Invasive Species Quotes

Natural places are no different than human cities. The old exists next to the new. Invasive species integrate with or push out native species. The landscape you see around you is the same as seeing an old cathedral next to a skyscraper.

Walter had never liked cats. They'd seemed to him the sociopaths of the pet world, a species domesticated as an evil necessary for the control of rodents and subsequently fetishized the way unhappy countries fetishize their militaries, saluting the uniforms of killers as cat owners stroke their animals' lovely fur and forgive their claws and fangs. He'd never seen anything in a cat's face but simpering incuriosity and self-interest; you only had to tease one with a mouse-toy to see where it's true heart lay...cats were all about using people

And Kelsea wondered suddenly whether humanity ever actually changed. Did people grow and learn at all as the centuries past? Or was humanity merely like the tide, enlightenment advancing and then retreating as circumstances shifted? The most defining characteristic of the species might be lapse.

And no one wants to be noticed because of something like that; it’s like being an invasive species that no one pays any attention to until you’ve strangled and ruined all the beautiful native plants. The

Love, she reflected bitterly, wasn't something you bargained with or negotiated with...it lived by its own rules. Love appeared when you didn't want it and refused to go. It was like an invasive species that entered your garden without warning, and proceeded to grow wildly out of control, resistant to every method employed to kill it. Basically, love was pigweed.

Conservationists who want to cosset nature like a delicate flower, to protect it from the threat of alien species, are the ethnic cleansers of nature, neutralizing the forces that they should be promoting.

There ought to be a name for the kind of overwhelm that happens when you realise there are too many things to fight. If it’s not environment, then it’s human rights. If it’s not human rights, it’s women’s rights. Law and order. Gun control. Invasive species. Water pollution. Tax reform. Refugee policy. Education. Health care. The list is endless.

Utopians are heedless of methods. To render the human species happy, they are prepared to subject it to murder, torture, lethal injection, incineration, deportation, sterilization, quartering, lobotomy, electrocution, military invasion, bombing, etc.

And then there was that key point in On the Origin of Species. That crucial point that somehow both David and before him Francis Galton had missed. What does Darwin say is the best way of building a strong species, of allowing it to endure into the future, to withstand the blows of Chaos in all her mighty forms—flood, drought, rising sea levels, fluctuating temperatures, invasions of competitors, predators, pests? Variation. Variation in genes, and hence in behavior and physical traits. Homogeneity is a death sentence. To rid a species of its mutants and outliers is to make that species dangerously vulnerable to the elements.

If you count people as an invasive species—the science writer Alan Burdick has called Homo sapiens “arguably the most successful invader in biological history”—the process goes back a hundred and twenty thousand years or so, to the period when modern humans first migrated out of Africa.

They were in a trench sliding through a forest of corn. Machine stood over the rows, black girders that arced in the sky like the proscenium above a stage. The thought occurred to Wayne that those machines were sprayers, full of poison. They would drench the corn in a lethal rain to keep it from being eaten by invasive species. Those exact words - "invasive species" - rang through his brain. Later the corn would be lightly washed and people would eat it.

Everything I thought about cows as an Easterner-come-west is wrong. They are not symbols of a noble culture of mounted herdsmen. They are not cute. They are an invasive species, Bos Taurus, a water-loving European animal not fit for arid climates, and their cancer-like effects on the land have not ceased.

We also have a growing population of unwelcome out-of-town wildlife species that have come here and clearly intend to stay. Two invasive species in particular have caused serious concern: Burmese pythons, and New Yorkers. The New Yorkers have been coming here for years, which is weird because pretty much all they do once they get to Florida is bitch about how everything here sucks compared to the earthly paradise that is New York. They continue to root, loudly, for the Jets, the Knicks, the Mets, and the Yankees; they never stop declaring, loudly, that in New York the restaurants are better, the stores are nicer, the people are smarter, the public transportation is free of sharks, etc. The Burmese pythons are less obnoxious, but just as alarming in their own way.

humans—the ultimate invasive species.

Botanists call it an invasive species. But aren’t we all?

Language is an invasive species. Let it take root in new soil, and you’ll never beat it out, no matter how hard you try.

There’s actually a straightforward solution to invasive species: Eat ’em!

the food movement needs people who can do the dirty work: hunt wild boar, gut deer, eat invasive species, try insects, raise animals the right way, and pay for ethically raised meat. That role falls to us.

Your hands itch to pull out invasive species and replant the native flowers. Your finger trembles with a wish to detonate the explosion of an obsolete dam that would restore a salmon run. These are antidotes to the poison of despair.

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Do not presume to judge the Qui, Mr. President. Your society aspires to an ideal that exists only at levels like the United Regions. Analyze your world’s history and you find pockets of feudal life that continue to exist today. Cultures where rape victims are killed so as not to dishonor their family; countries where the male of your species has so little self-control, the female is obliged to hide behind cloth for fear they will tempt them into carnal acts; regions where children are slaughtered for no reason. And this was all before our invasion.

During any given twenty-four-hour period, it is estimated that ten thousand different species are being moved around the world just in ballast water. Thus a single supertanker (or, for that matter, a jet passenger) can undo millions of years of geographic separation. Anthony Ricciardi, a specialist in introduced species at McGill University, has dubbed the current reshuffling of the earth’s biota a “mass invasion event.” It is, he has written, “without precedent” in the planet’s history.

Because we were the good guys. We were in the right. The universe looks out for people who act with honor in furtherance of an honorable cause. It must, or we never would have gotten this far as a species.” “We won—this little conflict and a thousand like it—because we were destined to win. The universe will allow no other outcome.

The young family with a batch of kids is now an endangered species. Only the young rich can afford that “lifestyle,” and they are uninterested. With

​I wanted to say something pithy and cool, but was afraid if I tried I’d just throw up yet again, so I shook my head and offered her a pathetic smile.

