Brambles and Briars Are Back

Saturday--Jeff

I'm just back to the farm after half the summer and half the fall away working on a new book.  Once again I’ve depended upon good friends to tend to all the work that's needed to keep the woods and pond from being overrun by invasive species.

The culprits massed along the waters edge.

I love doing that sort of work, but this year that wasn't possible, so I once more asked a friend, a former New Jersey state forest fire fighter to help me out. To understand Bob, think Smokey the Bear, in physical vision as well as in dedication.  Nor does he wear much more than Smokey even in the harshest of winters. Perhaps because his last name is Wolff--for real!

Smokey prepared to do battle.

I’ve always known Bob to have a quick wit, but he's also a natural writer.  I just received this (unsolicited) report from him on what he’s been doing at the farm and it had me laughing out loud.

It also got me to thinking about how two others who've done work on my property also possess uncanny facility with the written word.  One, who's long mowed my fields in summer and plowed the driveway in winter, contributes to a national landscape magazine, and the other, who worked on restoring my barn, is a renaissance man possessing an uncanny grasp of local history.

The road less plowed.

The barn not fallen.

Perhaps it’s something in the water?  Maybe I should change the name of the place from “Tsoris Springs Christmas Tree Farm and Bagelry” to “Literary Springs?”

But for now I think I’ll just once again share Bob’s prose gem titled, “Brambles and Briars”…and in the process give you some idea of the sort of fun I’m missing out on in trekking along the writers’ trail. Here goes:

The enemy's armaments.

Hi from Northwest New Jersey.  Just wanted to let you know I started the eradication project on your farm.  You have a plethora of things with thorns growing there.

I am still licking my wounds after two days.  Not only is the autumn/Russian olive thorny—maybe you have both—but the multiflora, floribunda rose, and barberry are challenging too.

I got rained out today, but I worked Monday 10:30-18:30, eight hours, after riding my bike four miles to the farm after dropping off my car in town for repairs, and Tuesday I rode my bike three miles from home to town to pick up my car, worked 10:00-13:30, three and a half hours, and then picked up my son from school.  

The bow saw may not be effective for cutting larger dead wood, but for this project it is invaluable, so are the lopping shears.  My neighbor gave me a handsaw with large teeth that also works well.  The only expense so far has been for a disposable camera to document the project for your forester and the tax assessor.

Your forester is going to wonder where the 3-5' Norway spruces came from.  They were struggling to survive under all that brush.  Two large piles have accumulated in the field so far.

The good news is no problems so far with bears, bees or ticks, although I did lose my shoe down a groundhog hole on Monday.  

The only strange thing is now when I travel around town I see it...in the fields, on the edge of streams, everywhere...autumn olive.  It mocks me, growing faster than I can cut it, gobbling up more and more otherwise productive ground. Help me!   Bye for now.

I agree, “Bye for now.”

––Jeff

Jeff's Upcoming Events;

 

Friday, 17 November 2023 @ 11AM

 

ICELAND NOIR, Reykjavik

 

SUNSHINE NOIR panel @ Kjarval venue

with Philip Gwynne Jones, Lexie Elliott, and Jackie Collins

Pablo Escobar’s Hippos

Annamaria on Monday

 

Last month, MIchael brought up a topic that is tailor-made for the likes of me. It links the history of arguably the most successful criminal ever with South America and Africa. It sent me to research and find out more. So here is my expansion on his fascinating post about cocaine hippos.

 

The Bad Guy

 

Though Pablo Escobar only lived to the age of 44, through crime he became one of the richest men in the world.  Like many other college dropouts, he started small, in his case selling illegal cigarettes, stealing cars, and counterfeiting lottery tickets.  Before he was done, he had a worldwide distribution system for his monthly shipments of 70 to 80 tons of cocaine out of Colombia.  His exports went pretty much everywhere.  He also massacred rivals, police officers, judges, people who just happen to live nearby, and politicians. For a while he became a politician himself and ran for office as a member of the Chamber of Representatives.  When he was shot by the police in 1993, his net worth was estimated to be $30 billion. The equivalent today would be $64 billion.

 

In this blog, though, we are going to focus on one of his minor crimes, the one Michael brought up. Once Escobar was established on his 20 km² (7.7mi.²) estate in Colombia, he broke a law by importing around 200 animals from all over the world for his private zoo. Among them, were four hippopotamuses – one male and 3 females.  After his death, the other animals were distributed to zoos all over Colombia. Because moving even one hippo is a major endeavor, the big beasts were left in the river where they were. The killer left behind a time bomb.

 

 

Africans in South America

 

In their native Africa, the hippo population is controlled by their natural predators and the local climate. The predators of course keep the population down by eating some of them.  But also, because their habitat in Africa is subject to periodic drought, the fluctuating food supply limits their population growth.

