By Benjamin Alva Polley EBS COLUMNIST
Oh, to be spotted knapweed.
I don’t know about you, but I am in awe of invasive spotted knapweed.
I wish you were more ubiquitous than you already are. I love how competitive you are and how you send your toxic herbicide into the soil, poisoning other native and non-native plants by monopolizing the soil near your giant taproot. How amazing that each plant has millions of tiny seeds to help you germinate and colonize the world, one plant at a time. You now reside in almost every state in the Lower 48, except Georgia, Oklahoma and Texas, but look out, here you come. Your tiny seeds latch onto vehicles, bikes, boats and planes, clothes, shoelaces, pets, livestock, bird feathers and wildlife fur; secretly slip into hay bales, seeds, or feed; drift down rivers and ride the wind. Oh, how magnificent! This vigorous plant has many ways to propagate and conquer the world.
The plant first migrated to the shores of North America in the late 1800s, hitchhiking as a contaminant in alfalfa seed. Whether by choice or not—as the brilliant author Michael Pollan suggests how other plants use humans to grow, evolve and spread in his lovely book “The Botany of Desire”—is hard to say since my relationship with spotted knapweed at this point hasn’t extended beyond a mere crush. Still, I see you, spotted knapweed, literally, everywhere I ramble. You are always on my mind, in my eyes and possibly in my clothes. Oh, how I long to be near you.
Your hardy flowers, colored from fuchsia to lavender, resemble planetary bodies in Van Gogh’s “The Starry Night.” The way you flower for months, compared to the brief blossoming of other fragile flowers that last merely days or weeks, is truly captivating. But spotted knapweed, you are solid and burly. A hard, deep frost barely slows your growth. Your resilience is like a wildfire, all-consuming, requiring winter to suffocate you in a blanket of snow. Your desire to propagate smolders long past the will of other plants.
I am amazed at how you choke out asters, Indian paintbrush, pearly everlasting, and almost anything else.
Spotted knapweed, with your thick, woody stem and gray-green, almost silvery leaves, you are a testament to resilience. Natural selection has designed you to withstand browsing, trampling, and quick removal, making you a formidable presence in any ecosystem. Your root is so long that it is hard to pull it all the way out of the ground. Your ability to thrive in dry and wet conditions but also in disturbed areas, like developed areas or areas where machinery has removed native vegetation, is truly impressive.
I adore how I have pulled and yanked hundreds of plants from a trail I run regularly, thinking I was getting a toehold. Then, the following year, I returned to see you were thicker and more lush than before I fussed over it.
While you are undeniably fascinating, your environmental impact on wildlife and other plants is significant. You decrease biodiversity, reduce forage for wildlife and livestock, increase erosion, and degrade wildlife habitat. The plant’s invasiveness is cause for concern and warrants further understanding and action.
Oh, how I wish this plant were everywhere. Soon, you will be.
But with knowledge and action, we can prevent its further spread. Let’s learn more about invasive species and how to manage them in our local ecosystems. If you aren’t fond of this plant like I am (wink-wink), here are two previous columns I have written about managing invasive plants.
Benjamin Alva Polley is a place-based storyteller. His stories have been published in Audubon, Esquire, Field & Stream, The Guardian, Outside, Popular Science, Sierra, and other publications on his website. He holds a master’s in Environmental Science and Natural Resource Journalism from the University of Montana.