Earth is home to more than twelve thousand species of ants. If you weighed all the ants and all the humans, the ants would weigh more.

Work brought my family to Tennessee. I was just a kid. We lived in a green house off Old McClure Road. A big mimosa tree in the yard. Fern-like leaves and summer blooms. It reminded me of Florida. The mimosa was an invasive species there. State wanted them cut down. But we left ours alone. A tree growing where it should not be. Like my family. We were invasive too.

Work brought my family to Tennessee. I was just a kid. We lived in a green house off Old McClure Road. A big mimosa tree in the yard. Fern-like leaves and summer blooms. It reminded me of Florida. The mimosa was an invasive species there. State wanted them cut down. But we left ours alone. A tree growing where it should not be. Like my family. We were invasive too.

Conservationists, it seems, are dedicated to protecting the weak and vulnerable, the endangered and the abused. Nature generally promotes the strong and the wily, the resilient and versatile.

You can believe the Bible or you can believe evolution," a favorite professor told the student body in chapel one morning, "but you can't believe both. You have to choose." That recurring choice- between faith and science, Christianity and feminism, the Bible and historical criticism, doctrine and compassion- kept tripping me up like roots on a forest trail. I wanted to believe, of course, but I wanted to believe with my intellectual integrity and intuition intact, with both my head and my heart fully engaged. The more I was asked to choose, the more fragmented and frayed my faith became, the more it stretched the gossamer of belief that held my world view together. And that's when the real doubt crept in, like an invasive species, like kudzu trellising the brain: What if none of this is true? What if it's all one big lie?

Imagine a single survivor, a lonely fugitive at large on mainland Mauritius at the end of the seventeenth century. Imagine this fugitive as a female. She would have been bulky and flightless and befuddled—but resourceful enough to have escaped and endured when the other birds didn’t. Or else she was lucky. Maybe she had spent all her years in the Bambous Mountains along the southeastern coast, where the various forms of human-brought menace were slow to penetrate. Or she might have lurked in a creek drainage of the Black River Gorges. Time and trouble had finally caught up with her. Imagine that her last hatchling had been snarfed by a [invasive] feral pig. That her last fertile egg had been eaten by a [invasive] monkey. That her mate was dead, clubbed by a hungry Dutch sailor, and that she had no hope of finding another. During the past halfdozen years, longer than a bird could remember, she had not even set eyes on a member of her own species. Raphus cucullatus had become rare unto death. But this one flesh-and-blood individual still lived. Imagine that she was thirty years old, or thirty-five, an ancient age for most sorts of bird but not impossible for a member of such a large-bodied species. She no longer ran, she waddled. Lately she was going blind. Her digestive system was balky. In the dark of an early morning in 1667, say, during a rainstorm, she took cover beneath a cold stone ledge at the base of one of the Black River cliffs. She drew her head down against her body, fluffed her feathers for warmth, squinted in patient misery. She waited. She didn't know it, nor did anyone else, but she was the only dodo on Earth. When the storm passed, she never opened her eyes. This is extinction.

A new social type was being created by the apartment building, a cool, unemotional personality impervious to the psychological pressures of high-rise life, with minimal needs for privacy, who thrived like an advanced species of machine in the neutral atmosphere. This was the sort of resident who was content to do nothing but sit in his over-priced apartment, watch television with the sound turned down, and wait for his neighbours to make a mistake. Perhaps the recent incidents represented a last attempt by Wilder and the airline pilots to rebel against this unfolding logic? Sadly, they had little chance of success, precisely because their opponents were people who were content with their lives in the high-rise, who felt no particular objection to an impersonal steel and concrete landscape, no qualms about the invasion of their privacy by government agencies and data-processing organizations, and if anything welcomed these invisible intrusions, using them for their own purposes. These people were the first to master a new kind of late twentieth-century life. They thrived on the rapid turnover of acquaintances, the lack of involvement with others, and the total self-sufficiency of lives which, needing nothing, were never disappointed. Alternatively,

Yes. Exactly. Everyone thinks that it’s simple. New, invasive species comes in and it has an advantage and it outcompetes, right? That’s the story, but there’s another part to that. Always, always, the local environment resists. Yes, yes, maybe badly. Maybe without a clear idea of coping with novelty. I’m not saying it’s perfect, but I am saying it’s there. Even when an invasive species takes over, even when it wins, there is a counterbalancing process it has to overcome to do that. And—” The tall man was scowling, and his discomfort made Prax want to speak faster. To say everything he had in his heart before the hammer fell. “And that counterprocess is so deep in the fabric of living systems, it can never be absent. However well the new species is designed, however overwhelming its advantages seem to be, the pushback will always be there. If one native impulse is overcome, there will be another. You understand? Conspecifics are outcompeted? Fine, the bacterial and viral microecologies will push back. Adapt to those, and it’ll be micronutrient levels and salinity and light. And the thing is, the thing is, even when the novel species does win? Even when it takes over every niche there is, that struggle alone changes what it is. Even when you wipe out or co-opt the local environment completely, you’re changed by the pushback. Even when the previous organisms are driven to extinction, they leave markers behind. What they are can never, never be completely erased.

