What Counts as Ecological Restoration?

Shortly before I left my previous employer, the Milwaukee County Parks Natural Areas Coordinator proposed to my supervisor that a narrow tract of woods known as Cambridge Woods be designated natural area. Cambridge Woods is a well-documented, degraded site that has been passed over for designation before. The thinking seemed to be that the County was doing work there, so those efforts should be rewarded with a special designation. The Natural Areas Coordinator didn’t bring this up with me, because he didn’t think I’d agree. DSCN1871What’s going on here? Is it ecological restoration? Is it work? Is the natural community actually being restored?

Natural areas are essentially those areas that white people haven’t managed to destroy or severely impair over the last 200 years. They tend to support a lot of species, including rare ones, but more importantly, natural areas consist of natural communities that retain the interconnectedness of their biotic and phsyical elements—not just some populations of nice things hanging on. …or they have recovered, and re-established that interconnectedness of biotic and physical elements.

Cambridge Woods runs along the east side of the Milwaukee River north of downtown Milwaukee. It’s been forested continuously since Europeans arrived, and there are some elements of biodiversity there that have become uncommon. There are trees, birds, and flowers. For those with an ecological education, however, it should become quickly apparent that Cambridge Woods has some big, gaping wounds. Let’s take quick a tour.DSCN1840Much of the woods has been destroyed by ad-hoc trails and mountain bikes. In large areas, most or all of the original topsoil is gone. Through the length of the woods, eroded trails run in parallel within yards of each other. This damage cannot be fixed in on the the timescale of a human lifetime (or several).  DSCN1835This area looks better. At least the soil is in place, and there are some nice, mature trees. …but all of those thin, woody stems are vigorous, invasive buckthorn re-sprouts. There is a thick invasive-dominated understory here smothering the native ground flora and the regenerative ability of the oaks, both of which are fundamental to this ecoystem’s food web. DSCN1836Where one buckthorn shoot was cut, two have replaced it. Treatment either did not occur, or it wasn’t efficatious. It was a lot of work cutting all this buckthorn. In my previous post about Franklin “Savanna,” we saw the exact same thing. What message does it send to volunteers and interns when they do hard work that leads to no benefit? Here a buckthorn thicket was transformed into…a slightly more dense buckthorn thicket. Billing such outcomes as restoration promotes ecological illiteracy.DSCN1872Where did all the cut buckthorn go? It was piled along the walls of this ravine. Maybe the misguided idea here was to slow erosion. Or maybe, if this was better-conceived, it was to shield some young, desireable trees from deer. Regardless, this ravine is the site of an occurrence of State-threatened forked aster. I wonder if it was surveyed before making these piles. The presence of forked aster here is no secret. A sign at the edge of the woods nearby advertises it.

Ecological restoration ain’t easy, so am I being to hard on Milwaukee County Parks? I don’t think so. The Natural Areas Coordinator claims to have restored thousands of acres. That’s at least an order of magnitude on the generous side.

All one has to do is walk several hundred yards south along the river to the Urban Ecology Center to see what ecological restoration really looks like. DSCN1881This is progress. Invasive species are gone. Human traffic is routed away from sensitive areas. Missing elements of biodiversity are being put back. People should applaud this work, and grantors and the general public alike should demand it.

It’s not enough just to cut invasive species and spray weeds. Ecological restoration isn’t the automatic reward for work done and money spent. It doesn’t settle for green. It requires an understanding not just of what species are present, but the structure and process of the ecosystem as a whole.

It’s true that Milwaukee County’s resources are limited, but it’s also true that Milwaukee County has access to Coastal funding sources not available to other counties. It’s also one thing to fall short, because resources are scarce. It’s another thing entirely to pretend that natural communities and ecosystems are healthy or “restored” when they are not, and take advantage of ecological illiteracy to greenwash everything with public relations.

