Hunter-Gatherers and Our Gossip

By Emma Leavens

We work, and we interact. As we harvest rare seeds for restoration, there is often a casual exchange of stories about plants, that is also part of our restoration work. 

There are descriptive stories about peculiar pollination, the why and how of seed structures, and what those seeds require in order to start new life. There’s no shortage of fascinating backstories, evolutionarily speaking. Some of my favorite stories, though, are the ones that make characters of the plants. They help me get to know how species behave as members of a community.

 

Their "parachutes" loft these savanna blazing star (Threatened species) seeds far and wide.
But will they land on top of a building or in a parking lot?
We toss some of them in good habitats on days of light wind. It seems to help. 

Around Somme, in the short time I have been helping collect and disperse seed, I have already heard a good deal:

·      This stubborn species showed up in several places this year! 

·      How did this one get over here? 

·      Look at what established itself there, of all places! What is it telling us that we don’t yet know how to listen to? 

·      Oh, and this plant produces a ton of seeds but just try to find them!

·      This species seems to only reproduce under particular conditions. 

·      We have no idea how this plant got here - we’re just glad it sticks around. 

·      I’ve noticed this other species seems to prefer this micro-habitat over that one. Have you noticed that too?

If you have some practice with science, you might recognize these little stories as anecdotal evidence. If you’ve spent time among friends, you’ll likely recognize that this is also a type of gossip. Ecology gossip. Plant gossip. The very best kind. And like lesser gossip, you may get a slightly different sense of things depending where you go and who you ask. You get hints at what is going on that you won’t find in ecology textbooks. 

Seeds and seed-gatherers come in great variety.

Accomplishments, surprises, and satisfaction - as we recover the sources of our roots.

Hopefully, in time, these happenings will be researched with rigor. The anecdotes will get confirmed or clarified, and added to the books. In the meantime, they are still valuable for the emerging practice of ecological restoration. They give clues as to how we can support those species, what factors we maybe overlooked or got right when we distributed seeds in previous years, and what we might do next to help those species recover healthy populations in their communities.

A sign of the times: hunter-gatherers with Covid masks.
Will we decide at some point that in the open air, this far apart, we don't need them? 

Last year, the Somme crew collected seeds of more than 300 species of plants. Then we redistributed them in our prairies, savannas, woodlands, and wetlands. Each of those species has some fascinating behavior worth talking about plus plenty to tell us about the community. The more people who help to observe, collect, and repeat, the more stories we get to learn and share in order to ensure that those species endure. 

If you’re interested in helping out, please email us at sommepreserve@gmail.com or sign up at sommepreserve.org. We currently have opportunities to collect seed and share stories at least twice a week. 

Photos by Lisa Musgrave

Learning nature by its seeds

by Christos Economou

There's a scene in Akira Kurosawa's masterpiece Seven Samurai that has captivated me for years.    As a bit of background for those that haven't seen it (it's a great movie, watch it!), the story is about a group of downtrodden farmers hiring samurai to defend their village from grain-stealing bandits.  But they don't know what they're in for, and a lot of time passes with no success.  We finally see a farmer in the scene I'm thinking of worriedly rush to a patch of grass growing in the foreground.  "It has ripened!" he exclaims, to which one of his companions responds, "Well, it's been ten days already!" and another asserts dismissively: "This is an early kind, not like ours!"                

Botanizing in Tokugawa Japan…

There's a lot to unpack from these 30 seconds.  But what strikes me is the way in which these farmers experience the world.  Their rhythms are cyclical, human.  No clocks or calendars; these destitute, illiterate peasants know the time of year by when the barley is ripe.  Their knowledge of plants is so deep that they discern (or at least can pretend to discern) varieties that ripen within weeks of each other. 

Even at risk of romanticizing a bit, I contrast this with my own experience.  Many years of schooling have left me ill-informed about when corn is ready for harvest, or when the rough blazing star is about to bloom.  Slight differences in morphology confuse me when trying to identify the few plants I've learned.  All of which distresses me, because I've always felt there was something eminently worthwhile in that sort of deep familiarity with the processes of the natural world. 

Recently, on a beautiful, sunny, warbler-filled morning at Harms Woods, I saw with hope that this familiarity is very much alive today, and that there are people happy to teach it to anyone willing to learn.  Hunting garlic mustard there with some of the North Branch's bipedal treasures, Jane and John Balaban and Eriko Kojima, I saw something that took me back to that scene with Kurosawa's farmers.  And there where yours truly was placidly enjoying the sunlight filtering through the leaves above, the rest of the party was focused on what was underfoot.  Suddenly, they stopped.  Eriko knelt, and gingerly rolled the inconspicuous seed-head of a miniscule plant between her fingertips.  "Hepatica's not quite ready yet," she informed us coolly.

Hepatica acutiloba in flower.  Photo credit to Eriko.  Unlikely I could catch something so small…

"The what?  How did you see that!?  How do you know?"  I thought to myself.  And then: "How long until I'm able to tell when the hepatica is ready?"

