The Uninvited Rose

Old-School Naturalist- Notes from the fields and forests of Upstate NY by Marlene McTigue 

The Uninvited Rose or The Bane of My Existence - Multiflora

Put on your gloves and pull down your long sleeves, for today, my friends, we are diving into the multiflora.If you are like me, more than once you’ve referred to it as the bane of your existence. Even as I write this, I am nursing a thorn lodged in the tip of my pointer finger, a souvenir from my latest encounter with the dastardly multiflora rose.Which, if you know multiflora rose, is entirely in character.Stubbornness is one of the species’ defining traits. A mature multiflora rose can produce hundreds of thousands of seeds in a single year, and those seeds may remain viable in the soil for up to two decades. Long after a plant has been cut down, its descendants may still be waiting underground for their opportunity.The grounds for this latest battle were the anniversary garden. So deemed many years ago, when we first settled here in the foothills of the Catskills, a gift from my husband on our anniversary. It was meant to be a place of flowers, butterflies and quiet summer evenings.Today, parts of it have disappeared beneath arching canes armed with curved thorns that seem specifically designed to snag sleeves, scratch bare skin and test the patience of gardeners.What started as a few scattered plants around the edges has become a project that will likely take us hours to reclaim.Every year I think we’ve gained the upper hand.Every year the multiflora rose returns to inform me that I was mistaken.Part of the reason multiflora rose spreads so successfully is that it does not rely on seeds alone. Its long arching canes often bend to the ground and root wherever they touch the soil, a form of vegetative reproduction called tip layering. What appears to be a single shrub may actually be an expanding colony of genetically identical plants quietly establishing themselves in several places at once.The remarkable thing is that this plant was once considered a conservation success story.Multiflora rose (Rosa multiflora) is native to Japan and other parts of eastern Asia. It arrived in North America in the late 1800s and was initially admired for its abundant blossoms and bright red rose hips.By the middle of the twentieth century, government agencies were actively encouraging people to plant it. The U.S. Soil Conservation Service, now known as the Natural Resources Conservation Service, promoted multiflora rose as a living fence for livestock, a tool for erosion control and valuable habitat for wildlife.On paper, it sounded like a terrific idea.Then the birds got involved.Robins, cedar waxwings and countless other fruit-eating birds discovered the rose hips. Each hip contains numerous seeds, and the birds dispersed them across fields, forests and roadsides in their travels. What began as a planting program soon became a landscape-scale distribution system.As government partnerships go, it proved wildly successful.Unfortunately, not in the way anyone intended.The shrubs spread into roadsides, pastures, wetlands, forest edges and home gardens.Including here in upstate New York.Given enough time, a single plant can grow into a sprawling thicket ten or even fifteen feet tall and wider still. The dense growth shades out native wildflowers and shrubs while creating nearly impenetrable barriers for both people and wildlife.By the 1960s and 1970s, farmers and conservationists were beginning to realize they had a challenge on their hands. The plant formed dense, thorny thickets that crowded out native shrubs and wildflowers. Pastures became harder to manage. Forest edges disappeared beneath tangled walls of rose canes.What had once been promoted as a solution was now transforming the landscape in ways no one had anticipated.Today, multiflora rose is classified as a prohibited invasive species in New York State. It can no longer be sold, imported or intentionally planted.Yet it remains everywhere.If you spend time outdoors in upstate New York, you’ve seen it. It lines farm roads, climbs over stone walls, fills abandoned fields and waits patiently along trail edges for the unsuspecting naturalist to wander too close.The irony is that it can be quite beautiful. Every June, multiflora rose covers itself with clusters of delicate white blossoms. Unlike many of our native roses, multiflora blooms in large clusters containing dozens of flowers at once. Entire roadsides can appear dusted in white, making it easy to understand why early conservationists found the plant so appealing.Nature often teaches us that appearances can be deceiving.The people who introduced multiflora rose were trying to solve real problems. For a time, they believed they had found an elegant solution.They simply could not see all the consequences that would follow.Today, the plant remains one of the most successful invasive species in the Northeast. Its story is a reminder that even well-intentioned ideas can reshape a landscape in ways we never expect.When we walk through the woods or work in our gardens, we are not just seeing nature. We are seeing history. Every stone wall, abandoned pasture and tangled thicket tells a story about the choices people made and the landscapes they hoped to create.Sometimes those stories bloom with unexpected beauty.And sometimes they leave a thorn in your finger and scratches up your arm.Until we meet again, perhaps you’ll spend some time in the fields, forests and forgotten corners of upstate New York, where there is always something worth noticing.See you next week.