Those hippos that Escobar had brought into the country have no such enemies.  And its rich food supply has lowered the age of reproduction, boosting their birthrate.  By 2007, there were 16.   In 2019, there were between 90 and 120.  Estimates are that within a decade they will have spread to an area of 13,500 km² (5200 mi.²)  Left to their own devices, they will be out of control in less than 20 years.

Because they have the potential to change the ecosystem, conservationists consider them an invasive as a species.  They threaten the manatee already in danger of extinction, as well as the local otters and turtles and the endangered fisheries of the River Magdalena. Because they eat on land and poop in the water, they increase aqueous nutrients that can cause toxic algae blooms and kill off aquatic fauna.

 

When an ecological invader is a plant, the solution is to weed it out.  Not so easy with a critter that can weigh up to five tons and be very aggressive.

A simple expedient to get rid of them would be hunting.  Only one has been shot so far.  His name was Pepe, a hippo who chased and badly injured a local farmer. The army went in with two German hunters, who killed him.  Photos of the event in the news elicited a huge outcry from animal rights groups within Colombia and around the world.  And a flood of objections from those involved in local Echo tourism, for whom the "cute" hippos were a draw.

A splinter group of conservations posited that the hippos should be allowed to multiply.  There had been huge herbivores in that area in the Pleistocene age. Since they believe in “rewilding,” they feel that the imported African species could contribute to an outcome they consider desirable.  Mainstream ecologists reject this idea.  Still, those in favor of clearing out the hippos have become the target of abuse and death threats.

With shooting now off the table, those trying to avoid catastrophe have been seeking ways to limit the fertility of the big beasts.  They tried surgery on one male, which involved capturing, anesthetizing, castrating, and then releasing a creature of about 6000 pounds. It worked, but it cost a little over $50,000. Certainly, that was not the answer.  These days, they are using chemical castration.  The hope is that this technique will limit the population and forestall the future disruptive effects of the invaders.

 

                               Annamaria with her favorite hippo in Rome

Brambles and Briars.

I’m off on book tour for Sons of Sparta. Just left Scottsdale, Arizona (where I had a terrific time doing a joint event with Tim Hallinan at the Poisoned Pen) for Houston, Texas and Murder by the Book. But this isn’t about either place. It’s about the farm I left behind in New Jersey. I’ve been away from it for six months, and though I’ve good friends looking after it, there’s a lot of work to be done to keep the woods and pond from being overrun by invasive species.

The culprits massed along the waters edge.

I love doing that sort of work, but this year my schedule made it impossible to do so in what is generally the best time, the Fall. So, I asked a friend, a former New Jersey state forest fire fighter to help me out. To understand Bob, think Smokey the Bear, in physical vision as well as in dedication.  Nor does he wear much more than Smokey even in the harshest of winters.

Smokey prepared to do battle.

I’ve always known Bob to have a quick wit, but not until this week did I realize what a natural writer he is.  I just received this (unsolicited) report from him on what he’s been doing at the farm and it had me laughing out loud.

It also got me to thinking about how two other friends who do work on my property also possess uncanny facility with the written word.  One, who mows my fields in summer and plows the driveway in winter, contributes to a national landscape magazine, and the other, currently working on restoring my barn, is a renaissance man possessing an uncanny grasp of local history.

The road less plowed.

The barn not fallen.

Perhaps it’s something in the water?  Maybe I should change the name of the place from “Tsoris Springs Christmas Tree Farm and Bagelry” to “Literary Springs?”

But for now I think I’ll just share Bob’s quick note to me he titled, “Brambles and Briars”…and in the process give you some idea of the sort of fun I’m missing out on to trod along the writers’ trail.  Here goes:

The enemy's armaments.

Hi from Northwest New Jersey.  Just wanted to let you know I started the eradication project on your farm.  You have a plethora of things with thorns growing there.

I am still licking my wounds after two days.  Not only is the autumn/Russian olive thorny—maybe you have both—but the multiflora, floribunda rose, and barberry are challenging too.

I got rained out today, but I worked Monday 10:30-18:30, eight hours, after riding my bike four miles to the farm after dropping off my car in town for repairs, and Tuesday I rode my bike three miles from home to town to pick up my car, worked 10:00-13:30, three and a half hours, and then picked up my son from school.  

The bow saw may not be effective for cutting larger dead wood, but for this project it is invaluable, so are the lopping shears.  My neighbor gave me a handsaw with large teeth that also works well.  The only expense so far has been for a disposable camera to document the project for your forester and the tax assessor.

Your forester is going to wonder where the 3-5' Norway spruces came from.  They were struggling to survive under all that brush.  Two large piles have accumulated in the field so far.

The good news is no problems so far with bears, bees or ticks, although I did lose my shoe down a groundhog hole on Monday.  

The only strange thing is now when I travel around town I see it...in the fields, on the edge of streams, everywhere...autumn olive.  It mocks me, growing faster than I can cut it, gobbling up more and more otherwise productive ground. Help me!   Bye for now.

I agree, “Bye for now.”

Jeff—Saturday