Princess Cookie’s cognitive pathways may have required a more comprehensive analysis. He knew that it was possible to employ certain progressive methods of neural interface, but he felt somewhat apprehensive about implementing them, for fear of the risks involved and of the limited returns such tactics might yield. For instance, it would be a particularly wasteful endeavor if, for the sake of exhausting every last option available, he were even to go so far as resorting to invasive Ontological Neurospelunkery, for this unorthodox process would only prove to be the cerebral equivalent of tracking a creature one was not even sure existed: surely one could happen upon some new species deep in the caverns somewhere and assume it to be the goal of one’s trek, but then there was a certain idiocy to this notion, as one would never be sure this newfound entity should prove to be what one wished it to be; taken further, this very need to find something, to begin with, would only lead one to clamber more deeply inward along rigorous paths and over unsteady terrain, the entirety of which could only be traversed with the arrogant resolve of someone who has already determined, with a misplaced sense of pride in his own assumptions, that he was undoubtedly making headway in a direction worthwhile. And assuming still that this process was the only viable option available, and further assuming that Morell could manage to find a way to track down the beast lingering ostensibly inside of Princess Cookie, what was he then to do with it? Exorcise the thing? Reason with it? Negotiate maybe? How? Could one hope to impose terms and conditions upon the behavior of something tracked and captured in the wilds of the intellect? The thought was a bizarre one and the prospect of achieving success with it unlikely. Perhaps, it would be enough to track the beast, but also to let it live according to its own inclinations inside of her. This would seem a more agreeable proposition. Unfortunately, however, the possibility still remained that there was no beast at all, but that the aberration plaguing her consciousness was merely a side effect of some divine, yet misunderstood purpose with which she had been imbued by the Almighty Lord Himself. She could very well have been functioning on a spiritual plane far beyond Morell’s ability to grasp, which, of course, seared any scrutiny leveled against her with the indelible brand of blasphemy. To say the least, the fear of Godly reprisal which this brand was sure to summon up only served to make the prospect of engaging in such measures as invasive Ontological Neurospelunkery seem both risky and wasteful. And thus, it was a nonstarter.

We may think of volcanic islands like Ascension as unusual because their recent origin and remoteness mean their ecosystems are made up of a motley crew of mariner migrants. But much of the world is like that. Nature is constantly in flux, and few ecosystems go back very far. Only ten thousand years ago, much of Europe and North America were covered in thick ice. All soil had been scraped away and with it most forms of life. Everything we see today in these former glaciated zones has either returned or arrived for the first time since the ice retreated. Looked at from this perspective, the spread of alien species today is merely a continuation of a natural process of the colonization begun when the ice retreated. A broad time horizon shows there is no such thing as a native species. All lodgings are temporary and all ecosystems in a constant flux, the victims of circumstance and geological accident. As the pioneer British ecologist Charles Elton argued, “Were it not for the ice age, we [in Britain] should probably have wonderful mixed forests with wild magnolias and laurels and epiphytic orchids, such as . . . in China.

The extraordinary usefulness of language turned it into an overnight epidemic. It seems to have spread to every remote pocket of humanity almost instantly. ... The most immediate requirement was for an increased capacity for making sounds. ... The pharynx became elongated until the apparatus in its present form has all but strangled its owner. We're the only mammalian species that cants swallow and articulate at the same time. Think of a cat growling while it eats and they try it yourself.... The unconscious system of guidance is millions of years old, speech less than a hundred thousand. The brain had no idea what was coming. The unconscious must have had to do all sorts of scrambling around to accommodate a system that proved perfectly relentless. Not only is it comparable to a parasitic invasion, it's not comparable to anything else. ...the advent of language, aside from the enormous value of it, was disruptive. All sorts of talents and skills must have been lost. Mostly communicative. But also things like navigation and probably even the richness of dreams. In the end this strange new code must have replaced at least part of the world with what can be said about it. Reality with opinion. Narrative with commentary.

Viewed in this light, life itself appears as a dynamics of integration that is equipped with auto-therapeutic or 'endo-clinical' competencies and refers to a species-specific space of surprise. It has an equally innate and - in higher organisms - adaptively acquired responsibility for the injuries and invasions it regularly encounters in its permanently allocated environment or conquered surroundings. Such immune systems could equally be described as organismic early forms of a feeling for transcendence: thanks to the efficiency of these devices, which are constantly at the ready, the organism actively confronts the potential bringers of its death, opposing them with its endogenous capacity to overcome the lethal. Such functions have earned immune systems of this type comparisons to a 'body police' or border patrol. But as the concern, already at this level, is to work out a modus vivendi with foreign and invisible powers - and, in so far as these can bring death, 'higher' and 'supernatural' ones - this is a preliminary stage to the behaviour one is accustomed to terming religious or spiritual in human contexts. For every organism, its environment is its transcendence, and the more abstract and unknown the danger from that environment, the more transcendent it appears.

A survey of oceanic (i.e. remote) islands found that, as far back as records exist, they have been accumulating alien plants. In 1860 the average oceanic island had less than 1 introduced plant for every 10 natives. By 1940 the ratio was 1 alien for every 2 natives, and today the ratio is about 1:1. Despite all these new arrivals there have been very few extinctions among the original inhabitants, so the number of plant species on such islands has approximately doubled. Thus, although left to themselves remote islands tend to have rather few species (compared to similar continental areas at the same latitude), so many species have been introduced to Hawaii that it now has as many plants as a similar area of Mexico. Moreover, the evidence suggests that remote islands are by no means ‘full’ of plants, and that there is room for even more alien plants to establish, and thus for total plant diversity to increase: at the current rate the average oceanic island will have 3 aliens for every 2 natives by 2060. Do we have any idea how many different plant species might eventually be able to coexist on an island like Hawaii? No, we don’t. Or, to express that conclusion in a more general form, in a report from US ecologists Dov Sax and Steve Gaines: ‘we have a relatively poor understanding of the processes that ultimately limit how many species can inhabit any given place or area