I just can't wait until I am.  The joy of seeds, and all that those little specks of life signify for the future, is simply thrilling.  But beyond that, the degree of care – I hope she wouldn't mind me calling it love – for living things that I saw Eriko embody in that moment cut deep.  She's put her all into understanding and cultivating the wondrous nature that was here long before we were, and that, through her and all the North Branchers' efforts, will be here long after we are gone. 

 

The rare golden sedge (Carex aurea) and blue-eyed grass (Sisyrinchium albidum), encountered recently at Watersmeet Preserve.  "Not quite ready yet," as Eriko might say.

We need this nature, both in practical ways that we are only just beginning to comprehend, and for more important, if less tangible reasons.  But if nature is to thrive into the future, it needs our help just as we need it.  One imagines the farmers feel this reciprocity, even if only in a shallow, transactional way.  Eriko most certainly does, in a broader and more inspiring way.  I want to be like her.

She later told me, "Just cutting the bad stuff down doesn’t heal the ecosystem.  It's a part.  But monitoring, collecting, spreading seeds, that's when restoration starts.  That's what got me in deep, hooked."  Yes. If we are to uphold our side of the bargain with nature, we need to be intimately with it.  Learning where the plants are, what they do, what they look like, and when their seeds are ready to pick are all part of the process.  To grow with nature, we need to get out and collect seeds as often as we can.

From a recent, COVID-conscious seed collection workday at Watersmeet.

We humans may be at a weird point in our history, but nature is still plodding along its familiar course.  Summer is here, and with it the first fruits of spring.  All along the North Branch, there are ripening seeds waiting to start life somewhere new, and calling out to us to help them achieve it.  Many of us are learning how to help them do it.  I hope you will too.

Many thanks to Eriko and Stephen for their editing, the Balabans for their generosity with time, and all the other teachers on the North Branch.

Small, Dull, Roundish Things? (nothing could be farther from the truth!)

What I think is cool about seeds is the unbelievable diversity. Many people think of seeds as small, dull, roundish things. Nothing could be farther from the truth! 

Looking at them close up reveals how much they differ in size, texture, color ... and the strategies they have for spreading themselves around ... and suggests mysteries.

Eared False Foxglove (Tomanthera auriculata) - Endangered

Shooting Star (Dodecatheon meadia)

Cream gentian (Gentiana flavida)

Hoary Puccoon (Lithospermum canescens)

Eileen Sutter, a leader of the Wednesday Seeds Team of the North Branch Restoration Project, wrote: 

"Every year I get excited about once again growing my seed collecting eyes. I love seeds!"

Photos by Lisa Musgrave

To volunteer to help with seeds, contact:

https://sommepreserve.org

or

https://northbranchrestoration.org

A Personal Relationship With Wild and Wooly Seeds

by Eriko Kojima

This is a good time for us to reflect on seeds. Every year we have a record harvest. How? Not a mystery. We focus on it – with strong will and intention.

More and more people are becoming seed-harvest leaders. We offer opportunities twice a week throughout the harvest season. Experienced leaders and new volunteers go together into the woods and prairies. We pick a lot of seed - passionately - so many kinds of beautiful seed. Week by week, the need and importance of this work become clear. After a while we learn the sorts of places where we can find seeds of all kinds. We scout for good locations and make sure that everyone's time is used effectively. We are all instruments of this work. 

 

As bloodroot pods fill out, a clock is ticking. 

In recent years, we have especially been trying to get as much prairie seed as possible, given the huge needs at Somme Prairie Nature Preserve. I remember a student from Whitney Young, who came with his father, and they both came to love the prairie through its seeds. It’s important to us, as it is to them, that the volunteers be as effective and gain as big a sense of accomplishment as possible. 

 

People fall in love with seeds. Why not? They're the future - and magic.
Above: fringed gentian capsules and seeds.

Joe Walsh brings students from Northwestern … in so many cases first-time seed gatherers. And they work so hard – picking huge amounts of seed – much more in many cases than even experienced seed pickers – because this was newly inspiring to them. The students often walked long distances across the prairie, tirelessly, a lot farther than most of the older people would walk. They’d harvest the bounty of the far reaches.

I remember when site steward Laurel Ross would take charge of the brush cutters and ask me, “Would you lead a seed team?” I would accept with humility and determination. I try to inspire hearts as well as I can, so that the day's seed crew would be as motivated and productive as possible.

 

During the growing season, we tread lightly, but we have to gather early species as they ripen. 

Over the years many of us have come to be effective leaders of picking both woodland and prairie seed. We prospect, study where the seeds are – and which are ripening at what times. 

We dream that more and more people will grow in commitment and dedication, but we know that people are coming from so many different perspectives. All of us think differently, have different excitements and dedications and focuses. We offer people the training, in little and big things, and many people are increasingly teachers and learners. We grow as people, conservationists, leaders, and members of the community. That’s the way forward. 

A few more seed photos, in case they might tempt you to join in:

Doll's eyes. We want more! We get few - but more and more each year, as we restore.

There's a seed inside each wild plum. We eat the plums to get at them. Nice work if you can get it.

Bellwort seeds have "ant candy" attached, so the ants will drag them. But we can carry them farther.

By fall, we'll have massive amounts. We'll broadcast right away - and revel in their memories all winter.
Then as spring warms up, the next magic starts.