Rapid Growers - Biodiversity for a Livable Climate

Featured Creature: Prickly Pear Cactus

What plant thrives in the harshest landscapes, conserving water like a desert camel, and produces a sweet yet spiky fruit enjoyed for centuries? The Prickly Pear Cactus!

When I’m in the south of France, nothing makes me happier than spending the day by the ocean, taking in the salty breeze and strolling along the littoral. After a long afternoon on the beach, as I make my way home, I always notice prickly pear cacti scattered throughout the local fauna.

Prickly pear cacti are everywhere in the south of France, where I’m from. My mom, who grew up in Corsica, used to tell me stories about how she’d collect and eat the fruit as a kid. So, naturally, last summer, when I spotted some growing along the path home from the beach, I figured—why not try one myself?

Big mistake.

Without gloves (rookie move), I grabbed one with my bare hands. The next 20 minutes were spent with my friends painstakingly plucking hundreds of tiny, nearly invisible needles out of my fingertips. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but watching my hands transform into a pincushion was… unsettling. And to top it all off? The fruit wasn’t even ripe.

For the longest time, I just assumed prickly pears were native to the Mediterranean. They grow everywhere, you can buy them at local markets, and my mom spoke about them like they were an age-old Corsican tradition. But a few weeks ago, while researching cochineal bugs (parasitic insects that live on prickly pear cacti), I discovered something surprising—prickly pears aren’t native to the south of France at all. They actually originate from Central and South America, and were introduced to the Mediterranean from the Americas centuries ago. They’ve since become naturalized.

Curious to learn more, I dove into the biology of prickly pears—and it turns out, these cacti are far more than just a tasty (and slightly dangerous) snack. Their survival strategies, adaptations, and ecological impact make them one of the most fascinating plants out there.

Prickly Pear Cactus Fruit
Credit: Maciej Cisowski via Pexels

Prickly pear cacti belong to the Cactaceae family, and they’re absolute survivors. In spring and summer, they produce vibrant flowers that bloom directly on their paddles, eventually transforming into edible berries covered in sneaky little thorns (trust me, I learned that the hard way).

These cacti thrive in drylands but adapt surprisingly well to different climates. They prefer warm summers, cool dry winters, and temperatures above -5°C (23°F).Their ability to store water efficiently and withstand long dry periods has earned them the nickname ‘the camel of the plant world.’ They can lose up to 80-90% of their total water content and still bounce back, an adaptation that allows them to endure long periods of drought.

They are designed to make the most of their access to water whenever they get the chance. The cactus can develop different types of roots depending on what they need to survive, making them masters of adaptation. One of their coolest tricks? “Rain roots.” These special roots pop up within hours of light rainfall to soak up water—then vanish once the soil dries out.

And then there are their infamous spines. Prickly pears have two kinds: large protective spines and tiny, hair-like glochids. The glochids are the real troublemakers—easily dislodged, nearly invisible, and an absolute nightmare to remove if they get stuck in your skin. (Again, learned this the hard way.)

Nopal (Cactus Pads) – A Nutrient Powerhouse

The term “nopal” refers to both the prickly pear cactus and its pads. It originates from the Nahuatl word nohpalli, which specifically describes the plant’s flat, fleshy segments.

These pads are highly nutritious and well-suited for human consumption, packed with essential vitamins and minerals. They are especially rich in calcium, making them an excellent dietary alternative for populations with high rates of lactose intolerance, such as in India.

Beyond calcium, nopales also provide amino acids and protein, offering a valuable plant-based protein source. They are rich in fiber, vitamins, and minerals, making their nutritional profile comparable to fruits like apples and oranges, explaining their long-standing role in traditional cuisine. From soups and stews to salads and marmalades, they are a versatile ingredient enjoyed in a variety of dishes

Ever wondered how to clean and grill a prickly pear pad at home?

The Fruit – Sweet & Versatile

Prickly pears produce colorful, juicy fruits called tunas, which range in color from white and yellow to deep red and orange as they ripen. Their flavor is often described as a mix between watermelon and berries, while others compare it to pomegranate. Either way, they make for a delicious and refreshing snack.

But before you take a bite, be sure to peel them carefully. If you don’t remove the outer layer properly, you might end up with tiny spines lodged in your lips, tongue, and throat (which is about as fun as it sounds). Once cleaned, the fruit is used in jams, juices, and is even pickled!

Credit: Emilio Sánchez Hernández via Pexels

Prickly pear cacti produce stunning flowers that attract a variety of pollinators, particularly bees. Some specialist pollinators have evolved to depend exclusively on prickly pear flowers as their sole pollen source, highlighting an amazing co-evolutionary relationship. One fascinating example is a variety that has evolved to be pollinated exclusively by hummingbirds, demonstrating the plant’s remarkable ecological flexibility.