None of this means that these extremely degraded open spaces aren’t important. They are the last remaining refuges for many species. Migrating birds are desperate for respite as they come through the urbanized corridor from Chicago to Milwaukee, so are monarchs. People need places to get out and stretch their legs and connect to nature. These are parks, greenways, and other open spaces…but they aren’t natural areas, and we don’t need to lower the bar just so the egos in conservation have something to brag about.

Posted in biodiversity, Conservation, Conservation own-goals, Forests, invasive species, native plants, restoration, Stewardship | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Franklin Savanna, Another Case Study in Ecosystem Collapse

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The collapse of a bur oak at Franklin Savanna being replaced by an encroaching buckthorn thicket and the shade of elms, Hill’s oaks, and black cherry

It was an old oak pasture that taught me about the great abundance of nature. We climbed those trees, or rather, when we crawled under the fence into Mr. Erickson’s pasture, walked right up onto their great, open-grown limbs. My first loves in nature—snakes, frogs, toads, and butterflies—lived among those oaks. Red-headed woodpeckers were our common woodpeckers. The smooth, cool feel of smooth green snakes is a cherished memory. Tiger salamanders greated us on damp April mornings. Blanchard’s cricket frogs crowded the muddy banks of the “crick.” We watched bats on warm summer evenings.

That was just a pasture in rural Iowa in the 1980s. A place that could have been or could be a savanna again, but also a place exploited for more than 100 years. Savannas, real savannas intact in their biota and core processes are something vanishingly rare.

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An area of true bur oak savanna at Kettle Moraine Oak Opening State Natural Area. Over the last decade or two, this site has been burned more years than not. This portion of the natural area is rare, in that encroaching woody vegetation was never so severe as to shade out and kill the lower limbs of the oaks or dramatically reduce the diversity or strutural integrity of the herbaceous vegetation (side note–herbaceous plants are no less important than oaks in savannas). Rare plants are here. Eastern hognose snakes are here; I know, because I accidentally stepped on one (I still feel really, really bad about that).

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This portion of Kettle Moraine Oak Opening State Natural Area experienced prior canopy closure and was once choked with invasive shrubs. After years of dedicated stewardship, this area is improving.

 

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Another true oak savanna, this one of mostly white oak, but also with some large northern red oaks and bur oaks, on private property on Lake Beulah. This site may have never been grazed, which is almost unheard of in this area and could explain why a few portions of it persisted in this condition without management. Elsewhere, maple, ironwood, ash, and bush honeysuckle did invade, but efforts are underway to to open the site up and promote the type of community seen here.

I walked Franklin Savanna State Natural Area in far southwestern Milwaukee County for the first time recently. I knew going in that it was going to be rough. Joshua Mayer on his State Natural Areas of Wisconsin blog said the following of the site:

“The great bur oaks bely the open environment that used to dominate this area, but there is virtually no evidence of a present-day savanna.  The natural area as presently constituted is basically a southern mesic forest with a creek and a few scattered opening filled with grasses.  There is no information found on Milwaukee County Park’s website, though they have a Natural Areas program.  A brief description can be found on the website of the Milwaukee Area Land Conservancy, but everything I have found suggests that this is a site that can be restored if funding is attained.  I have read that efforts are underway to restore the site, but as of fall 2016, I saw little evidence to that effect.  In the meantime, enjoy a stroll in a dense forest, but bring the bug spray!”

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This is one of those oaks. It’s lower limbs reached down to the ground before they died years ago.

It was obvious from a review of aerial photography going back to 1937 that Franklin Savanna had once been something much different, a fairly large tract of pastured and degraded prairie-savanna matrix studded with very large, open-grown oaks. At that time much of the uncultivated uplands in the southeastern Wisconsin landscape south of the vegetative tension zone were quite similar to this, generally mosaics of prairie, savanna, and oak woodland. Like much of the rest of that landscape, change since the middle of the last century has been dramatic, and the response has been tragically flat-footed.

