Dear Members,
I know, we are hours away from October and this letter is later than ever. But I promise that October’s letter will restore us to a more reasonable schedule. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.
My excuse for being late this month is that my wife and I went to the Périgord—after a brief stop in Bordeaux for wine, food, and museums—for our fall vacation and got back just as the Nor’easter descended upon our state. I hope you avoided the worst of it. We had 5″ of rain, but no real damage besides a lot of leaves on the ground.
As a historian, I’d always wanted to see the Paleolithic sites in that part of France and we certainly were not disappointed by the caves at Rouffignac, Les Combarelles, and Font-de-Gaume. “Stunning” is an accurate world to describe them. Even the replica of Lascaux was impressive. I was struck by the fact that the lamps used to light these caves back in the day burned reindeer fat, with wicks made from the Common Juniper (Juniperus communis, native to both France and New Jersey, although distinct from our taller, more common Eastnern Redcedar or Juniperus virginiana). And, of course, I couldn’t forget the local cuisine, so deeply rooted in the native landscape: the foods that today signal haute cuisine in the Périgord—chestnuts, mushrooms, truffles—were products of necessity, the ingenuity of farmers working in a landscape shaped by thin soils atop limestone. Take the chestnut, for example. Long a staple known as the “bread tree”, it fed people through the winter, was dried in special stone huts, and supported a whole array of crafts, from hoop-making to shingle-splitting. The chestnut was spread widely in the area by human planting from the Middle Ages on, but was native to the area, just as our American Chestnut (Castanea dentata) once was common in New Jersey. Then there are the truffles and cépes (Boletus edulis a.k.a., the porcini), underground treasures that thrive in the roots of downy oaks. They sustained an entire peasant economy, with markets that once moved tons of pungent produce a week. Today, the causse plateaus that shelter these fungi are recognized as a conservation priority, their mosaic of dry grasslands, juniper scrub, and stunted oak woods harboring rare orchids and a distinctive flora.

The cuisine of the Périgord arose through generations of learning what particular soils and habitats could support, then planting, tending, and eating accordingly. What, I thought, might New Jersey have done, if it had done things differently? As I have mentioned in the last letter, NPSNJ policy is that “Foraging is wrong. Do not harvest from the wild” but what if we have cultivated the things that belong here, instead of replacing them with plants from far off places? What if, instead of erasing native foodways, the colonial experience had been one of adaptation? Imagine if the settlers continued to develop a place-based cuisine using New Jersey’s indigenous plant communities? It would certainly be better for the environment.
We already have some examples. The Highbush Blueberry (Vaccinium corymbosum) was first brought into commercial cultivation at Whitesbog in 1916 by Elizabeth White and Frederick Coville, while cranberries (Vaccinium macrocarpus) have been farmed in the Pine Barrens since the nineteenth century. The history of cranberries in particular is a bit… complicated. Cranberry farms depend on extensive surrounding forests and an abundant supply of clean, acidic water, and that dependence has helped protect large tracts from development. But cranberry bogs are engineered landscapes, not natural wetlands: their creation and operation can alter waterways, displace wetland habitat, and introduce fertilizers and pesticides. They remind us that cultivating a native species is not necessarily the same thing as sustaining a native ecosystem. Other native foods—pawpaws, persimmons, American hazelnuts, black walnuts, and shagbark hickories—remain uncommon in our gardens (although all but the persimmon and black walnut thrive on my property now). All this is something I am pondering now and I wonder what I, as an individual, can do to change.

As I think about all that—and ward off hunger (didn’t I just eat dinner at 6?) —I want to remind you of one major Society event and announce another. First, don’t forget our fall conference “Myths, Mistakes, and Lessons Learned” on the morning of November 7 with NPSNJ board members Jesse Connor (“Practical Horticulture: What Works and What Doesn’t”), Dr. Randi Eckel (“Plants and Insects: Myths and Misconceptions”), and Jean Epiphan (“Tree Myths and Mistakes”). Second, it’s time for me to stealthily announce our Annual Meeting next spring on March 6 at Ocean County College (and online). Our theme is Succession, and our speakers will be Uli Lorimer, Director of Horticulture at the Native Plant Trust, and author of The Northeast Native Plant Primer: 235 Plants for an Earth-Friendly Garden; forest ecologist Alexandra “Ali” Kosiba of the University of Vermont; and Ethan Kauffman of Stoneleigh: a Natural Garden just on the other side of Philadelphia, a mere few miles from our state. From forests to gardens, the meeting will consider succession as an active force shaping the places around us, and explore strategies for stewarding landscapes that are dynamic and ever-changing. Understanding and working with successional processes is increasingly important as we strive to create resilient, adaptable landscapes in the face of global change.
I’ll have more on these events in my next letter… watch this space, it’ll come soon!
See you in the garden,
Kazys Varnelis, Ph.D.
President, the Native Plant Society of New Jersey