If you’d like to see this incredible interaction for yourself, check out the following footage of a hummingbird feeding on a prickly pear flower. Though the video quality is low, the enthusiasm of the couple filming it makes up for it! 🙂

Another fascinating feature of prickly pear flowers are their thermotactic anthers. Okay so yeah, that’s a bit of a mouthful. Basically, the part of the flower responsible for producing pollen, the anthers, have a unique ability to respond to temperature changes—releasing pollen only when conditions are just right for pollination. Prickly pear flowers achieve this through movement; the anthers physically curl over to deposit pollen directly onto visiting pollinators.

You can even see this in action yourself! Try gently tapping an open flower, and watch as it instinctively delivers its pollen like a built-in pollen delivery system.

Once pollinated, the flowers transform into fruit, which then serve as an essential food source for birds and small mammals. These animals help disperse the seeds, allowing new cacti to grow in different areas. But prickly pears don’t just rely on seeds for reproduction, they also have an incredible ability to clone themselves. If a pad breaks off and lands in the right conditions, it can root itself and grow into an entirely new cactus. Talk about resilience!

Like most cacti, prickly pears are tough survivors, thriving even in degraded landscapes. But they go a step further, not just enduring harsh conditions, but actively helping to restore them. The plant’s roots act as natural barriers, preventing erosion, locking in moisture, and enriching the soil with organic matter. Studies show that areas dense with prickly pears experience significantly less soil degradation, proving their role in restoring fragile land.

They also improve soil structure, making it lighter and more fertile, which boosts microbial activity and essential nutrients. They act as natural detoxifiers, absorbing pollutants like heavy metals and petroleum-based toxins and offering an eco-friendly way to restore contaminated soils.

Roots of the prickly pear cactus.
Credit: Homrani Bakali, Abdelmonaim, et. al, 2016

A Tale of Two Ecosystems

Prickly pear plantations are powerful carbon sinks, pulling CO₂ from the air and storing it in the soil. In fact, research shows that prickly pear cultivations in Mexico sequester carbon at rates comparable to forests. A major factor? The cactus stimulates microbial activity in the soil, a key driver of carbon storage.

When farmed sustainably, the CO₂ prickly pears absorb offset the greenhouse gases emitted during cultivation.

Prickly pear cacti have immense capability for land restoration and carbon sequestration, but this potential varies dramatically depending on how they are introduced and managed, and where. In some regions, like Ethiopia, they serve as a lifeline for communities facing desertification. In others, like South Africa, they’ve become invasive, disrupting native ecosystems.

By exploring these two contrasting case studies, we can see how the same plant can either heal or harm the land—and why responsible management is key.

Tigray, Ethiopia: A Natural Fit for Harsh Climates

In Ethiopia, where over half the land experiences water shortages, the prickly pear cactus has become indispensable since its introduction in the 19th century. Arid lands are notorious for unpredictable rainfall, prolonged droughts, and poor soils. But the prickly pear cactus defies these challenges. Requiring minimal water, it provides a reliable food source for both humans and animals, making it an essential crop for small-scale farmers in dry regions.

Prickly pear pads are a crucial livestock feed during droughts, providing moisture and nutrients when other forage is scarce. While it cannot be used as the sole source of nutrition for most ruminants, it’s definitely a necessary supplement in times of drought.

Additionally, the plant’s dense growth creates natural barriers, curbing overgrazing and helping native vegetation recover.

As a food source, prickly pear can be used to supplement human diet. The cactus is an alternative to water-intensive cereals like wheat and barley. With higher biomass yields and significantly lower water requirements, it offers a sustainable solution to food security in drought-prone areas.

Unfortunately, prickly pear cultivation in Ethiopia is under threat from invasive cochineal infestations. These cochineal insects, originally used for dye production, were later introduced outside their native range, where they’ve become agricultural pests, devastating cactus populations.

A cactus infested by cochineal insects
Credit: tjeerddw (CC-BY-NC)

South Africa: When Prickly Pear Becomes a Problem

While the cactus is a valuable resource in some regions, in others, it becomes an invasive species, altering ecosystems and threatening native plants.

In South Africa, prickly pears were introduced by European settlers, but without natural predators to control them, they spread aggressively. Today, they dominate large areas, outcompeting native vegetation and consuming scarce resources like water and soil nutrients. Their dense growth also creates impenetrable thickets that hinder livestock grazing and disrupt local ecosystems.

To control its spread, South Africa turned to biological solutions, ironically using the same cochineal insect that threatens Ethiopia’s prickly pear. In South Africa, cochineal insects have been highly effective at curbing cactus overgrowth, selectively feeding on the invasive species and allowing native plants to recover.

