NEBRASKAland Magazine is dedicated to outstanding photography and informative writing with an engaging mix of articles and photos highlighting Nebraska’s outdoor activities, parklands, wildlife, history and people.
Issue link: http://mag.outdoornebraska.gov/i/823575
70 NEBRASKAland • MAY 2017 O ne of the reasons I love this piece of ground we live on is that it provides a spectrum of Plains ecologies, rising from the Middle Loup River, which gives us acres of wetlands and riparian woodlands. Then there is a belt of river terraces with tall grasses such as big bluestem and thickets of plum and chokecherry brush. A hundred yards farther it rises into wind-formed Sandhills with short grass, junipers, and ... that d***ed cactus. Sorry about the language but in our family that has become a set phrase: "… that "d***ed cactus." In the lower climes there are some large "beaver-tail" prickly pear (Opuntia) and I find it in my heart to forgive it what little pain it inflicts. The waxy yellow flowers are gorgeous on those rare occasions when the plant blooms, the "pear" fruits make lovely jelly and even the "paddles" are edible for salads and soups. So it is pleasant enough as a neighbor. I don't bother it and it doesn't bother me. That can't be said for "that d***ed cactus," justifiably labeled "leaping cactus" because even when I am careful walking around the uplands, the stuff sees me coming, crouches in wait, and then leaps at any exposed flesh or loose clothing. I don't think there has been a time in my 40-year tenure here that I have walked the uplands without bringing back a few specimens of the accursed stuff. Once in the house it jumps free and hides under the furniture or rug, waiting for bare feet to stray its way and once again it earns its name ... in fact, all three names – opuntia fragilis (fragile only in the sense that parts of it detach easily and latch onto the unwary), "leaping cactus" and "that d***ed cactus." On those occasions when I find it hooked into my shoes, pant legs, or most distressingly on the seat of my overalls, and with pliers (a stick won't do it) pull the blasted offender off my person, I have learned never to toss it aside because that's exactly what it wants. Within seconds of hitting the ground, it sends forth roots and cheerfully adapts to its new home, directly in the path where Linda will next walk out to her studio to feed the cat. And there will be not a doubt in her mind how "that d***ed cactus" made its way into Fortress Welsch: "Rog! Check your shoes when you come back from a hike!" I know what you're thinking: just get rid of the stuff. Easily said. It flourishes when doused with herbicides. When dug up it simply sends up new needle balls from the roots. And if you saw how many tens of thousands of the wretched pain inflictors populate this place, you'd know how impossible that would be. I've used propane torches to burn large areas, and with some success: rabbits found the de-spined cactus flesh delicious and feasted for a while … until new segments sprang up from the roots with needles sharper than were there before. A friend suggested that I water a patch and see if that would do the job. Nope, of course this cactus, unlike all others, loves water. I've even thought about taking out advertisements in coastal newspapers warning readers that anyone coming to Nebraska to harvest my cactus for its wonderful hallucinatory properties will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Which would be none because "that d***ed cactus" doesn't even offer that commercial potential. So over the years we have had to adopt the attitude expressed by author Joyce Meyer: "You may have been given a cactus, but you don't have to sit on it." Or an alternative phrasing that I think should be the Nebraska state motto: "It could be worse." Although in the case of "this d***ed cactus" it's hard to imagine how it could be worse. ■ Roger Welsch is an author, humorist, folklorist and a former essayist for CBS News Sunday Morning. He has authored more than 40 books and has contributed to the magazine since 1977. "…that d***ed cactus" By Roger Welsch Suggested scientific name "Paininthebutkus nebraskansis"