As grazing ceased, suppressed woody vegetation was released in an environment where the integrity of the plant community and soil structure were likely impaired by years of high stocking rates. In southeastern Wisconsin, this generally occurred between 1960 and 1980, and coincided with a brief period of oak recruitment dominated by red oaks, particularly Hill’s oak. However, the real winners were shrubs, both native and exotic. The resulting canopy closure extirpated much of the native herbaceous vegation still present and closed the door on significant future oak regeneration. Relatively open sites were often invaded by bush honeysuckle early on, but most sites have subsequently been invaded by common buckthorn. Today, these sites typically consist of a declining overstory of mostly bur and/or white oaks, lower limbs long shaded and killed; a younger overstory of younger red oaks (Hill’s, northern red, and black), American elm, and black cherry; a shrub layer dominated by common buckthorn, or perhaps prickly ash under lucky circumstances; and a sparse herbaceous layer with an over-representaltion of species with easily-dispersed, stick-tight seeds like white avens, common agrimony, and stickseed. With this transition, the open landscape vanished, deer ticks became locally abundant, biting flies and mosquitos found new cover, and the whip-poor-will and the red-headed woodpecker lifted themselves by the seats of their pants and flew away, ceding their territory to the birds of closed forests.

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One of many remaining ancient, open grown bur oaks stands among dense buckhorn at Franklin Savanna. The number and presence of these trees can only be appreciated in winter after the leaves have fallen from the dense thicket. The lower limbs are lost, but this tree could probably be saved for decades to come.

Is Franklin Savanna a savanna?

Most of the open-grown trees are there in various states of decline, which could play out over a few years, decades, or more than a century. A few have already collapsed. Hill’s oaks stand shoulder to shoulder in places, still supporting native insects and the forest birds that forage on them, while at the same time hastening the decline of giant bur and white oaks and making future outbreaks of oak wilt extremely likely. There were once smooth green snakes here. Will I see them again? Tiger salamanders remain. They inhabit open prairies, savannas, and forests, so their persistence is not surprising, though toxic buckthorn leaf litter is a threat.

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A young bur oak, which likely got its start after grazing ceased in the middle 1900s (a light-starved bur oak tree this diameter on our property was 50 years old). It could not keep up with the buckthorn, black cherry, elm, and Hill’s oak.

Is it an oak woodland, something perhaps as rare or rarer than oak savanna?

Oak woodlands were diverse and likely stable over centuries, with open understories shaped by frequent, low-intensity fires. The understory of Franklin Savanna is mostly buckthorn. Fire is gone. A diverse, intact herbaceous layer and everything it might support are absent.

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This is an oak woodland. Diversity is high. Trees are healthy. Oak regeneration can occur and is occuring. Of course, a big bite was taken out of this one to put in a boat launch.

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Here, another ancient bur oak is overtopped by a young forest of Hill’s oak. For now, the Hill’s oak produce acorns and support insects for abundant wildlife, but this is not a stable system. It’s one wind storm away from being opened up to the possibility of devastation by oak wilt. There is a dense buckthorn understory. The herbaceous layer is largely absent.

If we had a name for the oak savanna that has undergone ecological collapse in a fragmented landscape under immense pressure from numerous invasive species with inadequate human intervention, that’s what we should call this. #@$%-thicket, is one name in use among some people in my field,prompted by the blood, sweat, stick-tights, and bites that often come with moving through such a place. That’s not how I think of places like this. I feel guilt, and there is much to see that makes me dream of better.

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In a true, healthy savanna, this wouldn’t be ugly. Trees die, and in their death provides critical wildlife habitat. Here it is different. These trees are dying and are being replaced by the homogenous landscape of neglect.

What could Franklin savanna be? What should it be? What trajectory might it take to realize its potential to support the most biodiversity in the most need of conservation. How can we make this a place that compels visitors to love the land?

Ancient bur oaks are still there, shedding their masts of acorns onto the dead ground. We can look to other sites that have embarked on similar trajectories towards ecological collapse. A precious few of these have been spared by the simultaneously heavy and delicate hands of visionary people that were able to look at the land and not see just what was lost, but also what could be. These people have executed plans that have yielded spectacular results in a decade or two. These sites, once savannas, are savannas today…probably a little different, but savannas. They are breazy, living, savannas.

