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Saturday, August 18, 2012

It's here to stay

Nineteen years ago today, our family occupied this site. I'm not absolutely certain what "ownership" means; my own tribe has behaved badly, in my own opinion, and I can only plead that that was before my time. And so here we are. I can quibble that our whole species is invasive on this continent, for what that's worth. I do know we Bears gave up what was, to us, a lot of money for fifteen years in order to be able to say the place is "ours," and I know that we have to give a certain sum to the local jurisdiction -- something called a "county" -- every year, or we could be put off the place.

One of the things that was here before we got here -- was here nineteen years ago, all along the southern stretch of the seasonal creek running diagonally through the place -- among many other invasive, non-native species -- is knotweed. Our county purely hates knotweed, perhaps mostly because it can't really be kept in check and so can ruin a landscape planner's day. It seeds readily into the water and sprouts somewhere downstream; perhaps that's how it got to this spot. Once established, it spreads underground, storing food in enormous rhizomes that will resprout if the foliage is cut down. It will resprout through a brick floor with ease, by the way.

We're told the county can tell us to get rid of it -- well and good; shall we dig it up? We're in our sixties. Pigs will eat it and no doubt upend the roots, too, but they are problematical along the creek bank. Shall we spray it with herbicides? We're organic. The county can choose to declare eminent domain and spray it and bill us, I suppose. But in our two decades here we've yet to hear from them. For entirely unrelated reasons we actually kind of appreciate that.

It's, so far as we know, here to stay. How do we make a good neighbor of it? It's said, in young-shoots form, to be edible. In China and Japan there are those who are well versed in foraging for it and preparing it for dinner. All I can say to that really, is that some folks seem to me not very choosy.

Sheep and goats eat it. Seen 'em do it, right here. That's a plus. Hens, I'm told. No way our birds are gonna keep up with it, though they may nibble from time to time.

Well, the stuff is tall -- eight to ten feet. it's flimsy, but not too bad, at least for the first year. Bean poles?

So mushy when green, you can manage it with a bread knife.

Yes, some of the bigger stems do in fact make acceptable non-weight-bearing  polewood. They are bendy but if tied in bundles they will straighten over the winter. The stripped leaves can be composted. The trick with this is get it done before the flowering bits go to seed.

We were nervous about the stems possibly sprouting
for the first few years and so installed the
beanpoles upside down. Apparently not necessary.
 There are lots of stems too small or bent or bashed to take part in the beanpole project. What to do with these?
Snip off each stick at the desired length by measuring against the container.
Quite by accident, we found that "sticks" cut from knotweed and dried a deep brown or red make good fire starter or kindling. Not so well as cardboard with cedar, but not bad, though with their bamboo-like structure they sure pop a lot.
About half the winter's supply. Green sticks will turn brown before then.


So every year before the flowering stage we slash the entire patch down, thus saving folks downstream some trouble, and dry it and process it into three piles: beanpoles, kindling and compost. Sometimes the dried leaves and bits are thrown over the southeast "hillside pasture" and mowed. Sometimes they are run through a shredder and spread on the gardens.

It's nice when everybody -- and every thing -- pitches in.

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