to see most of them again.
Dee Salomon ‘ungardens’ in Litchfield County.
Join The Lakeville Journal for a community celebration, featuring local nonprofits and businesses, festive family fun, great food, and engaging activities.
What to Expect:
See you at the Lakeville Journal Street Fair!
If you have any questions, please email streetfair@lakevillejournal.com
Cobbler n’ Cream
5 to 7 p.m.
Freund’s Farm Market & Bakery | 324 Norfolk Rd.
Canaan Carnival
6 to 10 p.m.
Bunny McGuire Park
Canaan Carnival
6 to 10 p.m.
Bunny McGuire Park
Cocktail Party
5 to 7 p.m.
Douglas Library | 108 Main St.
Canaan Carnival
6 to 10 p.m.
Bunny McGuire Park
Boot Drive
8 a.m. to 2 p.m.
North Canaan Fire Co. | 4 E. Main St.
3rd Annual Fly-In
8 a.m. to 3 p.m.
Triumph Airfield | 547 W. Main St.
Canaan Railroad Station Museum
10 a.m. to 6 p.m.
Canaan Union Station
New England Accordion Connection
9 a.m. to 8 p.m.
Canaan Union Station
Canaan Carnival
3 to 10 p.m.
Bunny McGuire Park
Berkshire Resilience Brass Band
5 to 8 p.m.
Canaan Union Station
Barbecued Chicken Dinner
5 to 7 p.m.
St. Martin of Tours | 4 Main St.
Canaan Fireman’s parade
6 p.m.
Foxtrot Farm & Flowers’ historic barn space during UAW’s 2024 exhibition entitled “Unruly Edges.”
Art lovers, mark your calendars. The sixth edition of Upstate Art Weekend (UAW) returns July 17 to 21, with an exciting lineup of exhibitions and events celebrating the cultural vibrancy of the region. Spanning eight counties and over 130 venues, UAW invites residents and visitors alike to explore the Hudson Valley’s thriving creative communities.
Here’s a preview of four must-see exhibitions in the area:
1. Wassaic Project (37 Furnace Bank Road, Wassaic)
“So It Goes” is a powerful group exhibition curated by Eve Biddle, Bowie Zunino, Jeff Barnett-Winsby, and Will Hutnick. The title, drawn from Kurt Vonnegut’s “Slaughterhouse-Five,” signals a reckoning with how we process the horrors of the world. Through play, reflection, and immersive scale, 43 artists respond with urgency and imagination. Installations can be seen throughout the town of Wassaic at Maxon Mills, Gridley Chapel, and Luther Barn, each space transformed by this deeply thoughtful show.
2. Foxtrot Farm & Flowers (6862 Route 82, Stanfordville)
“Queer Bestiary,” a group show curated by Charlotte Woolf, is inspired by Patricia Ononiwu Kaishian’s book “Forest Euphoria.” The exhibition investigates queer ecology and human relationship to land through the work of 10 artists using painting, sculpture, textiles, and photography. The exhibit is accompanied by a variety of interactive experiences including tattoo pop-ups, karaoke, book readings, and pick-your-own flowers.
3. ChaShaMa North/ChaNorth (2600 Route 199, Pine Plains)
ChaShaMa North (ChaNorth) will have open studios all weekend and has partnered with Paradice Palase, a platform for emerging artists, to mount a site-specific sculpture exhibition featuring 20 artists entitled “Alone, You Are Heard.” On Saturday evening, July 19, stop by for Weird Music Night for an audio-visual synthesis of experimental music, performance art, and unexpected happenings. Don’t miss this opportunity to experience an eclectic lineup of acts that redefine the boundaries of performance.
4. Millbrook Arts Project(3 Friendly Lane, Millbrook)
The Millbrook Arts Project is hosting a curated exhibit entitled “Generated Utility” at the newly renovated gallery at the village library. The exhibit will feature the work of artists Natalie Beall and Kathy Greenwood. Additionally, visitors will have access to 12 open artists studios across town. The weekend culminates in a free outdoor concert on Saturday evening at 6 p.m. at the Millbrook Bandshell. Enjoy the Indie-Folk sounds of Strawberry Runners and She Keeps Bees.
For more information and a complete list of participating artists and locations, visit: upstateartweekend.org
The late Glenn May on one of his favorite rivers, the San Juan in New Mexico, circa 2010.