And lifting water is just one of the many jobs that the phloem, xylem, and cambium perform. They also manufacture lignin and cellulose; regulate the storage and production of tannin, sap, gum, oils, and resins; dole out minerals and nutrients; convert starches into sugars for future growth (which is where maple syrup comes into the picture); and goodness knows what else. But because all this is happening in such a thin layer, it also leaves the tree terribly vulnerable to invasive organisms. To combat this, trees have formed elaborate defense mechanisms. The reason a rubber tree seeps latex when cut is that this is its way of saying to insects and other organisms, “Not tasty. Nothing here for you. Go away.” Trees can also deter destructive creatures like caterpillars by flooding their leaves with tannin, which makes the leaves less tasty and so inclines the caterpillars to look elsewhere. When infestations are particularly severe, some trees can even communicate the fact. Some species of oak release a chemical that tells other oaks in the vicinity that an attack is under way. In response, the neighboring oaks step up their tannin production the better to withstand the coming onslaught. By such means, of course, does nature tick along. The problem arises when a tree encounters an attacker for which evolution has left it unprepared, and seldom has a tree been more helpless against an invader than the American chestnut against Endothia parasitica. It enters a chestnut effortlessly, devours the cambium cells, and positions itself for attack on the next tree before the tree has the faintest idea,

Both we and the Drakon look alike externally and we both look like humans. The difference between the two of us is that we, as Nomorians, are a peaceful species who spent their time and energy on scientific advancements. Drakons, on the other hand, are mainly about military and weaponry and going into wars. They were not like this hundreds of years ago but some dramatic event changed all of their priorities and made them what they are now. That is a story that we can discuss later. “They went to wars under the leadership of Zondar. He was a fearless immortal who had been leading Drakons for hundreds of years. No one knew the truth about where he came from or how he became immortal but the Drakons feared and respected him very much. “Due to the fact that we are a peaceful species and our main focus was on the welfare of our kind, except for a small army that we had, we did not have enough firepower to win such a war. “If Gonar had not encouraged the twelve councilors of Nomory to listen to me and start building a weaponry science department, we would not have the chance to escape from our planet. We would have been killed immediately after the invasion. “During my last meeting with the councilors and because all the signs showed we were going to lose this war, I suggested to send one hundred of our best scientists covered by our small army to another planet which we called Bluwenda, the name we used for planet Earth. The idea was to send them to Earth, twenty years in the past to give them a chance to build a stronger army with more advanced weaponry in case we lost the war. So we would be ready to repel the attack and win

According to the antimicrobial hypothesis, spices kill or inhibit the growth of microorganisms and prevent the production of toxins in the foods we eat and so help humans to solve a critical problem of survival: avoiding being made ill or poisoned by the foods we eat (Sherman & Flaxman, 2001). Several sources of evidence support this hypothesis. First, of the 30 spices for which we have solid data, all killed many of the species of foodborne bacteria on which they were tested. Can you guess which spices are most powerful in killing bacteria? They are onion, garlic, allspice, and oregano. Second, more spices, and more potent spices, tend to be used in hotter climates, where unrefrigerated food spoils more quickly, promoting the rapid proliferation of dangerous microorganisms. In the hot climate of India, for example, the typical meat dish recipe calls for nine spices, whereas in the colder climate of Norway, fewer than two spices are used per meat dish on average. Third, more spices tend to be used in meat dishes than in vegetable dishes (Sherman & Hash, 2001). This is presumably because dangerous microorganisms proliferate more on unrefrigerated meat; dead plants, in contrast, contain their own physical and chemical defenses and so are better protected from bacterial invasion. In short, the use of spices in foods is one means that humans have used to combat the dangers carried on the foods we eat. The authors of the antimicrobial hypothesis are not proposing that humans have a specialized evolved adaptation for the use of spices, although they do not rule out this possibility. Rather, it is more likely that eating certain spices was discovered through accident or experimentation; people discovered that they were less likely to feel sick after eating leftovers cooked with aromatic plant products. Use of those antimicrobial spices then likely spread through cultural transmission—by imitation or verbal instruction.

Take a picture of yourself standing on your lawn, and you have a Wanted Dead or Alive poster for the most invasive plant and animal in North America—garden grass and Homo sapiens. No kudzu-choked hillside, no river cursed with purple plantain, no spotted knotweed waste compares to the green deserts of our yards in terms of water waste, herbicide and fertilizer, gasoline and lawn mower. And no zebra mussel, nutria, mustang, or gypsy moth has, like Homo sapiens, driven to extinction a single species or threatened to erase entire ecosystems, such as our prairies and our longleaf stands. The despised chestnut blight decimated but a single species, after all. We humans have killed off no one knows how many.

What can it mean, 150 years after Darwin, to say that some species or communities are good and some are bad?

All of this weakened the G.O.P.’s foundation and opened the way for an invasive species such as Donald Trump to make deep inroads into its garden.

competitive exclusion (n) 1. a situation in which one species competes another into extinction.

He could talk at length about the known invasive species, and why there were so many different ones: the weblike filaments choking the trees in New Orleans, the flame-colored poppies erupting on Mexico City rooftops, the green fins popping up in Florida beach sand like sharks coming ashore. Every shell that struck Earth, and some that hit the surface of the water, cracked and sent millions of seeds into the air or into the oceans.

We lost one chef in an unfortunate flambé accident.

Without those hairless chinny apes, there might not be any invasive species at all.

Bitsy seems unimpressed, even when I describe the big campaign. "You sound like Whitman," she says, slow and monotone. "Work, work, work." I don't react. Instead, I reply by asking about her husband, Whitman Strayer II, a med-school dropout turned venture capitalist who now helps Oxford's elite decide what to do with all their money. "He's fine." She adds nothing more. "Still traveling a lot? Last I heard he was partnering with investors in Atlanta? Birmingham? Dallas? Looking for start-ups." "Yep. As I said, he's fine." She gives me a glance that warns me to back off, so I turn my attention back to the landscape, eager to drink in every gift Mississippi offers. Behind the picnic table, a batch of invasive kudzu has crept in from a steep ravine. With no natural balance to keep it in check, the Asian species now abuses its power, growing thick, leafy webs across everything in reach. Even the trees with the deepest roots have fallen victim to this vicious vine. As Bitsy's words echo, I wonder what lesson the kudzu wants to teach me. Have I, too, done better in foreign soil, opting to go far from the challenging conditions of home? Have I been able to thrive out there in Arizona, living without any real competition? Or am I nothing more than a wayward transplant, an aimless seed taking more than my fair share?

