by Marsha C. Salett, Editor

When I read Susan Abruzzi’s article about vernal pool education, I knew exactly how she felt about balancing protection of a fragile ecosystem with instilling a sense of wonder in children and teaching them valuable science lessons about the world around them. When eighty second-graders in Sherborn have finished their vernal pool explorations, it’s uncomfortably obvious that they’ve muddied the shoreline and shallows where we have been. There’s also no doubt that they become valuable stewards of vernal pools in their town. Since we have put vernal pool studies into the curriculum, several parents asked me to help identify and certify vernal pools. The pool we study is on town conservation land, easily accessible to anyone who walks the nearby trail. Like Susan Abruzzi, I grapple with the trade-offs between using the pool and protecting it.

Here are some of the procedures I’ve implemented at the vernal pool in Sherborn to minimize impact:

In general, I have found that when students and adults understand the basic ecology of a place and feel the sense of wonder personally, they will respect and safeguard it.

More difficult issues arise when different groups of people have different ways of loving and respecting their environments, or when their knowledge is incomplete or at odds with environmental stewardship. Many homeowners, horticulturists, and even managers of conservation lands have unknowingly introduced invasive plant species with the best intentions of beautifying their lands or providing food and/or shelter to wildlife.

I read Jennifer Forman’s article about invasive plant species and recognized myself among the guilty. In the 1980’s, my husband and I planted a row of Russian olive (Elaeagnus angustifolia) on our property line at the recommendation of the landscaper, and following the example of several of our Cape Cod neighbors. It would stabilize the slope (true), would be a fast-growing screen (indeed), and the birds loved the berries (and spread them far and wide). "Invasive species" was not part of our vocabulary then. Six years ago, we ripped out all of the Russian olive and replace it with viburnum and evergreens. We returned to the Cape the following summer to find that our next-door neighbor had planted his side of the property line with – you guessed it – Russian olive.

Advocating for environmental stewardship is part of my job as a teacher/naturalist. It’s a bit touchier as a next-door neighbor or private citizen. My next-door neighbor (of Russian olive and manicured lawn) and I will never agree on what constitutes natural beauty or a sense of place so I’ve chosen not to expend much energy on what I know is a losing battle. However, more and more often, I find myself speaking up when I think that there might be a "teachable moment" that I can employ in a non-threatening and non-accusatory way.

Baker’s Pond is a deep, clear sapphire of a kettlehole pond on Cape Cod, where the cold water is a refreshing refuge on dog-day-humid summer afternoons when saltwater dries too sticky on the skin. Osprey and red-tailed hawks soar overhead; the hunting is good. Fish, frogs, and tadpoles glide in the shallows, rippling the reflections of aquatic plants. Squirrels and chipmunks scamper through the pitch pine and scrub oak uplands. In years when water levels are low enough to create a fringe of sandy shoreline, hundreds of Plymouth gentian (Sabatia kennedyana) ring the pond like a long, fluttering, pink ribbon.

On the busiest of summer days, it’s rare to count more than two dozen people at the pond at any given time. Only a handful of houses peak through the trees at respectful distances from the water’s edge. There are no boathouses, bathrooms, snack bars or telephones; no motorboats, lap lanes, lifeguard chairs, or parking lots. The locals don’t tell the tourists about the small town beach here. The summer crowd gets to swim at an official town beach on another pond – overburdened with people and septic systems --and bring home its share of ear infections and stomach ailments after every heat wave.

It’s clear that the people who spend time at the beach at Baker’s Pond care about protecting it and believe they are doing a good job. It is a lovely spot. All summer, children catch frogs with nets and buckets and great success. Proud and curious, they collect their trophies in plastic pails, carefully filled with water, where the frogs and fish parboil in the sun until it’s time to go home and the parents return the animals to the water. When I wade in the water on a summer late afternoon, I count the daily carnage. Frogs float belly up and big, fat bullfrog tadpoles sluggishly expire. Do I say anything to the parents of the eager children for whom frog catching is cherished ritual of summer? Yes. Let’s keep the buckets in the shade and change the water often to keep it cold so that the frogs and tadpoles won’t die. The kids think that this is a great idea, and they feel important about taking care of something smaller and more vulnerable then they are.

The pond supports a population of Plymouth gentian, a species of special concern in Massachusetts. It grows profusely along coastal plain ponds on Cape Cod and in southeastern Mass but almost nowhere else in the world. "Of sixty-one sites left globally,forty-five are in the Bay State. The rest are scattered in Rhode Island, North and South Carolina, and one disjunct population in the Tusket Valley, Yarmouth, Nova Scotia" write Mario DeGregorio and Jeff Wallner in A Vanishing Heritage, Wildflowers of Cape Cod (1989).

Whether or not Plymouth gentian blooms each summer depends on the water levels of the coastal-plain ponds that are their habitat. During a wet season when pond levels are high, there are few blossoms because the plants can't flower when the rosettes are under water. Nor does Plymouth gentian do well under the stress of drought. Under optimal conditions (the season is dry enough, but no drought) when the sandy shore is exposed, the plants flower profusely. Lelia Orrell, PhD. candidate at UMass Boston, is researching Plymouth gentian. Her preliminary data suggest that the clonal habit of Plymouth gentian may be the critical life history stage for population persistence and temporal recovery during unfavorable environmental conditions, and that the sexual reproductive contributions to the populations may be insignificant (Orrell, http://www.nmia.com/~lelia/phd.html and references therein). Because Plymouth gentian spreads clonally from basal rosettes, uprooting or damaging a rosette may be more harmful than picking only the flowers.

The gorgeous pink flowers of Plymouth gentian have a central, yellow eye bordered in deep red. It’s hard to resist picking them, and few people think about, never mind worry about, trampling or destroying the rosettes. Do I say anything to the people who take bouquets of Plymouth gentian home? I do - and people are genuinely surprised to learn that these abundant local flowers are so rare.

I believe that when we feel emotionally connected to the natural world, we are more willing to protect it. And when we are better educated about our ecosystems, we are more able to do so. As part of his personal plan to better the environment, one of my friends always pulls up buckthorn wherever he walks. Planting small "seeds" of environmental education is one of my ways to promote love and respect of the land.

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