This dual role of the prickly pear cactus—as both a valuable resource and a potential ecological threat—highlights the importance of responsible management. Striking a balance between conservation and cultivation is key to harnessing the plant’s benefits while preventing unintended environmental consequences.

Innovative Uses: From Energy to Eco-Friendly Materials

The prickly pear’s resilience extends beyond its survival in harsh environments—it’s also fueling innovation in sustainability. Scientists and entrepreneurs are finding new ways to harness this plant’s potential, from renewable energy to eco-friendly materials.

In the search for cleaner energy sources, prickly pear biomass is being used to produce biogas and bioethanol, offering a renewable alternative to fossil fuels. Unlike resource-intensive crops, the cactus thrives with minimal water, making it a low-impact solution for sustainable energy. Meanwhile, its juice is being explored as a base for biodegradable plastics. Unlike corn-based bioplastics, which require significant land and water resources, cactus-based plastics are more sustainable and continue growing after harvesting, reducing environmental strain.

Cactus leather, developed by companies like Desserto, provides a sustainable alternative to synthetic and animal-based materials. Unlike traditional vegan leather, which often contains petroleum-based plastics, cactus leather is biodegradable, water-efficient, and durable. As more industries embrace the potential of this remarkable plant, the prickly pear is proving that sustainability and innovation can go hand in hand.

From nourishing communities to restoring degraded land, and generating clean energy, the prickly pear is far more than just a desert plant—it’s a symbol of resilience, innovation, and sustainability. However, its impact depends on careful management. Whether cultivated as a food source or controlled as an invasive species, striking the right balance is key to unlocking its full potential.

And if this article has inspired you to try a prickly pear fruit for yourself, please stick to the store-bought varieties. Unlike wild varieties, cultivated prickly pears are often spineless, making them easier (and safer) to eat. Plus, it would give me, the author, peace of mind knowing that no one has to suffer the same fate I did when I ended up with a hand full of spines after an ill-fated foraging attempt.

Lakhena Park holds degrees in Public Policy and Human Rights Law but has recently shifted her focus toward sustainability, ecosystem restoration, and regenerative agriculture. Passionate about reshaping food systems, she explores how agroecology and land management practices can restore biodiversity, improve soil health, and build resilient communities. She is currently preparing to pursue a Permaculture Design Certificate (PDC) to deepen her understanding of regenerative practices. Fun fact: Pigs are her favorite farm animal—smart, playful, and excellent at turning soil, they embody everything she loves about regenerative farming.

Sources and Further Reading

Featured Creature: Japanese Knotweed

With leaves shaped like a spade, what plant
is known to invade and refuses to fade?

The Japanese knotweed (Reynoutria japonica)

Japanese knotweed flowers (Cbaile19 via Wikimedia Commons)

On a warm spring afternoon, my friend and I explored a creek off the Mill River, in Northampton Massachusetts. Thick green bushes lined the banks, making it difficult to reach the water’s edge. As we scoped for a route through, my friend pulled on a nearby branch, inspecting its leaf.

“Japanese Knotweed,” she identified, grasping the plant at the thick part of its stem and straining to pull it up . “This was my whole summer.”

She’d worked on a farm the previous summer and spent countless hours eradicating weeds, which, as it turned out, were mostly Japanese knotweed.

I too am familiar with knotweed. As a child, I mistook Japanese knotweed’s hollow stems for bamboo, often wielding them as makeshift swords. At the time, I thought of the plant as little more than a plaything, unaware of the complex role it was playing in the ecosystem around me.

Photos courtesy Jim Laurie

Where does Japanese knotweed grow?

Japanese knotweed is native to East Asia in Japan, China, and parts of Korea and Taiwan. The plant was introduced to North America in the late nineteenth century, to be used as an ornamental plant. Its introduction, however, had unintended consequences as it invaded wetland, stream corridors, forest edges, and drainage ditches. Japanese knotweed is a herbaceous perennial plant (a non-woody plant that regrows each year from its roots), that can grow to be up to 11 feet tall, with jointed hollow stems resembling that of, yes, bamboo. So you can forgive my childhood ignorance. The stems are bright green and grow nodes which can range in color from red to purple. The knotweed’s spade-shaped leaves grow from these nodes, with a square base and sharp point. They thrive in full sun but can also grow in partial shade, and do well in a variety of soil and moisture conditions. It can often be observed on the banks of rivers, wet depressions, and woodland edges, or in more built environments, including construction sites and roadways.

During the summer, from the nodes of the knotweed bloom small white and pale green flowers. These little flowers are 3 to 4 inches long, and grow in fingerlike clusters, with each cluster holding a couple dozen flowers.

