1. ticketmaster/livenation monopoly
2. live shows are the only way artists make money now since streaming killed album residuals
3. commercial rent has decimated smaller venues
In 2009, dozens of cedar waxwings dropped dead in a Georgia yard. A lab opened them up and found their stomachs packed with one thing: bright red berries picked off the shrub by the porch.
That shrub was nandina, sold all over the South as "heavenly bamboo."
It's not bamboo, but an Asian barberry relative, and its berries contain cyanide compounds. A bird that eats a few is usually fine. But cedar waxwings don't eat a few. They descend in flocks and strip plants bare, and in late winter, when those berries are one of the few foods left hanging, a whole flock can swallow a deadly dose in minutes.
The Georgia birds were found dead beneath the shrubs they had been feeding on. It's happened since, including more cedar waxwings found dead at UNC Chapel Hill.
The berries are also how the plant spreads. Birds eat the fruit and scatter the seeds. Nandina has escaped gardens into woods across much of the South, from Virginia to Texas.
It tolerates deep shade, which means it doesn't stop at the trail edge. It can establish in intact forests and crowd out native plants. State after state lists it as invasive. It's still sitting on the shelf at the big-box nursery.
It's easy to recognize. An upright evergreen shrub three to eight feet tall, with lacy leaves that turn red in cold weather, clusters of white flowers in spring, and bunches of glossy red berries that hang on all winter.
So yank it. Get the roots, because it resprouts. If you can't remove the whole thing this year, at least cut off every berry cluster before the birds find it.
Then plant something that actually feeds them: winterberry, American beautyberry, chokeberry, or native hollies.
The birds deserve better.
@kassiekitson It's a giveaway. They are offering substantially less acreage of significantly less important land. That's why we're suing them. If it was truly a "trade" it wouldn't be a violation of the National Wildlife Refuge System Improvement Act.
BREAKING: We're suing the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service over their plan to give away 715 acres of a public wildlife refuge to billionaire corporation Space X.
Americans shouldn't be sacrificing their public lands to subsidize a company owned by the richest man in the world.
@MeidasTouch@Acyn US Rep Rob Wittman was
was named to the 2026 Most Corrupt Politicians list by the national anti- corruption organization, End Citizens United.
Rep. Rob Wittman (R-VA) faked a phone call for roughly 90 seconds after being asked about Speaker Mike Johnson’s comments regarding potential Social Security cuts.
The phone's screen remained visible, with his cheek inadvertently tapping different parts of the display.
Back in Victorian days, it was considered quite fancy for gardeners to build something they called a stumpery.
It's a pile of dead stumps and logs, often stacked roots-up, arranged in a shady damp corner and left to rot on purpose. The Victorians built them to show off ferns, but they also turn out to be some of the best wildlife habitat you can make.
The first one went up in 1856 at Biddulph Grange in England, where a gardener took the stumps left from clearing land and stacked them ten feet high along a sunken path. The fern craze was at its peak, and the rotting wood made perfect planting pockets. King Charles has a famous modern stumpery at Highgrove built from sweet chestnut roots.
What the Victorians treated as decoration, nature treated as a feast. As the wood breaks down it feeds fungi, mosses, and beetles, including stag beetles whose grubs live in deadwood for years. Toads, salamanders, and small mammals move into the damp gaps. A single rotting log can support an astonishing variety of life.
To build one: find a shaded corner, stack stumps and logs with the roots facing up and out, leave plenty of gaps, and tuck ferns and moss around the base. Then walk away and let it rot.
You make a sculpture out of dead trees, and everything in the yard moves in.
Every summer, well-meaning people hang out balls of dryer lint, yarn, and pet fur for the birds. Most of it does more harm than good.
Dryer lint feels perfect, but it isn't. It crumbles the first time it rains and leaves holes in the nest, and it carries detergent residue and microplastics.
Yarn, string, and long hair can be worse: they wrap around a nestling's leg or wing as it grows and slowly cut off circulation, and wildlife rehabbers see the results every year.
Pet fur seems like the safe, natural choice, and it's the one I'd skip hardest. A 2025 UK study found that 100% of the animal fur lining the nests of two common songbirds contained insecticides from flea and tick treatments, and the higher the dose, the worse the chicks did. The soft lining was poisoning the brood.
Here's the good news: The best nesting material is a slightly messy yard, and it's free. Leave the twigs, dead leaves, and dried grass where they fall. Let plants stand so the seed fluff and stems are there for the taking. Leave a small patch of bare mud for the robins.
Birds were building nests for millions of years before the craft-supply aisle existed. Give them a wild corner and get out of the way.
@FrankBr05713205 I went to Lane Tech in Chicago and we had wood shop, electrical shop, machine shop, auto shop, and foundry. More schools should have shop classes and this country needs to build more trade schools. Getting a college degree isn't as relevant as it used to be.