The buckthorn must die. That’s become apparent the past year in the woods around house.
An invasive species, the ornamental shrub was brought to North America in the early 1800s to serve as a hedge divider. Kept short and trimmed, it grows thick, providing a shield from your neighbors. The thorns create a barrier as well, stabbing anyone or anything attempting to get through the hedge.
The problem, of course, like any invasive species, is that once released it grows like a wildfire in a tinder dry forest. It takes over, choking out big, historic, majestic deciduous trees. Buckthorn sucks up the water with its roots, and prevents the water and nutrients from getting to the other trees. This infestation slowly causes your bigger trees to choke.
This year, we saw this happening in the trees surrounding our house. Over multiple months, my wife Debbie and I debated what to do. There are options to kill the buckthorn, none easy. They take a lot of time or poison or continued cutting of the shrub until it exhausts itself trying to grow.
Early in the year, our thoughts focused on goats, and bringing them in to chow the buckhorn down. After examining that option from multiple angles, we realized it didn’t make sense, as the goats would have to be penned from area to area and leashed, while anything you didn’t want to have them eat would have to be fenced for protection from their ravenous appetites.
Deb tried cutting much of the buckthorn down herself with a power blade, taking on section by section of our woods on a weekly basis, rationing herself to two rounds of gasoline in the tank before retiring the tool for the day. Progress was made, but not without a lot of sore muscles. It was a dent in the infestation, but not a victory.
We talked about applying Roundup to Buckthorn stumps after cutting it down, but didn’t want the poison on our land. Then we saw our neighbors bring in a guy with a grinder tractor that plowed through all the undergrowth, ripping it all to leave behind wood pulp on the forest floor. The buckthorn undergrowth disappeared, and views through the forest opened up, not something we necessarily wanted, so we continued to be stymied about what to do next.
Finally we agreed to pursue the tractor grinder and hired the guy in to rip through our woods. It took a day. Bush after bush fell. The scent of freshly ground wood permeated our land. Views opened up to our neighbors, and though we like our privacy, we found ourselves accepting the newly-opened vistas through the tall remaining trees.
Fall is now here. Leaves are changing and dropping to cover the forest floor. We’ve grown to like how the woods look these days. Deb has shredded some of the buckthorn missed by the grinder tractor. Some of it will insidiously sprout again next year.
We’ll be ready. There will be more chopping and swinging a sickle, using the power blade, running the lawn mower over the shoots that sprout at the edge of the woods by our driveway.
The work will keep us busy and sore. We’ll be challenged. We expect the battle to continue. “Death to the Buckthorn” is our cry.
An invasive species, the ornamental shrub was brought to North America in the early 1800s to serve as a hedge divider. Kept short and trimmed, it grows thick, providing a shield from your neighbors. The thorns create a barrier as well, stabbing anyone or anything attempting to get through the hedge.
The problem, of course, like any invasive species, is that once released it grows like a wildfire in a tinder dry forest. It takes over, choking out big, historic, majestic deciduous trees. Buckthorn sucks up the water with its roots, and prevents the water and nutrients from getting to the other trees. This infestation slowly causes your bigger trees to choke.
This year, we saw this happening in the trees surrounding our house. Over multiple months, my wife Debbie and I debated what to do. There are options to kill the buckthorn, none easy. They take a lot of time or poison or continued cutting of the shrub until it exhausts itself trying to grow.
Early in the year, our thoughts focused on goats, and bringing them in to chow the buckhorn down. After examining that option from multiple angles, we realized it didn’t make sense, as the goats would have to be penned from area to area and leashed, while anything you didn’t want to have them eat would have to be fenced for protection from their ravenous appetites.
Deb tried cutting much of the buckthorn down herself with a power blade, taking on section by section of our woods on a weekly basis, rationing herself to two rounds of gasoline in the tank before retiring the tool for the day. Progress was made, but not without a lot of sore muscles. It was a dent in the infestation, but not a victory.
We talked about applying Roundup to Buckthorn stumps after cutting it down, but didn’t want the poison on our land. Then we saw our neighbors bring in a guy with a grinder tractor that plowed through all the undergrowth, ripping it all to leave behind wood pulp on the forest floor. The buckthorn undergrowth disappeared, and views through the forest opened up, not something we necessarily wanted, so we continued to be stymied about what to do next.
Finally we agreed to pursue the tractor grinder and hired the guy in to rip through our woods. It took a day. Bush after bush fell. The scent of freshly ground wood permeated our land. Views opened up to our neighbors, and though we like our privacy, we found ourselves accepting the newly-opened vistas through the tall remaining trees.
Fall is now here. Leaves are changing and dropping to cover the forest floor. We’ve grown to like how the woods look these days. Deb has shredded some of the buckthorn missed by the grinder tractor. Some of it will insidiously sprout again next year.
We’ll be ready. There will be more chopping and swinging a sickle, using the power blade, running the lawn mower over the shoots that sprout at the edge of the woods by our driveway.
The work will keep us busy and sore. We’ll be challenged. We expect the battle to continue. “Death to the Buckthorn” is our cry.