Japanese knotweed (Larrissa Borck via Wikimedia Commons)

While Japanese knotweed is known as an invasive species in many parts of the world, including throughout the United States, in its native range it plays a much different role. There, it exists in balance with local ecosystems, kept in check by native insects, fungi, and herbivores that have evolved alongside it. Instead of forming dense monocultures that crowd out other plants, knotweed grows as part of diverse plant communities, coexisting with a wide variety of species.

Unlike in North America and Europe, where few animals or insects consume it, knotweed supports a variety of wildlife in its natural habitat, and its nectar is enjoyed by bees and butterflies, especially in late summer when other flowers have faded. Insects such as the aphid Aphalara itadori and various beetle species naturally feed on knotweed, limiting its dominance and allowing native plants to thrive alongside it. Some fungi, like Mycosphaerella leaf spot, help regulate its growth, preventing the unchecked spread seen in non-native environments. These interactions ensure that Japanese knotweed remains just one part of a broader ecosystem rather than an overwhelming force.

Ecologically, Japanese knotweed plays an important role in nutrient cycling and soil formation. Its deep, extensive rhizome network helps stabilize slopes prone to erosion in Japan’s more volcanic landscapes, helping to prevent landslides and maintaining soil structure. Additionally, the plant’s decomposition contributes to organic matter in the soil, enriching the surrounding environment.

But when introduced elsewhere, many of these ecological checks and balances are missing, allowing knotweed to spread aggressively and disrupt local biodiversity.

How does it spread?

Japanese knotweed reproduces through both seeds and rhizomes, an underground root-like system which produces shoots of new plants, coming up through the earth. As much as two-thirds of the plant’s biomass is stored in this network.

Seeds of the Japanese knotweed (Famartin via Wikimedia Commons )

The knotweed can be found around the world, far from home. It was introduced to the United Kingdom in 1825 and has since spread across Europe. The majority of Japanese knotweed populations in Europe descend from a single female genotype, though hybridization with related species has introduced some genetic variation. This female genotype is able to receive pollen from a close relative, called the giant knotweed. The combination of these two plants produces a hybrid known as the Bohemian knotweed, which is also spreading across Europe.

In North America, however, the Japanese knotweed reproduces differently than its European counterpart. Even though the European female clone is widely dispersed around the United States, this clone is not the only genotype present. Populations of both male and female Japanese knotweed have been identified across America. The female Japanese knotweed does not produce pollen and primarily spreads through those rhizomes, though it can also reproduce via seeds when pollinated by a related species. Male Japanese knotweed, on the other hand, do produce pollen, as well as occasionally producing seeds.

Impact

Japanese knotweed grows in thick clusters, emerging during early spring time and growing quickly and aggressively. This dense stand of plants crowds out native vegetation, depriving them of resources needed for reproduction and survival.

Japanese knotweed by the water (Dominique Remaud viaWikimedia Commons)

Japanese knotweed thrives in moist, shaded environments. On stream banks, it outcompetes native grasses and shrubs, reducing biodiversity. This lack of diversity along the bank causes instability, and makes it more likely that the soil will shear off during flooding, increasing the amount of sediment deposited into the water. This erosion sends soil and Japanese knotweed seeds into the creek, allowing the plant to spread downstream and further destabilizing the stream bank.

Foraging Japanese knotweed

The young, spring shoots of Japanese knotweed are not only edible, but also delicious! The plant has a tart, slightly sweet taste, similar to that of rhubarb. It can be turned into a jam, put in salads or a stir fry, and used as a crunchy addition to sushi. Where it is native in East Asia, knotweed has been used in traditional medicine for hundreds of years. Owing to the plant’s invasive nature, practicing responsible foraging is crucial to avoid accidentally spreading the knotweed populations. In order to properly dispose of the leftover plant matter, it must be boiled, burned, or thoroughly dried out before discarding in order to ensure that no knotweed is spread. Foraging and eating Japanese knotweed can be a way to help control the plant, through the repeated cutting of the stems. The following video shows a recipe for homemade Japanese knotweed pickles!

Managing knotweed

Due to its dense clusters and deep root system, once established, Japanese knotweed is incredibly difficult to remove. Manually, populations can be managed through repeated cutting, though complete removal of rhizomes is extremely difficult and can sometimes lead to further spread of the knotweed. When it comes to cutting, the stems of the plant must be cut three separate times during the growing season in order for this to be an effective treatment. In terms of digging up the roots, this can be very labor intensive, and the process of digging Japanese knotweed can unintentionally cause the spread of rhizome fragments, which can result in even more Japanese knotweed on your hands!

Japanese knotweed’s spade-shaped leaf (Flocci Nivis via Wikimedia Commons)

Through dedicated work, such as that of my friend who spent three months eradicating Japanese knotweed on her farm, the populations and impacts of the plant, when invasive, can be mitigated. With a little time and effort, you can help control knotweed in your own backyard…and maybe even harvest some for dinner.