My nomadic attorney Thos is planning a fishing and camping trip of major proportions later this summer, starting in New Mexico and working his way north through the Rockies into Canada.
So I wanted to reconnect with a fellow named Glenn May, who was my main fishing buddy for several years in the 1990s when we both lived in Albuquerque and worked at the same bookstore. Last I heard he was living in Colorado, which is on the itinerary, more or less.
An email bounced back so I tried Facebook, only to learn he died in his sleep in February.
He was a little younger than me, about 60 I guess.
This was disconcerting.
I was already working at the bookstore when he came on board, and we recognized our mutual interest when I found him trying to carve out a shelf or two for fly-fishing titles amid the general chaos of the sports section.
I had a Ford Escort, which was good on gas but didn’t hold much gear, especially when you factored in critical supplies such as beer.
He had a gigantic and battered Ford F350 which was terrible on gas but would go anywhere and could hold everything. It also had a long-expired Delaware license plate, which made for some tense moments.
We managed to wangle the same two days off, Sunday and Monday, and we’d often bug out after our Saturday second shift and fetch up somewhere around 1 a.m., pitch a tent and be on the water at dawn.
The bookstore did not pay much, and out West the distances (and gas consumption) are exponentially greater than in the relatively compact East.
If it was near the first of the month, we took the Escort. Mid-month when we were feeling bucks up, we’d go with the truck.
Glenn was a dry fly guy to his core. I had been trained in similar fashion but was dabbling in the dark arts of subsurface fishing, so when one of us was catching the other was often fishing.
He was also a Dallas Cowboys fan. They were suffering through a particularly bad season one year in the mid-90s, and as we drove from river to river we listened to the games on the radio. He lamented, and I privately gloated.
I wandered back east but Glenn stayed put, eventually becoming a fairly big name in the New Mexico newspaper world. He wrote about fly-fishing for the Albuquerque Tribune and about everything for the Santa Fe New Mexican, and that’s not a complete list.
Then he was off to Cameroon with the Peace Corps. And then Turkey, not in the Peace Corps. He did a stint teaching English in South Korea.
I occasionally got cryptic emails describing the fishing in places like Bulgaria, and he kept up a Facebook presence, so I had some idea of what he was doing.
More recently he was back in the Four Corners, working for the Ute tribal nation in some capacity. I think there was a wife in there too.
I’m struck — again — by how, over the years,I have spent a lot of time with fishing friends and I know next to nothing about them except they dislike fishing with dropper rigs and have a weakness for hazelnut coffee.
The other thing that stands out about Glenn was that he was the best trout spotter I have ever fished with. No scouting flies for this guy. He was almost always aiming at specific fish, where I was working specific spots. To use a sports analogy, he played man-to-man while I played zone.
I spoke to him on the phone in 2004. We reminisced about the time we were edging around a canyon pool and when he looked back all he saw was my ballcap floating on the surface. (I was underneath temporarily.)
Or the time the drunk idiots chucked rocks into the pools we were working. They were poor shots so the rocks came very close to hitting us. They also called our fly rods “fairy sticks.”
We snuck up on them later when they were cavorting in a hot spring and let the air out one of their tires. Only one. We wanted the punishment to fit the crime.
They recovered enough that we encountered them later at a rustic saloon that sold flies and had a collection of brassieres attached to the ceiling. Luckily they didn’t put two and two together, probably because they were engrossed by the decor. We prudently oiled out and made our escape.
I’ll wrap this with a story about the famous New Mexico tailwater, the San Juan River.
The first time we tried it together he was doing well with miniscule dry flies, size 24 callibaetis, and long leaders tapered to 7X.
I think this was when my antipathy for what I call “specks” started. No matter what, I could not lay out my speck the way he could.
So while he was horsing big fat rainbows into the net, I was fumbling with tackle and cussing.
Finally, I tied on a big gaudy Royal Coachman fly with a pink post and about twice the normal amount of hackle. I think I bought it at the brassiere bar.
Shortening my leader to something around seven feet and 3X, I heaved it near the streamside vegetation while Glenn watched. He may have smirked a bit.
A nice rainbow, probably rejoicing at the prospect of a square meal instead of nibbling on specks, smacked the ridiculous fly and we were off.
It was big enough, and I had consumed enough beer, that Glenn kindly assisted in netting the beast. He looked at it, the fly and at me, shook his head, and said “Now that is some raggedy fly-fishing.”