Generally, critics feel that by embracing novel ecosystems, we are abandoning hope of undoing the damage done by humans, or offering a free pass to companies or governments that damaged them in the first place. Still, with around a third of all ice-free land now thought to be covered by novel ecosystems, it grows increasingly important to wrestle with what these mongrel, immigrant communities mean for the future of our planet as a whole. And it is in abandoned places, where human-impacted land is not being managed—where non-native species and native species alike are left to their own devices, without heavy-handed but well-meaning intervention—that we might begin to view alien invasions over a longer period of time, and perhaps come to to appreciate that, in time, an ecosystem might start to adapt to its new citizens and find a new sense of balance.

Never lose sight of love, even when you cry as you send your people to their deaths. And know that you’re not asking them to do anything you aren’t doing yourself. Finally, just a note on your comment about me not being a ‘Monster.’ Just know that monster is just a term of perspective, of opinion and often as a result of fear. I am over two centuries old, and I can tell you that my desire to right the wrongs of injustice are a peculiar set of desires that well up in me regardless of my other feelings. They are based on a particular mindset, that other alien species do not ascribe to. They kill without concern; I kill them back. What they term acceptable, I term evil, and so the witch in the night visits them. To them? I am a monster. And I fall asleep knowing that the fear of me keeps evil’s hands in check. Bethany Anne

Not all fires are bad, sunshine. They can prevent wildfires, help clean up debris and invasive species that are hurting the forest. They rejuvenate the land and encourage growth that might have never happened. There are even seeds that are dependent on fire.

Biological invasions have (for good reason) gotten a bad name in recent decades; this is because, with our help, species that turn out to be undesirable for us have been transported from their native habitats to others.

Hate is a living thing, a seed to be planted and watered. If adequately nourished, it blooms and grows. When the conditions are just right, it acts like an invasive species and takes over, obliterating the original plants, blocking their sunlight and oxygen. Starving them. Until they die.

Our difference in species surely couldn’t classify me as gay, could it?

I’ve never really understood the concept of Christmas. I know it’s part of one of their religions, and I think this is the one that’s all tangled up in a sorcerer who pretended to be the “son of god” in an attempt to teach humans to behave better, but then where does the fat guy in the red suit come into it? And why are humans teaching their children that home invasion is something to look forward to?

One final note on the biogeographic divisions of the world. The very feature that stunned Buffon and his contemporaries, and eventually led to the revolutionary insights that would define the field of biogeography—the evolutionary distinctiveness of different regions—is now waning in the face of the geographic and ecological advance of one species: our own. Few taxa and regions across the globe have escaped the biotic homogenization caused by humanity. Regional biotas are becoming increasingly similar as a result of two pervasive, anthropogenic activities—extinctions of endemic species and species introductions. In fact, these two homogenizing effects of humanity are interrelated, with species introductions being one of the major causes of extinctions of endemic species. Recall Gertrude Stein’s lament over the loss in distinctiveness of place—that “there is no there, there.” Tragically, this is becoming the sobering reality for the increasingly homogenized biosphere. While we may not be suffering from the muted, “ Silent Spring ” that Rachel Carson warned us about in 1962, the monotonous cacophony of coquís (frogs native to Puerto Rico) and cicada in exotic lands as isolated as Hawaii now drown out the euphonious, more subtle calls of honeycreepers and other birds native to the islands.

I need you to vote against the ducks this week. They are an invasive species that are constantly multiplying. Those baby ducks are going to terrorize the neighborhood!” I sigh. Yes, the adorable baby ducks waddling behind their mother are absolute terrors.

It's a different way to look at invasion biology. It's not that the species as a whole was necessarily so invasive. But certain individuals were just so flexible that they could fine-tune their bodies to suit their new homes, and were also so good at passing that flexibility to their offspring, that the species as a whole transformed into the perfect plant to exploit their new conditions. It takes time to learn a new place, biologically speaking.

A supposedly daring insight came up, disguised as a question: Dr. Cole, aren't humans the most invasive species of all? She'd fielded that one many times before, during public lectures and even in her days as a teaching assistant [...] 'I'm not unsympathetic to that line of thinking,' she answered, 'but even if it's true, we're also the only species in any position to do anything about it.

When Islam swept out of the Arabian Peninsula, it became an invasive species to both the pagan and Christian areas it conquered. With it came the sexual practices of a very patriarchal, polygamist culture. While the religions it displaced were not particularly sex positive, Islamic sexual practices, on the whole, were uniformly sex negative.

genetic engineering — mixing species and creating hybrids that were never meant to exist.

While we’ve driven many to extinction, to others we’ve brought absurd levels of global success. We think of eucalyptus trees as native to Australia, but they were rare there when humans showed up forty-five thousand years ago. Our use of fire to clear other species helped these fire-resistant trees eventually thrive and spread throughout that continent. When I first visited Northern California, I assumed that eucalyptuses were native there, as they so dominate the forested hills. Yet they were introduced only during the gold rush, in the 1850s, when they were thought to be a promising source of timber for railroad ties. They turned out to be lousy for that purpose, but they took well to the dry, sunny hills, where they displaced many native trees. They are now regarded as an invasive species and, ironically, given their history in Australia,

Punker, what's compassion for a world this far gone? The streets don't give a fuck. It's a bummer, your care slides down its target like beads of rain on rock. There's no aquifer for any shit like this. Where does compassion go and can it be returned? You're Donn in this world, with the staff and the purple band. The artificer. Walking the bandoned suites of hell and your eyeballs thinking, what can be saved? Not their gear but its aspects. You started kung fu way later than the rest, and before that you saw compassion in a history spiel. Now it keeps washing up on your shore. Giving a shit might be made of parts, it might be made solo. It might be an invasive species or not. Punks evolved from dinos too. Not even cross time and distance. But the spikes on their heads are the same.