Helena is a student at Smith College pursuing psychology, education, and environmental studies. She is particularly interested in conversation psychology and the reciprocal relationship between people and nature. Helena is passionate about understanding how communities are impacted by climate change and what motivates people towards environmental action. In her free time, she loves to crochet, garden, drink tea, and tend to her houseplants.

Sources and Further Reading:

Featured Creature: Lavender

What’s usually purple, but sometimes pink,
and in the summer you might want it in a drink?

Lavender! (Lavandula)

(Image Credit: edededen via iNaturalist)

Already baking in the high desert heat, I rolled up a gravel driveway past yucca and prickly pear cacti to Mesa Verde Lavender, the farm in Mancos, Colorado, where I was to spend my summer living and working. I didn’t know much about the plant other than that it smelled good, tasted a little soapy, and that I was potentially allergic to it (luckily, I was wrong about this one).

Over the next three months, I would learn a lot about the lavender, how to plant it, care for it, and harvest it. On a lazy mid-June day, when the first buds of the flower had begun to blossom, the most mature field was full of flowers with tiny white buds springing from their stems. It was as if all of the color had been leached from their little buds. That is how I stumbled upon the existence of pink lavender, the Miss Katherine cultivar.

Miss Katherine in Colorado (Photo by Author)

Miss Katherine was the first variety to bloom on the farm, with a blooming period from early June to late August.

Lavender is a genus (Lavandula) of flowering plants known for its beauty and its fragrant oils. Lavender plants typically have long, slender stems with narrow leaves, and their flowers are generally in shades of purple, blue, or violet—though when I first laid eyes on them in Colorado, they were a dusty white. And while they certainly taste different, Lavender is in great aromatic company as part of the mint family (Lamiaceae), sharing several biological traits with its “fresh” relative like square stems and opposite leaves.

Originating in the Mediterranean, Lavender prefers hot sunshine and more alkaline, or basic, soils (less acidic clay soils with a higher pH), making them strong and hardy plants, perfect for the high altitude desert farm in Colorado where I worked with them.

(Image Credit: Nikolett Emmert via Pexels)

Bees?

Trendy chefs and mixologists aren’t the only ones working lavender into their meals. The plant’s flowers are rich in nectar and pollen, making them highly attractive to pollinators like bees and butterflies too. These pollinators are critical allies in the lavender’s reproductive process, transferring pollen between flowers to facilitate fertilization. Lavender flowers typically bloom during the summer, providing an important food source for pollinators and other feasting friends.

Now, lavender plants can self-pollinate. But they thrive with the help of birds, bees, the wind, and others to spread their pollen to other, genetically diverse, lavender. And although many insects interact with lavender, none do it quite like bees. Interestingly, not all bees contribute equally; some species engage in what is known as “nectar robbing,” or extracting nectar without transferring pollen. But not the bumblebee. These highly efficient pollinators use their long tongues to access nectar more effectively, enabling them to forage lavender three times faster than honeybees. That’s good news for the bee. And their fuzzy bodies collect and transfer pollen efficiently between flowers, promoting successful cross-pollination. That’s good news for the lavender.

There’s no denying it – lavender has a delicate aura about it. It’s decorative. It embellishes carefully plated meals. It’s a favorite of nearly every kind of scented product you can think of. But don’t let that image fool you. It’s one tough cookie, and this was something that really fascinated me when I dug into learning about the plant. I see it a little differently now. Lavender has evolved several adaptations that allow it to thrive in harsher environments. It is drought-resistant and capable of surviving in well-drained soils with low fertility. The plant’s deep, robust root system enables it to pull moisture from the soil, even in periods of low rainfall. It’s this ability to endure dry conditions that makes lavender well-suited for Mediterranean climates, where hot, dry summers are kind of the norm.

Essential Oils

During the Colorado harvest, my fingers grew stickier with each strike of the scythe against the plant’s stems. A delicious-smelling substance that oozing from within the lavender and onto my hands. This was the essential oil.

Essential oils are concentrated compounds extracted from plants, and they tend to capture each plant’s unique scent and natural chemical properties. They’re commercially valuable in numerous human applications, including aromatherapy, skincare, and medicinal and culinary uses.

Miss Katherine hanging to dry (photo by author)

Essential oil is present in all parts of the lavender plant, including the leaves, buds, and stems (hence my sticky hands).

The Miss Katherine lavender is the most commonly used lavender variety for essential oil production, due to its low camphor content. Camphor is a naturally occurring compound in essential oils with a bitter taste and strong smell—not something you’d want on your plant or in your candle. Other lavender varieties, such as Lavandula stoechas and Lavandula lanata, have higher camphor levels, making them better suited for natural bug repellents and other less cosmetic or edible applications.