Franklin Savanna is now a woods in transition, consisisting largely of legacy oaks and the birds they support, with no regenerative capacity, no structural integrity, and doomed ultimately to become another turn of the wratchet towards a homogeneous, perpetually degraded, forbidding landscape of largely Eurasian plants that capture the energy of the sun, but fail to transmit it through a vital and complex foodweb of native consumers, and instead shed it to decay as litter, some of which even poisons plants and animals alike. Maybe periodic efforts will be made to control invasive species. It’s happened in the past. These efforts are wasted, if the cause of the problem, the complete collapse of community integrity and processes, is not addressed.

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In a few areas, past brush / buckthorn cutting was evident, but many, if not all, went untreated. These areas now have as much buckthorn cover as they’ve ever had, and the work was wasted. Here, one stem (resting at the top of the photo) was cut and replaced by four.

In any case, this place will still be home to plants and animals, some refugees from destruction of closed forests elsewhere. This is a better outcome than an industrial park or a manicured subdivision. Most people, not knowing what was here and having been denied the chance to experience a savanna will see green, and assume all is well. This would be a low bar in the conservation, but it could be greenwashed into a success.

Or we could have a Franklin savanna–the one last large savanna in Milwaukee County. The prescription is clear, though not easy. Franklin savanna, in particular, is the last best opportunity to restore mesic oak savanna in southeastern Wisconsin, and it’s on the right side of the Great Lakes watershed boundary, a magic line that separates abundant from scarce funding opportunities. A steward, volunteer or otherwise and local people that care have a vision and create a plan. Then, they have to cut and treat brush, dramatically thin Hill’s oak, black cherry, and other trees that are common far and wide over the rest of the degraded landscape, seed with as much of the native diversity that can be gathered from the southeastern Wisconsin landscape as possible, develop the capacity to burn frequently, and monitor for and treat new invasive species problems into the future (this will be less an acute problem over time, given the above). If that happened, we might keep our ancient oaks, entice the whip-poor-will and red-headed woodpecker home, and create a refuge of great beauty for ourselves. Others have done it. See the Pleasant Valley Conservancy and the Somme Preserves (with associated blogs). The restoration of the spring flora at the latter, which is crucial for many insects including the now endangered rusty patch bumblebee, is inspiring.

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Over the holidays (Festivus, actually) I visited this savanna in Story County, Iowa, one that was full of Amur honeysuckle in the late 1990s, but which has seen steady and slow improvement over twenty years. It’s a joy when I can take my children to a place that’s healthier than it was when I was young.

It appears this was the expectation when natural area was dedicated. The Wisconsin DNR’s site description says the following:

“Franklin Savanna is an outstanding example of the oak savanna community that once covered most of southern Wisconsin, including portions of western Milwaukee County, previous to European settlement in the 1800’s. Large open grown bur, white, and black oak dominate the site and exhibit the spreading branching pattern indicative of the site’s former open condition. Although the site suffers from woody species invasion due to past fire suppression and grazing impacts, the structural integrity of the savanna is intact and is among the best in the region. Savanna understory remnants are still present in some places and include such characteristic species as big bluestem, little bluestem, shooting-star, May-apple, and yellow star grass. Other species include whorled milkweed, New England aster, hoary frostweed, stiff goldenrod, wood anemone, Pennsylvania sedge, and starry false Solomon’s-seal. The uncommon autumn coralroot orchid also grows here. The southern portion of the savanna is essentially closed canopy due to fire suppression and the subsequent in filling of fire-intolerant species such as big-tooth aspen, basswood, red elm, American elm, and viburnum. With restoration management such as woody species removal, prescribed burning, and interseeding with native understory species, this site may eventually support a broad continuum of savanna plant species and may also be large enough to support avifauna such as red-headed woodpecker, eastern bluebird, and orchard oriole. Franklin Savanna is owned by Milwaukee County and was designated a State Natural Area in 2004.”

