Couple in never-ending battle with invader buckthorn
In early spring, the big bushes fronting Echo Lake Road greened up nicely giving the new homeowners a pleasant view and some privacy.
Fresh from the Northwest Side of Chicago, Laura and Roy Vincent built their dream home in the country on a heavily wooded lot near Hawthorn Woods. They loved the landscape but soon learned it was covered with buckthorn -- an intruder so tenacious they are still fighting it seven years later.
Both have had surgery for repetitive motion injures related to pulling buckthorn. They have his and her chain saws, own a chipper and use three sizes of specialized weed wrenches in what has become a consuming passion. Neighbors beep and shout encouragement.
"It's a mission," Roy says.
The woody plant is the Genghis Khan of the plant world, a scourge that spreads quickly and takes no prisoners while wiping out native species in its path. Those involved in plant management have fought the European invader for decades.
They have won some battles using fire and chemicals but admit the war will never end.
Chuck Myers, assistant superintendent of natural resources for the Lake County Forest Preserve District, travels in those circles.
"You actually see people with T-shirts and buckthorn references. People just hate this stuff," Myers said. "It's getting to its critical mass where it's spreading all over the place."
Some forest preserves are choked with the gnarly shrubs that can grow to 15 feet. But it also invades gardens and other areas, spread by birds that eat the berries and later "drop" the seeds in their travels. Hedgerows of it line streets in Lake Forest.
"It shows up wherever there's a perch for a bird. It could be a power line, a fence, a plant," said Kurt Dreisilker, manager of natural resources for the Morton Arboretum in Lisle.
"It's pretty much a regional problem."
Buckthorn, which has no native enemies or competitors, is a huge reason forest preserve districts have controlled burns every year, Myers said.
"Actually, it's a big deal. It's something we've been battling with as long as I can remember, and it's one of the highest priorities."
The Vincents learned of their plight when Laura walked into a native plant sale, proud of the clipping she had brought along but uncertain what it was.
"They looked at it and said, 'That's buckthorn and that's very bad,'" she recalled. Surveying their nearly 6 acres -- most of which they couldn't walk through because of the density of the buckthorn -- the couple made a decision to fight.
"She came back, and I just shook my head," Roy said. "It was everywhere."
Since they have no children and a tenacious streak, removing the buckthorn became a relentless pursuit. They easily spend six or seven hours each on buckthorn clearing days.
They researched buckthorn and found that pulling it wouldn't necessarily do the trick. Larger plants needed to be cut down. The stumps need to be removed or treated or the plant will grow back heartier. And because seeds in the ground can sprout for years, it takes constant vigilance.
"We have no eradication goals. That's just not realistic," Myers said. "You're basically trying to give nature back the edge it once had."
Starting in front of their home, the Vincents cleared patch by painstaking patch. Native plants, like mayapple and Trout lily have reappeared in shady areas beneath the eight or so varieties of trees on the grounds, and they plan to plant more.
They're about 60 percent done with the buckthorn clearing.
"We want natural woodlands, that's the bottom line," Roy Vincent said. "Once we started, we just didn't stop."