It seems that most invasive species of plants that have been introduced to nature were for the most part, at that time, considered to be a good idea. Take Kudzu for example. Brought here in 1876 from Japan, it was introduced as a decorative ornamental. Later in the 1930s and 40s it was promoted for soil erosion control. Today it takes the shape of old abandoned cars it has encapsulated or gives the every day power pole a nice earthy decorative look. An invasive species that smothers native plants and destroys ecosystems, its only current redeeming value, in my opinion, would be that it’s a plant one could consume from root to leaf if you found yourself in a zombie apocalypse. I’m willing to bet that it would still be thriving.

While on a recent vacation in Gulf Shores, my wife Shannon, my youngest son Landon, his friend Anthony, and I participated in a guided bike tour through the Gulf State Park. This proved to be the right decision, as the last time I biked through the park, it was sans a guide and resulted in a three hour endurance test. If you really want to measure the strength of your marriage, ride rented bikes in 90 degree heat, in the woodsy backwaters of the Gulf State Park. Aimlessly winding through a maze of boardwalks and trails with your wife and two sons while unconvincingly repeating “isn’t this fun?” and not sure if you’re talking to yourself or them.

On our most recent and properly planned ride this year, our guide pointed out various flora and fauna and told us interesting facts about each of them along the way. One plant and fact that stood out to me was the Popcorn Tree or Chinese Tallow. An invasive species originally introduced from China due to its seeds’ waxy texture. It was thought that they could be used for candle making and other products and would create a booming industry. Rapidly growing, much like kudzu, it took nutrients from native plants and changed the ecosystem, specifically the pH level of the soil.

There is never the perfect solution for eradication once a species is deemed invasive. It almost seems unfair. A penance being paid by nature for man’s good intentions. A tale as old as time.

As goes most things, the good cozied up to the bad. Black Willow trees were thriving, you may know of them being that they are where aspirin is derived. A large, almost power-pole-looking structure was installed in the park with the intent of attracting osprey to build a nest. It just so happened that we passed one in use. Momma and daddy bird were both home, guarding and feeding their young, preparing the chicks to soon leave the nest. To make things even better, the pole had no decorative kudzu and our bike ride had an actual end in sight.

As the days passed quicker than I expected, I couldn’t seem to shake the thought of how disappointing the outcome is when our good intentions go awry. Whether it be man’s intent to introduce a new species of plant, or bike rides that start with the highest of hopes and end with the lowest of lassitude. We mean well, but life sometimes has other plans.

One evening after returning from riding waterslides that my body had suddenly grown much too old for, we all decided to take the invaluable night time walk on the beach. I’m at that age where growing older is confusing for me. For some reason I think I’m still young, but I’m reminded I’m not through other facets of my life. I see my age through others now, especially Landon. Mine and Shannon’s well intended moonlight beach stroll didn’t hold his attention for long. He and his friend briefly played in the washed out sand areas where small ponds of ocean water formed. As I tried to be in the moment, I saw a little boy that once loved these times. The wind blowing, waves crashing, and the endless pursuit of hidden sand treasures. Now, the pursuit was at the pool.
Teenage bliss, coming of age invasively stealing my coveted moment. As fast as the tide rolled back into the gulf, my mind was invaded with thoughts and it shifted back to good intentions. We’ve tried our hardest to freeze time with that little boy and have him play just a little longer under the stars, but life has other plans.

We kept on toward the condo, picking up the most prized of shells and searching for driftwood. Wetting our feet and feeling the cool sand between our toes as our walk was winding down. We made our way towards the loose dry sand when Shannon spotted what appeared to be a very unique swirled shell, rare for that beach. As I reached down and picked it up, it unraveled. I flung it back to the ground and leaned in for further inspection. It was a piece of fettuccine. We both laughed and began to make really bad jokes that we found to be much more entertaining than they should have been. The invasive fettuccine noodle, disguising itself as a sea shell for two unsuspecting parents to stumble upon. Altering what brought them laughter and fun. Forcing their adjustment to no longer share those laughs with a little boy finding sand treasures. Just like that, our ecosystem had changed despite our good intentions. Per usual, life sometimes has other plans. People will continue to make mistakes with nature, we just don’t seem to know any better. With our families, the natural progression of life will invade our native ways and we’ll find ourselves refusing to accept it. The best we can do is adapt, hard as that may be.

There is a transitional area where two different ecosystems or communities meet and mingle. It’s a unique area with its own characteristics. It’s called an ecotone. I hope that’s where I am now. All it really took to get me there was an invasive tree, a growing boy and a piece of fettuccine shaped like a seashell. My body doesn’t work like it used to, and mine and Shannon’s beach walks are for us now.

My family’s ecosystem has changed. This beach trip once had three children searching for shells, as with the natural progression of life, it’s now become one, and he’s eagerly waiting his turn to fly the nest. Despite the melancholy of it all, I can now return to Mississippi with my good intentions in tow and my invasive thoughts at rest, because I know we will find one another in the ecotone and discover the beautiful changes it will have to offer.

Clay Bowen is a Columbus native who cooked professionally as a chef in fine dining for 12 years and appeared on the third season of Top Chef. He is also a licensed landscape horticulturist and is currently the general manager of a local landscaping company. Bowen writes in his free time and is working on a book about his experiences and travel.