Scientists still don’t fully understand the natural purpose of essential oils in plants. Some oils are thought to be byproducts of metabolic processes, while others could play a role in defense against disease and predators. Lavender plants are thought to be allelopathic—capable of releasing chemicals that inhibit the growth of surrounding plants. This can help lavender outcompete invasive species. But on the flip side, planting lavender in an environment where it doesn’t belong can lead to inhibition of native plants and, ultimately, a loss of biodiversity.

After the harvest, bundles of lavender are hung upside down to dry for a couple days, after which the buds are stripped from the stems, contained in jars, and sent out to market. At Mesa Verde Lavender, the farm delivered a mixture of Miss Katherine, Provance, and Royal Velvet to a local ice cream shop, where the lavender was whipped into delicious gourmet ice cream and served to the community of Durango, Colorado.

Helena Venzke-Kondo is a student at Smith College pursuing psychology, education, and environmental studies. She is particularly interested in conversation psychology and the reciprocal relationship between people and nature. Helena is passionate about understanding how communities are impacted by climate change and what motivates people towards environmental action. In her free time, she loves to crochet, garden, drink tea, and tend to her houseplants.

Sources and Further Reading:

Featured Creature: Cheatgrass

What plant plays an important role in the grasslands of its native hemisphere, but alters soil moisture and fire regimes when introduced in North America?

Cheatgrass (Bromus tectorum)!

A cheatgrass seed had needled its way into my skin again. I thought that I had freed myself of the cheatgrass when I came back east, to the land of ample water and broad leaves, and threw all of my camping gear into a dark corner of my bedroom. This was not so – it was hiding out in my sock drawer. When I pulled up my socks, I dragged the pointed tips of the cheatgrass seeds up my ankles, and I was once again somewhere out west, nursing the delicate white surface wounds that they left. I was, for the first time, not grateful for the tight warmth-trapping weave of my wool hiking socks – it is highly adept at locking the lance-like grass seed into a comfortable chamber from which it can prod at my ankles. The cheatgrass survived the washer and the dryer and my prying fingernails, survived my desperate attempts to wrench it out of my socks and into the campfire. Cheatgrass burns fantastically well– it’ll ignite from marshmallow-toasting-distance and beyond.

My cheatgrass came with me from Wyoming months ago. Out there, it rolled for miles across the sagebrush steppe, slowly but surely creeping into every space between every shrub. The site where I gathered the seeds into my socks smelled more of earth than sagebrush, which was unusual for the basins where I’d been working. My boss Rachel and I hopped down out of our work truck and took in our site: some sagebrush, sure, but only a few dashes of it scattered between rolling hills of crisp, flame-red cheatgrass. The site was nearly silent; I found myself missing the usual distant whirrr of farm machinery and the cacophonous cry of a startled sage grouse. We were instead accompanied by the whistling of wind and the knowledge that we would be blowing dust into our handkerchiefs for a few days.

The Sagebrush Steppe near Big Jacks Creek Wilderness, Idaho, has been almost entirely taken over by cheatgrass.

“Downy Brome”

Some call cheatgrass “downy brome”, which is a perfect term for it in the early spring when it hasn’t grown into its wretchedness. In early spring, when its long awns have not yet grown stiff and sharp, it is a soft and elegant plant. Its leaves fall in a gentle cascade from the long stem. The downy brome rolls over hillsides and whispers to its sisters in the breeze; as they dry in late summer, the wind knocks the heads of their seeds against one another, and they are scattered to the ground to start their cycle anew. When the cool season rains end and they’ve sucked up all the water they can from the parched earth, their chloroplasts finally falter, and the grass turns a faint purple-red from the awn-tip up. In spring, the dusty green tones of the sagebrush and the brightly-colored grass dapple the landscape. By summer, the sagebrush is nearly overtaken by an orange-brown, foreshadowing the fire which cheatgrass so often fuels. The grass sticks its seeds through your shoes and between your toes and into your socks and the hems of your pants. It doesn’t matter if you stop to pull them out– you will have just as many jabbing and nudging away at you after you walk another ten feet through their swaying abundance. It is useless to shake them out, too. You must pull them, piece by piece, out of your hair and your tent and your boots, and cast them to the ground. This is just what they wish for– you are seeding them for next year.

A rugged invader

Humans introduced cheatgrass to the Northeastern United States by accident sometime around 1860. You can find it in many places around New England, but in the presence of such an overwhelming amount of water, it often fails to compete with its fellow grasses and is relegated to cracks in sidewalks and highway islands full of compacted, inhospitable soil. Cheatgrass seems lost on this coast; few in the East know what it is or why it’s here. It is a plant surviving as plants do, regardless of the “invasive” status we’ve thrust upon it. In the West, however, its success is something wicked and wonderful.

