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Putting the Squeeze on Spanish Broom

Yellow Spanish Broom Flowers

Spanish broom (Spartium juniceum) is a beautiful, hearty shrub with elegant yellow flowers. It is a fast-growing variety of the pea family, growing up to 10-15 feet tall in just a few years with roots that can extend several feet below the surface, even through rocky soil conditions. It was introduced to California in 1848 as durable landscape ornamental because of its draught-tolerant properties and ability to root in less than ideal soil. By the late 1930s, Spanish broom was planted along mountain highways to prevent erosion. So, why the fuss over such a pretty, practical plant? Originating in the southern Mediterranean region of Europe, Spanish broom is an invasive, non-native plant that has no natural local predators and provides no benefit to native insects and animals. With nothing to keep it in check, Spanish broom quickly overtakes resources — sunlight, nutrients, and water — needed by native plants, which are needed by area wildlife. Because it can grow in tall, dense patches and produce substantial dry matter, Spanish broom can also create a serious fire hazard during the dry season. How is Spanish broom removed? Removing Spanish broom isn’t easy, and must include pulling out the entire root system to deter it growing back stronger. It also involves specific training and diligent repetition. Even if the whole plant and root system are removed, seeds are a factor. One plant can produce 7,000 to 10,000 seeds in one season, and the seeds can remain viable for decades. A large seed bank is likely present in the soil around any mature Spanish broom plant. Seeds can also be moved to new locations by erosion, rain wash, and possibly ants. Parkway areas where Spanish broom has been removed in the past are likely to have new plants sprout for years to come, and the plant can also establish itself in new locations. Restoring the natural habitat is a slow process that requires regular monitoring and proper removal of Spanish broom on an ongoing basis. Identification The first step with Spanish broom removal is accurately identifying the plants. When in bloom, the plants are more visible with their bright yellow flowers. However, after the plants have dropped their leaves, this becomes more difficult. Trained volunteers may need to scout and tag the shrubs for later removal during an Invasive Plant Management Program (IPMP) group event. Equipment Because the root system is strong and must be removed completely, Spanish broom extraction requires special equipment, including a weed wrench designed to grip the base of the plant and gradually employ leverage to lift it out. This industrial tool costs about $250 each. Other useful tools are trowels and pickaxes to help loosen surrounding soil and dislodge rocks. Extraction Process Ideally, the weed wrench removes the whole plant, roots and all. Extraction tends to be more difficult during a draught season and easier after a good rain.… Continue reading Putting the Squeeze on Spanish Broom

Stories from the Parkway: “I feel that I am home”

Thousands of people visit the Parkway each year to run, bike, paddle, and enjoy. We’d like to share a few of their stories with you. Our next story is from Katie Bauer – I’ve lived in a lot of places in the Sacramento region, and recently returned here after living abroad for a time. Like many people of my generation, my family members are scattered far and wide, and I’ve moved from place to place for jobs, relationships, or school; despite making frequent trips “home” to another part of the state where I grew up and where my parents have lived for many years, I’ve always had trouble in answering the question “Where are you from?” It has only been in recent years when I’ve begun making regular visits to the American River that I’ve begun to develop what many call a “sense of place.” While living in other parts of the world, no matter how beautiful, I began to develop a deep homesickness, though it took me a while to understand what exactly it was that I was missing. Where was this “home” I felt lonesome for? When I returned to a favorite walking spot along the river for the first time after a long absence, it suddenly struck me: the landscape of this place had become so familiar and comforting to me that being away from it was what caused the ache. I missed oak woodlands with their golden-dry hills in the fall, tall stands of cottonwood with their drifting fluff suspended in the air, and the winter fog settling low like thick wool over the river. I missed the way the land looked and felt, and I missed gazing a long way downriver to where the water has bent the land and vanishes around the turn. The access to the natural spaces along the river through the Parkway is something I feel more grateful for every year. As a parent it offers fascinating places for me to take my eight-year-old son for walks, leading to hours of unplugged playtime and outdoor learning – you might find us photographing caterpillars or examining oak galls, skipping rocks or hunting for the prettiest shades of wildflowers growing along the trails. It brings tears to my eyes every time my son squeals with joy at seeing a salmon splash through the riffles on its own journey home, or when his voice instinctively lowers in hushed awe when we spot a doe and her baby resting in the tall summer grasses. It’s so important to me that children grow to know a place deeply enough to want to protect and preserve it, and I can’t imagine a better place to help my son develop this crucial wonder and respect for the land. Amongst our community of friends, the river has become a place we are drawn to for marking important occasions like birthdays or graduations; more often it’s just where we go when we want to be together. It’s also where we… Continue reading Stories from the Parkway: “I feel that I am home”

Stories from the Parkway: “Paddling down the river never ceases to amaze me”