Recurrent invasions racked the city of Theodora in the centuries of its history; no sooner was one enemy routed than another gained strength and threatened the survival of the inhabitants. When the sky was cleared of condors, they had to face the propagation of serpents; the spiders' extermination allowed the flies to multiply into a black swarm; the victory over the termites left the city at the mercy of the woodworms. One by one the species incompatible to the city had to succumb and were extinguished. By dint of ripping away scales and carapaces, tearing off elytra and feathers, the people gave Theodora the exclusive image of human city that still distinguishes it.

It isn’t hard to plant the seed of an idea in someone’s head, and it takes very little water for it to germinate into a rapidly-spreading invasive species of mental vine that chokes out rational thought and common sense.

Sonnet 1492 If you cared more about making people smile than bringing machines to life, we'd be at a much better place. With all the tech we have today, we could equalize the world tomorrow. But no, cyborgs gotta develop more, they feel impotent unless their tentacles grow. That's why, neither genocide nor invasion must obstruct the growth of apely machines. It's okay if children die of malnourishment, funding mustn't cease for glorious tech fiends. Terrestrial terrains to celestial shores, humanity is the only species to die of smart-ness. If we cared more about people than devices, truly and honestly, we'd be at a much better place.

I write this at the beginnings of my PMDD episode. The fog is rolling in, fears that never preoccupy my mind have taken root, and irrational thoughts are starting to sprout like an invasive species on the land. ​​​​​​​​​ There is a part of me that just wants to hide. Wants to throw in the towel. To just stop all the tasks, the doing, and the management. Let the wild take over. Inside I am the watchman, the guard holding the horde at bay. I feel my anger quickening as social interactions feel like sandpaper on my skin. When I lose myself in the awful, in the shadows, I remember there cannot be shadows without light. And when I turn my inner eye towards the flame, I remember how fleeting all this is. That like all the times before, this will pass, the horde will retreat, and I will be left with a field of wild flowers. At my core I am an artist that transmutes my pain into beauty. I weave my words together into a song that awakens my inner allies and guardians. I make my life beautiful, even if it's simply by using my imagination. To put it simply, I force myself to take in the good. I force myself to see beauty within the swamp. I force myself to search for the inner island of safety, rather than surrender to the bog. Today is hard, but I can do hard things. I am in the swamp, but for today what if I am a Swamp Princess. What if this place, were beautiful to me? What if I adored the crocks and the mud and snakes? What if for today, this sandpaper I am feeling on my skin, was polishing and smoothing the stony armor? What if, just for today, I was the person my inner child wished for when she cried herself to sleep?

We are called to assist the Earth to heal her wounds and in the process heal our own—indeed, to embrace the whole creation in all its diversity, beauty, and wonder. This will happen if we see the need to revive our sense of belonging to a larger family of life, with which we have shared our evolutionary process.” —WANGARI MAATHAI

always found it easier to outrun my memories than sit silently with them. The quiet isolation only seemed to make the anxiety worse, the memories eating away at the calm like an invasive species taking over the landscape it inhabited, until I became only the tragedy of my past with no recognition remaining of the person I’d once been.

By elevating the conservation status of supposedly pristine parts of nature, and disregarding the rest – the new wild – conservationists end up complicit in forest destruction and biodiversity loss. *

my first day of ninth grade had no assembly no "First Ten Lies They Tell You in High School" no showdown with Mr. Neck Speak is a novel rooted in facts, to be sure, but a story bred with its own DNA an invasive species growing out of a stump of a tree hit by lightning growing from the girl who survived

pigs, like white people, were an invasive species from Europe.

In more recent years, I've increasingly reported on specific cases where the interests of individual animals seem to conflict with the goal of biodiversity preservation. In order to save species, conservationists kill a surprising number of individual animals. And they treat animals very differently depending on whether they are common or rare; 'invasive' or native, 'feral,' or 'wild.

To make good environmental decision, we must stop focusing on trying to remove or undo human influence, on turning back time or freezing the non-human world in amber. We must instead acknowledge the extent to which we have influenced our current world and take some responsibility for its future trajectory…We should not seek to carefully control every plant and animal on the planet. We couldn’t even if we wanted to.

Most big freshwater fish, in most parts of the world, have all but disappeared from most places where they used to live. As with arapaima, the main reason is over-harvesting, but there are other factors too. Dams block the migration routes of many fish, so they disappear from the water above the dam — or even altogether, if breeding grounds are cut off. Draining of floodplains, cutting off backwaters, competition from invasive species and pollution also play a part. And sometimes it's just willful slaughter, as was the case with the North American alligator gar in the early 1900s, thanks to the incorrect assumption that killing these predators would boost populations of ‘game’ fish.

When non-human animals are killed simply because they 'don't belong' and not because they are clearly causing some measurable harm, we have decided that erasing the taint of th ehuman is more important than the lives of animals (who, lest we forget, have no conception that they are in the 'wrong' place). This does not feel like humility in action. It is often the case that we hurt and kill animals because they are having effects we don't like, perhaps by predating on rare animals or eating rare plants. That's a trickier question--one we will tackle in due course.