Any water from the winter’s snowmelt or early spring rains gets sucked up by the eager roots of the cheatgrass, leaving little for the still-sprouting native grasses, forbes, and shrubs, even as their taproots probe deep into the earth. Ecologists curse the plant for its brutal efficiency in driving out those native to the arid steppe; birders lament the loss of woody habitat for their feathered favorites; ranchers sigh at the sight of yet another dry, nutritionally-deficient plant that even their toughest cow is loath to graze. And there is, of course, the fire. Cheatgrass dies and dries in the early summer, long before native grasses do, providing an early fuel source for the ever-lengthening fire season.

Cheatgrass seeds
Jose Hernandez, USDA (Public Domain via Wikicommons)

The seeds lie in wait in the earth, and in the spring, they unfurl their new leafy heads and emerge from between blackened sagebrush branches. In the grass’s native range in Europe and Southwestern Asia, the plant is no worse or better than any other; it just is. Moths and butterflies lay their eggs along its edges. Ungulates nibble it slowly as their eyes each search opposite directions for the next snack.

Nearly all of the existing research on the plant explores its role far from home, in the United States. It is grass, and it would be hard to imagine that here on the other side of the world, some field tech is cursing its very existence. You’d never know from looking at the cheatgrass that ranchers and federal scientists alike have spent years dousing their own lands in herbicides with the hope of its extirpation. We humans have of course played our role in keeping the cheatgrass strong even as we try to drive it out, since cheatgrass, like many invasives, is far better at taking over already-disturbed soils where the native plant communities and biological soil crusts have been weakened. As extreme wildfires, agricultural use, overgrazing, and the general ravages of climate change continue to impact larger and larger regions, so too does the invasive capacity of the cheatgrass.

I wore a different pair of socks hiking that day for fear of bringing more cheatgrass to Connecticut. It was silly, though; the cheatgrass already knows this land well.

Jasmine

Jasmine Gormley is an environmental scientist, writer, and advocate from New Hampshire. She holds a BS in Environmental Studies from Yale, where she conducted research in plant community ecology and land management. She aims to obtain a degree in environmental law. As a first-generation college student, she is passionate about equity in educational and environmental access, and believes that environmental justice and biodiversity conservation are often one and the same. In her spare time, you can find her rock climbing, foraging, and going for cold water swims.

Sources and Further Reading:

Featured Creature: Bamboo

Photo by kazuend on Unsplash

What organism can grow up to 35 inches in a day, conduct electricity, and survive an atomic bomb?

Bamboo!

With over 1,600 species of bamboo worldwide, this subfamily (Bambusidae) has a great deal of diversity, and well-earned acclaim. These plants are actually the largest grasses, or members of the family Poaceae.

This talented family boasts a remarkable diversity, with bamboo species native to every continent besides Antarctica and Europe. People and cultures across the world have come to prize bamboo for its amazing growth rates, its extraordinary flexibility and strength, and its ecological contributions to clean air, soil, and water. Whether as a symbol of luck and fortune, a provider of adaptable materials, or an ecosystem restoration MVP, bamboo reminds us of nature’s incredible ability to captivate and nurture.

The word “bamboo” is thought to originate in the Malay word “mambu.” During the late 16th century, the Dutch adopted the term and coined their own version, “bamboes,” which eventually became the “bamboo” we know and love today.

One great grower

Bamboo holds the crown for being the fastest-growing plant on Earth. Some species can achieve astonishing growth rates of up to 90 centimeters (35 inches) in just 24 hours. While giant sea kelp (actually an algae) can surpass bamboo’s growth rates in ideal conditions, the rapid growth of bamboo remains unparalleled among vegetation and land-based photosynthesizers.

Another of bamboo’s most notable qualities is its ability to be harvested without uprooting the plant. This feature allows for comparatively sustainable manufacturing processes, as bamboo regenerates quickly from its robust root system and does not require its rhizomes to be replanted.

A pretty prolific plant

Over centuries, people have found uses for bamboo in various industries, such as construction, furniture, textiles, and paper, and in the present day many are looking to bamboo for greener alternatives to traditional materials. You might see this trend taking off in the latest utensils, toothbrushes, or toilet papers hitting the market, but experiments using these plants are no new fad.

One of the most famous examples of bamboo taking a central stage in innovation came in 1880, when Thomas Edison used carbonized bamboo fiber to conduct electrical current through a lightbulb. After testing a wide variety of materials, he found the bamboo fiber to perform the best, lasting 1,200 hours as the conductor.

Bamboo harvested at Murshidabad, India (Photo by Biswarup Ganguly, CC by 3.0)

Bamboo is particularly renowned for its unique combination of flexibility and strength. This exceptional quality has made it a popular choice in construction. Notably, in Sichuan, China, a thousand-year-old bridge made of bamboo stands as a testament to the plant’s durability. The bridge is still in use today with ongoing maintenance, showcasing the long-lasting potential of bamboo.

