The worms are upon us again, filling the springtime air with
visible clouds of yellow, sinus-swelling dust before parachuting down from the
tips of oak and hickory branches everywhere.
They fall to the ground as feathery strands, sticking
together in in couplets and triplets, gathering in ropey piles on driveways and
sidewalks, blowing into golden-brown, furry mounds that fill the streets, clog
downspouts and storm drains, sending neighbors out in frenzied droves, armed
with push brooms, yard rakes, leaf-blowers, and a renewed appreciation for creative
profanity.
Opportunist that I am, I wait for the weekend activity to
die down, then I grab my trusty wheelbarrow, and shuttle up and down the street
collecting as much of the stuff as I can – before anyone else catches on. (I
don't think anyone will, though. I’ve been collecting them for years. My
neighbors just think I’m crazy.)
Pollen worms are a boon to my garden, a multifunctional asset
that I am more than happy to keep all to myself. To understand why, it helps to
learn a little bit about them.
These odd creatures are in fact flowers – male flowers – of acorn and nut trees. They’re
the culprits partly responsible for the thick, yellow, warm-weather haze that
covers windshields, and keeps antihistamine manufacturers in business.
Two to three inches long, with minute, knob-like,
pollen-bearing anthers arranged along a thin central stem, these wispy
comb-like structures interlock and cling to one another, gathering into large,
spongy masses as they tumble along the street. On the plus side, this makes
them easy to sweep up and carry away. On the minus, a large wind-blown pile can
choke a storm drain. For people sensitive to a particular brand of pollen, the
appearance of the worm tangles is the beginning of a nightmare.
The structure of these light, porous pollen worm masses
makes them the perfect mulch for my vegetable patch. Bundles of pollen worms
stick to each other like Velcro, assuming any desired shape, conforming to the
layout of the garden plot. New layers of worms cling to the masses underneath
and stay put, allowing variable depths of mulch among plants of different
heights, and encouraging additional layers as plants grow up through the early
spring season.
Water and air pass right through. Weeds can’t. And the big
bonus: excess pollen sifts down to the bottom of the pile to fertilize my
plants, free of charge. If you wish to plant new seedlings, simply poke a hole
in the mulch, and drop in the new additions. At the end of the season, any
organic residue can be turned under, conditioning the soil for next spring’s
planting.
Embrace the pollen worm invasion – or if you’re allergic,
get your neighbors to deposit their stash into your compost pile for later
distribution.
This is great - thanks! I was trying to find out what these things are when I came across your article. Then I find a bonus use for this stuff! :)
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