One of Pagel’s graphs shows that the decreasing diversity of languages with latitude is almost identical to the decreasing diversity of species with latitude. At present neither trend is easily explained. The great diversity of species in tropical forests has something to do with the greater energy flowing through a tropical ecosystem with plenty of warmth and light and water. It may also have something to do with the abundance of parasites. Tropical creatures are subjected to a constant barrage of parasitic invasions, and being an abundant creature makes you more of a target, so there is an advantage to rarity. And it may reflect a lower extinction rate in a more climatically equable zone. As for languages, the need to migrate with the seasons must homogenise the linguistic diversity of extremely seasonal landscapes, in contrast to tropical ones, where populations can fragment into smaller groups and each can survive without moving. But whatever the explanation, the phenomenon illustrates the way human languages evolve automatically. They are clearly human products, but they are not consciously designed.

Most comb jellies have little direct effect on humans, except through a minor role in marine food webs. One species, however, stands apart as the villain of the basal invertebrates. In the 1980s, the Atlantic comb jelly Mnemiopsis was accidentally introduced into the Black Sea, probably in ballast water carried by commercial shipping. Once in its new environment, away from natural competitors and predators, it reproduced rapidly – all the while consuming vast quantities of larval fish and crustaceans. Some (controversial) estimates placed the total seething mass of diminutive comb jellies in the Black Sea at over half a billion tonnes. The local anchovy fishery, already under heavy fishing pressure, was decimated. While ecologists debated what to do, a possible solution arrived, unplanned, in the shape of another accidental introduction. The newcomer was a second comb jelly, this time the voracious Beroe. Fortuitously, Beroe does not eat fish or crustaceans, but is instead a specialist predator of other comb jellies and nothing else. As the invading Beroe now feast on the Mnemiopsis, the fish stocks are showing gradual and welcome signs of recovery.

That's a tree of heaven, my friend said. I know because I, too, got curious about it, and looked it up. Botanists call it an invasive species. But aren't we all?

I want to disagree with Mom, but part of me concurs that a Lanky invasion of Earth would be a mercy killing of our species. We’ve spent most of our history trying to exterminate each other anyway. This way, we’ll at least have some dispassionate outside referee settling all of humanity’s old scores permanently. No more generational feuds, no more ancient grudges, no more pointless revenge carried out against people who inherited some old guilt from their great-grandparents. We will all just go down the path on which we’ve sent so many species ourselves, and we’ll just be a note in someone else’s xenobiology textbooks, listed under the header “EXTINCT.

Millions of acres that are now lawn in the United States once supported the native herbaceous plants that fed lots of grasshoppers and crickets. Grasshoppers, despite their name, depend primarily on broadleaved forbs, while crickets mostly develop on dead plant material. In pursuit of our obsession for neat landscapes, we have eliminated both in too many places. Finally, areas overrun with invasive groundcovers such as Japanese stiltgrass, vinca, or English ivy wouldn’t support grasshoppers because the plants grasshoppers depend on have been replaced by species they cannot eat. We can bring grasshoppers and other insects back if we plant more of our private and public spaces with the native plant species they require.

A: Every plant can be evaluated through a cost-benefit analysis. The ecological costs of autumn olive are enormous. They are one of the most invasive plants we have, and they decimate local plant and animal diversity and thus threaten ecosystem stability and function wherever they spread. Autumn olive berries might provide cancer-fighting benefits, but so do berries of many native plants (elderberry, for example). We can take advantage of other sources of lycopene. In my view, this is a clear case where the costs of planting a nonnative species far outweigh the replaceable benefits.

You can’t escape the cultural associations embodied by plants. You can’t have one without the other.

Progressive Era reformers saw themselves as the ones needing protection, like the native plants and animals they did so much to save from invasive species. Accordingly, they granted themselves asylum, turning universities, neighborhoods, and as much of the country as possible into a walled garden. They also created hospitals, graduate schools, and public institutions, but blurred science and social science, illness, intelligence, and inferiority, and kept for themselves the power to define which was which.

Yaldabaoth wants to stamp out all traces and all possibility of free, individualized human consciousness; he wants the human not to be an individual being, but only a member of a general species of pseudo-humanity -- to be a clever, earth-bound animal, a “homunculus”.

Microplasticosis will be result of an invasive entity residing within all living things. What is this entity? Micro-plastics! They're here right now in all food chains, within all life and beyond. Will there be a cure? Sadly, no because it will be in everything and everywhere. We breathe them in. We ingest them. We cook with them. We drink them. We sleep with them & work with them each and every day. Sadly, in our race to embrace technology and a life of laziness & indifference we have created our own demise. They will change us and everything else in a way that we never thought possible. Microplasticosis...Remember the name because you, your family, your friends, and even your pets will have it in some form or another.