People have naturally turned to bamboo for some of our most fundamental activities, like creating shelter, harvesting firewood, making clothing and home goods, and of course, eating. Bamboo shoots are featured in dishes across Asia, while its sap, seeds, leaves, and even the hollow stalks can be used in cooking or fermentation processes. Bamboo textiles offer durability, hypoallergenic properties, natural cooling, and moisture-wicking capabilities, making them ideal for bedding and clothing. Bamboo has also been used to create paper, writing implements, musical instruments, weapons, fishing and aquaculture equipment, baskets, firecrackers, medicine, and more. Truly, what can’t this plant do?

Bamboo trays used in mussel farming in Abucay, Bataan, Philippines
(Photo by Ramon F. Velasquez, CC by 3.0)

An asset to the ecosystem

While humans have found many ways to work with harvested bamboo, I think these amazing grasses are most impressive as living organisms in their environment. Bamboo plays a vital ecological role in its surroundings, working to regulate intact ecosystems and repair degraded ones.

Bamboo’s extensive root system helps control soil erosion, preventing the loss of vital topsoil and providing stability to sloped areas and river systems. Some bamboo species are able to stabilize and hold in place up to six cubic meters of soil with their long roots. Additionally, bamboo can be extremely effective at absorbing carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen into the atmosphere. In particular, “clumping” types of bamboo that grow thickly in dense clusters can filter air up to 30% more effectively than other plants.

Park signage in New Delhi featuring good filtering plants, including bamboo
(Photo by Maya Dutta)

Bamboo thrives in diverse environments, from tropical to high-altitude regions. It demonstrates exceptional resilience, withstanding extreme cold below -20°C (-4°F) in the Andes and Himalayas and heat up to 50°C (122°F). Notably, bamboo groves were the only plant life to survive the atomic bombings in Hiroshima, Japan, in 1945, and were among the first to resprout after the devastation.

Some species of bamboo are able to survive and thrive even in areas of high pollution, making them an extremely important ally in remediation efforts to remove heavy metals or other toxic substances from soil or wastewater. As a result of these advantages, many people have introduced bamboo species outside of their native areas. In doing so, it is essential to be aware of the potential for displacing vegetation important to local wildlife.

Some bamboo that clusters densely can easily crowd out competition, while other bamboo species can produce allelopathic compounds (natural herbicides) that prevent other plants from growing. In any interventions we make, especially for the good of our environments, a comprehensive systems approach is key. Understanding the elements of an ecosystem and the dynamics that make it function, as well as what outcomes you want to bring about, can help prevent single-minded solutions and unintended consequences that harm biodiversity and ecosystem function in the long run.

Bamboo under Spring Rain by Xia Chang (Image from Wikimedia Commons)

Strength in symbolism

Given its history of cultivation that dates back around 6000 years, it is unsurprising that Bamboo holds deep symbolic significance in cultures around the world. In China, it represents various values, including fairness, beauty, virtue, and strength. Its tall, upright growth is associated with integrity and the ability to adapt to challenging circumstances. In India, bamboo is considered a symbol of friendship and enlightenment, embodying qualities of unity and harmony.

One myth with several variants around Asia tells us that humanity emerged from a bamboo stem. If that is the case, then we are coming back to our roots. Let us embrace all this might mean for us — flexibility, fairness, adaptability, strength, and, of course, our interdependence with the biodiverse wonders of this world.

Rooted in admiration,

Maya

Maya Dutta is an environmental advocate and ecosystem restorer working to spread understanding on the key role of biodiversity in shaping the climate and the water, carbon, nutrient and energy cycles we rely on. She is passionate about climate change adaptation and mitigation and the ways that community-led ecosystem restoration can fight global climate change while improving the livelihood and equity of human communities. Having grown up in New York City and lived in cities all her life, Maya is interested in creating more natural infrastructure, biodiversity, and access to nature and ecological connection in urban areas.

Sources and Further Reading:
https://www.bamboodownunder.com.au/20-fun-facts-about-bamboo
https://thebamboopillow.co.uk/50-amazing-bamboo-facts/
https://extension.tennessee.edu/publications/documents/W220.pdf
https://www.ijsrp.org/research-paper-0213/ijsrp-p14122.pdf
https://medium.com/@zippyfacts/which-bridge-in-china-has-to-be-tuned-7976a631136a
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bamboo
https://earthbound.report/2019/08/28/using-bamboo-for-land-restoration/
https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/article/bamboo-mathematicians
https://www.dezeen.com/2021/08/04/impressive-bamboo-building-roundup/#

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