The situation today is much more dire than this description.

Maybe we shouldn’t invest the effort, if that effort comes at the cost of something else we assign higher priority. But let’s be honest, we know how to save places like this, but too often we resort to passive neglect, because sites like this cost money and take dedicated, prolonged effort for any effort to be worthwhile. It’s a choice that our children won’t have the freedom to make.

Some addendums based on thoughts from correspondance received in response to this post.

Addendum 1: When is a site like this too far gone? This one might be, or might not be; it depends what we are willing to invest for a positive outcome. There are objectively better opportunities for large savannas 20-40 miles to the west. This site stands for literally hundreds of others in SE Wisconsin, some under public ownership and others under private ownership, all of which are on the knife’s edge of being gone. This site, a State Natural Area where early intentions were for restoration, I think, is a good place to start a reality check. People are too often only given the good news. Perhaps I wonder about the original dedication as an SNA, since it seems to have been based on the hope that restoration work would occur vs. the site actually being even a remotely healthy savanna even then. What do you do fifteen years later when that restoration, a largely unfunded mandate, didn’t happen? Well, it is the only opportunity of this size on deep, fine textured soils in a Great Lakes coastal county, and it is within an important migratory bird stopover site identified in a planning document produced from coastal funding. It’s not as if Great Lakes restoration funding (and it’s a fat purse) couldn’t be delivered here.

Addendum 2: I can’t emphasize enough that these savanna restoration sites aren’t worth the effort, if we are not willing to deploy fire at least every two years. Otherwise, they are neverending money pits of shrub cutting and chemical treatment where volunteers, landowners, and stewards never really get the rewards they deserve. At three years without fire, new seedlings of unwanted woody plants aren’t killed, and over-abundant clonal natives like gray dogwood and sumac actually expand more quickly than they would without fire. Maintenance burning is a cost, not an insurmountable one, especially when organizations pool capacity. It costs far less, for example, to manage prairie (savannas maintenance needs are similar) with fire and monitoring for problems than it does to care for an equivalent area of turf.  What of rare insects? Well, specialists are doomed, if their habitat is lost. Fire is a risk, but it’s possible to burn often enough and lessen those risks by installing protected refugia, dividing a site into 2 or 3 burn units and leaving half or a third of the site unburned each year, and burning different units in different seasons (summer fire may be a key to oak recruitment–MUST READ). When fire is frequent, fuel loads are low, and many sites will have patches that go unburned. Lastly, a large, healthy savanna should probably have some thickets of native shrubs/small trees like hazelnut, wild plum, prairie crabapple, nannyberry, juneberry etc. These thickets don’t burn, at least not during prescribed burns conducted under the less volatile conditions covered by local permits. These are also refugia for some insects and other wildlife. These thickets, however, are an element of the savanna that will always require continual buckthorn removal (gardening) in today’s world…or at least for now, because that is such a specific element that only a few people are thinking about in the context of savanna restoration.

Addendum 3: What should Milwaukee County do? I don’t know, and it isn’t for me to say. My reaction to the reality on the ground is visceral, but it’s not because of bad people. To restore this site would require a different model of conservation. It would take volunteer steward that is very involved, knowledgeable about savannas, that collaborates extensively with those involved in savanna and prairie restoration, and that can leverage community support (a corps of volunteers, support for burning, etc.). Does anyone like this live nearby enough to have the necessary presence? Maybe. Maybe not. It’s also true that the County has a lot more closed mesic and dry-mesic forest in its portfolio, which have fewer needs. It’s not unreasonable to focus on those forests, which also see more vistiors (e.g. Falk Park). …but where does this leave this site?

Addendum 4: I used to wish I could have seen the landscape in 1800. Now I’d settle for 1960. I wonder if either children of mine will feel the same way about 2000. At this point, it’s not what we’ve inherited, but what we’re carrying forward for those who will replace us.