smiled a real smile, then looked from Daegan back to him and nodded. Not sure why she wanted Daegan to explain—or how he even knew all the information that suddenly flashed in his mind—he nevertheless answered for her. “She is from a lost race that is from deep within the mountains. There are not many left of her kind... the Ehsmia. They have gifts beyond those of other Faeries, but I’m not sure all of what they can do. They keep to themselves, but she knew we were coming so she came out to meet us.” He frowned. Turning to Ella, he asked, “Why us? I do not understand how you know what we are looking for, let alone that we are looking at all.” “In due time, all will be revealed to you,” she said, looking deeply into his eyes, boring into his soul. It was personal and invasive, but before he could look away, she released him, leaving him with a sensation of warmth spreading throughout his body. “You are ready, Daegan of the Ferrishyn. Do not fear your destiny.” She inclined her head slightly, but Daegan could only frown, feeling a sense of foreboding, as though everything was about to change. What is she talking about? “The Ehsmia? I have heard stories... legends of your people. You are also called the Hidden People, are you not?” Hal asked in awe. When Ella only nodded, he continued. “I thought your people were no more, if they even had existed at all.” He did not mean to be rude. “That is how we prefer to be known... or not known at all. Otherwise, what purpose would our hiding be if we were known?” she said with a smirk on her face but said no more. Ella turned to face the rock wall, which looked like a crumbling ruin of what was at one time a part of a great wall. It was built into the side of the Kandrian Mountains. Hal’s look of confusion mirrored Daegan’s own. Hal finally shrugged his shoulders, figuring they would understand “in due time.” Oddly, his typical nonchalant response gave Daegan a sense of calm. Staring at the rocks that made up the wall for what seemed several minutes but in reality was probably much shorter, Ella laid her hand flat onto a rock that suddenly appeared smoother and duller than all the other old, jagged stones. There was a rumbling of the ground that stopped as suddenly as it started. She gave them a sneaky smile. Daegan still wasn’t sure he trusted her, but at this point it seemed she might be the only one with answers of any kind. “Are you ready to follow where not many have been before, a land within a land?” she asked. Without waiting for their answer, she turned around and walked straight into the rock wall, which had magically become an illusion. Daegan and Hal both knew there was magic in Alandria and that every species had their own type of magic. They had their own magic as well, but they had only heard of this kind of magic in their own legends. Halister and Daegan quickly followed Ella, not wanting to get shut out of what could be their only opportunity to see where the Hidden People were, well, hidden. CHAPTER FIVE It was dark, yet they had no trouble following Ella through the murky tunnel of rock and stone that looked worn from centuries of use and natural erosion. Other than the thin layer of water trickling over some of the stones, it was silent and peaceful. They had been following a star, literally, for the past several minutes, but it wasn’t above them. Ella’s short, jagged snow-white hair allowed them to see the back of her neck, upon which was a horizontally stretched eight-point star from which a soft blue light emanated, marking her as other. Assuming she could see in the dark, they kept following and soon the tunnel began to lighten. Green leafy vines began crawling up the sides of the

Things exist for a reason. Nature doesn’t mess around with things that don’t have a purpose. Sometimes those things come into competition. Sometimes they edge each other out. Invasive species have been transforming the world in their own image for as long as animals have been capable of moving from one place to another. Humanity has hastened the process, since we’re the first animals to build airplanes and container ships, but we didn’t start it, and it won’t stop when we’re gone.

This Cinderella ecology isn’t so new in Britain. The last windfall of sites for rare natives and exotic invaders happened after bombs dropped on London and elsewhere in World War II. The profusion of unexpected species that populated the craters was so great that it was rumored they had been dropped with the bombs as biological weapons of war.7 The Moroccan poppy and the American willow herb were both first spotted in Britain in the remains of bombed-out buildings in the City of London and subsequently spread across Britain. Those were good times for thorn apple from North America and rosebay willow herb from the Yukon, which was nicknamed “bombweed” by Cockney Londoners. Some were newcomers, but many were old arrivals. The daisy-like gallant soldier, its common name a corruption of its Latin name Galinsoga parviflora, came to Kew Gardens from Peru in the 1790s but proliferated unexpectedly in the bomb craters.

Preface to the Paperback Edition The coronavirus, a severe acute respiratory syndrome, has unleashed a pandemic since the original publication of Epidemics and Society. Coronavirus disease (COVID-19) is still too new and too poorly understood to allow us to assess its ultimate impact, but its broad contours have become sufficiently clear, and several of its features relate closely to the themes of this book. Like all pandemics, COVID-19 is not an accidental or random event. Epidemics afflict societies through the specific vulnerabilities people have created by their relationships with the environment, other species, and each other. Microbes that ignite pandemics are those whose evolution has adapted them to fill the ecological niches that we have prepared. COVID-19 flared up and spread because it is suited to the society we have made. A world with nearly eight billion people, the majority of whom live in densely crowded cities and all linked by rapid air travel, creates innumerable opportunities for pulmonary viruses. At the same time, demographic increase and frenetic urbanization lead to the invasion and destruction of animal habitat, altering the relationship of humans to the animal world. Particularly relevant is the multiplication of contacts with bats, which are a natural reservoir of innumerable viruses capable of crossing the species barrier and spilling over to humans.

A single Seaway ship can hold up to six million gallons of vessel-steadying ballast water that gets discharged at a port in exchange for cargo. And that water, scientists would learn after it was too late, can be teeming with millions, if not billions, of living organisms.

Sandy beaches still rim the lakes, but if Lake Michigan, for example, were drained it would now be possible to walk almost the entire 100 miles between Wisconsin and Michigan on a bed of trillions upon trillions of filter-feeding quagga mussels.

When the Suez Canal opened in 1869, it allowed tropical species from the waters of the Indian Ocean to move into the Mediterranean. And they did. Yet while 250 species of all kinds established themselves, there has only been one recorded extinction. Similarly, when the Panama Canal joined the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans in 1914, biodiversity increased on both sides. North America has morre birds and mammal species than when the Europeans first landed. And the addition of some four thousand plant species has added 20 percent to biodiversity and not, so far as is known, resulted in a single plant species being lost. Likewise, the UK’s twenty-three hundred additional species have not directly caused any known local extinctions.

You see refugees as the problem. They aren't. They are a symptom. You see them in our fields as weeds, invasive species, but you never ask, what is a weed, but a flower in the wrong garden? That is the real problem with Lebanon, and the whole Middle East, we are all flowers in the wrong garden. You English should understand this; this is the garden you planted.

We rail against ‘alien, invasive’ species like Himalayan balsam and Rhododendron ponticum, while turning a blind eye to pheasants, rainbow trout, snowdrops and sweet chestnut. Snake’s head fritillaries are a defining feature of ‘medieval wild-flower meadows’ protected by SSSIs. Yet they are no more native than the