Thousands of people visit the Parkway each year to run, bike, paddle, and enjoy. We’d like to share a few of their stories with you. Our next story is from Nick Carlson – Sliding my kayak gently into the water, it’s not hard to grasp why in a few short years how this river has become so significant to me. I’ve come to know this river’s fickle moods. Its high water winters and early spring rush, its summertime playfulness, and its autumn bounty when the native Chinook salmon swim back upstream to spawn. I’ve paddled its slumberous wide curves and through its fast water rapids. I’ve watched its water roaring like thunder pouring its last dam and followed its a clear and bright emerald ribbon of water all the way to its end to dip my bow in at its milky confluence. Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes said, “A river is more than an amenity, it is a treasure.” I heartily agree. For me and many others, Northern California’s Lower American River is a rare jewel to behold. Fed by the melting snowpack of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the river is an essential source for the area’s drinking water, a productive provider of irrigation and hydroelectric power, and recreational highway for paddlers and fishermen. In its final twenty-some miles before pouring into the Sacramento River, it dispenses a peaceful serenity and magic to every creature along its wild banks despite being so near urban complexities of the city. And yes, to a certain extent it seems to be a living being in itself. I often tell people paddling with me that after we push off onto the river they will be experiencing a totally different world even though we are in the heart of a densely populated urban area. Paddling down the river never ceases to amaze me of how I can escape into a backyard of nature just a few minutes from the buzz of city traffic. Where the only sound you will hear is that of birds, the wind and that primeval summons to our primordial values, the call of distant rapids coming from downriver. As Henry David Thoreau wrote, “He who hears the rippling of rivers in these degenerate days will not utterly despair.” “A river seems a magic thing,” declared photographer Laura Gilpin, “A magic, moving, living part of the very earth itself.” Sitting alongside the Lower American River earlier this week, the river does seem alive as it moved steadily to the sea. Flashes of Chinook salmon among the river’s ripples, scores of gulls, ducks and turkey vultures soar and flutter above, while I catch sight of black-tailed deer bounding through the stream. A large beaver tail splash serves as a warning that I’ve come a just bit to close to his domain while chattering otters bark at my passing. The trees, vegetation, and even the rocky pilings that extend all the way along the stream add to the inspirit to this living essence.… Continue reading Stories from the Parkway: “Paddling down the river never ceases to amaze me”

Stories from the Parkway: “The deer was my most favorite part”

In previous editions of Stories from the Parkway, we’ve seen the Parkway from the perspective of an adult. Our next story is from the experiences of children. The children explain why the Parkway is so important to our community and what everyone can experience on the Parkway. Jasmine “I like the Parkway because I like to ride my bike and see the river. I like the otters. I like everything.” Lucy, Age 4 Mira, Age 8 Damion Kalia, Age 6 Ibrahim Elizabeth KJ, Age 8 These children are some of the millions of visits that occur on the American River Parkway each year. Help us continue to conserve this Sacramento treasure so our community and future generations can have the opportunity to make their own memories here. Become a member or donate today.

Stories from the Parkway: “Isolation from Urban Complexity”

Thousands of people visit the Parkway each year to run, bike, paddle, and enjoy. We’d like to share a few of their stories with you. Our next story is from David Dawson – — It was before sunrise on a cold, calm November morning here in Sacramento; but I wasn’t at home. Home, where I arose in the dark to come to the river wasn’t far away; just about two miles from where I stood in the first light of dawn. It was only a short drive through suburban streets to get there with my kayak and camera. But then, with the American River at my feet, I saw nothing of the two million human beings who surrounded me in the Sacramento metropolitan area. I saw no streets, no cars, no buildings, and no lights. In his 1912 book “The Yosemite”, John Muir said, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.” And that’s what I sought, even so near to home: isolation from urban complexity, the peacefulness and serenity, the beauty and the magic of the river and the wild creatures who live within, beside and above it. It was an auspicious arrival at riverside where I launched the kayak, because it was a “twelve rabbit morning”. No fewer than a dozen jackrabbits scampered away in the headlights as I approached the river. Then, through grey mist rising, there were dimly to be seen only the gravel bar on which I stood, the river, the trees and foliage, and the emerging dawn twilight rising in the east. I launched the kayak in a quiet backwater and settled in with my camera, and even though I wasn’t going fishing, I felt the same kind of excitement, of hope, of opportunity that I felt long ago as a kid on the first day of trout season. I thought now in this 76th year of my existence, “What is it, what extraordinary thing, will I be amazed by on this day?” The kayak moved easily, gently into the current, and, as expected, I maneuvered to meet a friend, an exceptional wildlife photographer, who had launched from the other side of the river. Together we drifted wordlessly, silently downstream near the riverbank, as golden sunlight broke above the horizon and swept through the mist, low across the water. Ahead of us, emerging from the fog, a great blue heron stood tall, patient, mystical, on a log near the bank, framed by the river and the autumn colors of a tree behind. Our minds, our hearts, and our cameras captured that moment; and, no matter how many great blue herons we’d seen before, we both felt awe at the beauty of this creature in this setting. We drifted beyond the heron and went our separate ways. My friend headed downstream in search of river otters, and I moved quietly toward an inlet where two Canada geese, on… Continue reading Stories from the Parkway: “Isolation from Urban Complexity”