 

Posted in biodiversity, Conservation, Forests, invasive species, native plants, Oak opening, oaks, Prairie, restoration, Savanna, Stewardship | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Day some Acres of Good Prairie were Saved.

Or, more accurately, the process of saving began.

In a distant room, around old lab table, people came together with a common purpose, which was to save Benedict Prairie from fading from existence. Most had never heard of it before a couple of months ago, though several lived nearby. Benedict has been saved more than once. You can read about early work done by the UW-Milwaukee Field Station in this account Phillip Whitford published in 1968. Thirty years ago, when Jim Reinartz of the UW-Milwaukee field station cleared the brush and started burning again. More recently, stewardship waned due to limited resources and reduced capacity. Still, The Field Station knows the prairie’s value, even if it’s too distant to hold closely, so a recent candid assessment of Benedict’s health has shaken things loose. The Field Station, contacted The Praire Enthusiasts, which was the best thing that could be done in the interest of the prairie and the public. Within days, several people had visited the site and started discussing next steps. An email thread grew and grew. A meeting was set.

I’ve never seen anything like this happen. The prairie fire alarm was pulled, and all of the right people came out woodwork almost instantly and effortlessly. The meeting wasn’t just a discussion of what the prairie needs; it was about concrete steps to be taken immediately and continuing into the future to make Benedict health again. It was also a discussion about how to make this sustainable.

Other prairies like this have been saved and returned to good health. It just hasn’t been done most places or very often. Where there was nothing a couple of months ago, there is now a local community of volunteer stewards that can bring everything needed–connection to the local community, brush work, herbicides, fire, fire, fire, and more fire (and with insurance). This will work; it works when there is candor and ego is surprassed by the task at hand. There will be costs, but much of it will simply be what people are willing to do above and beyond the demands of their daily lives, because they care a whole awful lot.

Really how valuable is a six-acre mesic that has really become a three-acre mesic, black soil prairie? Well, it’s likely that those three acres, among the plants, invertebrates, and other soil biota, hold more total native biodiversity than most tracts of open space an order of magitude or two greater in size, and most of the things there now can be found nowhere else on the local landscape. Here, we can save all of that, by saving a few or several acres. One other similar site is protected in southeastern wisconsin. It’s the Luther Parker Cememetary in Muskego, which just recently survived a lawsuit that would have forced the City to start mowing it; it’s stewarded. Another is privately owned and well-managed in Somers. Another is privately owned and not managed at all just east of Burlington. Another just west of the Root River in Franklin is owned by Milwaukee County, but isn’t burned. These are all that are left of the unbroken sod, species, and genes upon which the rich, sweet soil prairies were built. These are all that are left from which we can restore some of what was lost. This reason alone underscores our obligation to the preservation and restoration of these prairies in the present…but to lose them is to deny others the same rich human experience that we’ve been priveleged to. 

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Owens prairie is an isolated mesic prairie surrounded on all sides by corn. The first time I saw it, it was mostly brome, and there wasn’t a lot blooming. Six years later and with a lot of burning, it thrived. “Tallgrass” is sometimes a misnomer. This prairie, for example, has very little big bluestem or indiangrass; it’s mostly forbs (wildflowers). Others have more sedges than grasses or are dominated by relatively short grasses like prairie dropseed or little bluestem.

The greatest threat to prairies was once the plow, because over millenia prairies slowly developed some of the best soil for farming in the world. Perhaps, in a way, it’s still the threat. It’s why we have so little to begin with. It’s why so few people even know prairie, or demand it.

Today we are losing what few prairies remain, their beauty, and the thousands of species that comprise them, because they are forgotten, neglected, or misunderstood by the public and land managers alike. We are losing them quickly, and this is often the case even for prairies held in the public trust. Find a prairie near you. Help save it.

Disclaimer: These are my words, not those of my employer. These are issues of public concern raised on personal time. They are legally protected.

 

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