It was a weekend from Hell. I was drawn to the very mouth of Perdition, stood at the gate and gazed down into the Pit. I kind of liked the view. I had been drawn into this Dante-esque situation when a friend of mine said “I can’t get my email working right or my computers talking to each other and my computer guy can’t either. Can you make it work?” She then went on and clinched the deal “I’ll cook you brunch.” I thought a millisecond and said “Sure, as long as we eat first.” No dummy I.

I had promised myself that I would shun my past vocation but, with the whole “starving writer” thing going on, any activity that involves free food is going to get my undivided attention – regardless. Sunday morning I climbed onto the bus, traveled across town, and slid into my place at the table. Afterwards, leftovers in hand, I migrated into the office where both computers sat idling waiting for my tender caress.

A short while later the computers were happily swapping stories and emails were falling into place as required. All was right with the world. My friend said “Let’s go for a walk before it rains.” (She’s been here for a while and is fully under the influence of the mind-control rays.)  Off we went. Along the way we passed a gnarly old mailbox upon which was tacked a tattered notice looking not unlike a Most Wanted leaflet at the Post Office. The sole exception was that in place of a mug shot there was an image of a cute furry rodent.

At first I thought that someone might have misplaced their gerbil and that the owner, lacking the milk carton option, was seeking its return from the harsh cruel world. Upon closer examination I learned that this was no harmless bunny escaped its cage. This was, indeed still is, the VILE – rearrange the letters – EVIL – rearrange them again – and LIVE threat to our collective safety known as the Nutria. Hiding behind its – last possible rearrangement – veil of anonymity the nefarious Nutria Empire was seeking no less than the complete extermination of everything in its path and the redrawing of the environmental landscape from sea to shining sea. Sound familiar?

I hurried home to find out as much as I could about this furry peril from beyond the sea in the misguided belief that knowledge was the best defense or some such other malapropism. I was so wrong. Not only is the tide of Nutrian Invaders not ebbing, it is flowing stronger. And the Nutria, my friends, are not alone. They, along with their allies from every phylum, have penetrated our borders and set up unassailable camps within. There is no hope of victory, none of truce. We are faced with either a war without end or complete surrender. Our land has been occupied and we are at the mercy of the…the… The Invasive Species. Cue the spooky organ music.

Now, I may be a bit naïve but when I see “invasive” I picture things like the Army of Carthage, Alexander’s push against western Asia, the roving Mongol hordes, Roman Legions stretching from Albion to Egypt, or the ill-favored hosts of the undead threatening Los Angeles or Central America. You know, that sort of thing. “Invasive” to me conjures an image of planned encroachment with mal-intent looking to overthrow the existing order and replace it with one of the invaders own devising. The current-day situation in the Middle East might serve as a more recent example. My research indicated that the invasive species forming this formidable attack are really not much along the lines of “invaders”. Actually, they are quite more like “guests”.

Consider the humble nutria.

This timid rodent was originally found only in the temperate areas of South America. One can picture the idyllic scene where vast herds – flocks, colonies, or swarms perhaps – of nutria are dancing across the Pampas without a care in the world. Along comes mankind and the numbers of nutria drop like the numbers of most things do – other than mankind – when mankind comes along. Some clever entrepreneurs figured out you could raise the things in captivity and started exporting the beasts as a meat and fur producer to all of these other places which are absolutely perfect places for nutria to grow and thrive. This was perfect. Most of the beavers had been killed off for their fur and conveniently here comes this wonderful little bundle of food and pelt and a new industry was born. In Europe, Africa and North America nutria farms were built, stocked and failed. The failures happened for three reasons. First, nutria fur isn’t nearly as nice as beaver fur. So nobody bought it. Second, nutria meat is particularly lean and flavorless. Except in parts of Central Asia nobody wants to eat the stuff. Lastly, the nutria are host to a particularly nasty skin parasite that can also infect humans. Thus, not only are they not nutrient rich, they can also give you the nutria itch. 

But they’re just so darn cute. So when the ranches were about to go under the furry little poster-children gazed up at the wannabe ranchers with those cute little button eyes and blinked. Once. The ranchers opened the gates and set the nutria free.

Our guests had arrived.

Since that fateful day the nutria have spread to eleven U.S. States with expected populations in four others and seven more States that had populations either eradicated or otherwise made “extinct”. They are found in two Canadian Provinces and along the Rio Grande in Mexico. The picture is similar on other continents. In the United States they are indigenous from Florida to Washington State.

Many species which are near and dear to us, including dogs, cats, and honey bees, are here because of us as well. They are “non-native” – if not exactly pest – species. However, in all the lists which show such things there is one glaring omission. The ultimate non-native species. This gaping hole-at-the-top-of-the-list that should be filled by the one undisputed king of invasive species: Us, homo sapiens. We are the ones who are able to move into a new environment and both adapt to it and force it adapt to us. We are the ones who through dint of tenacity or self-delusion can think “Gee, I wonder what’s over there? Let’s go find out.” And then go. Without us all of those other species titled “non-native” or “invasive” would still be sitting home where they belonged.  

For us in the Americas there were two separate invasions. The first occurred in deep pre-history. Some 16,000 years ago a small band of Asians decided to see what was on the other side of the glacier. By a few glaciers later all of the other animals coming along had said something like “Damn it’s cold. I’m going home.” Only humans and their trusting companion – and first documented non-native species – the dog, continued on. The humans can be seen rationalizing the journey as “Sure it’s another glacier but I bet there’s something cool on the other side.” The dog was probably thinking “Ohboyohboyohboy! Another walk.” Eventually the glaciers came to an end. Within a couple of thousand years of that fateful day humans had spread from the Arctic to Tierra del Fuego. Along with this rapid expansion came the equally rapid extinction of every large terrestrial mammal except for the bison. I’m not one to point fingers but, c’mon, “coincidence”. I think not.

The second invasion came from the opposite direction and began in 1492. Once again it was characterized by the extinction or near extinction of every large terrestrial mammal – namely the bison and the previous group of invaders. It was different though. This time we came in boats. Boats packed full of cows and goats and wheat and apples and kudzu and bees and nutria. There were zebra mussels and lionfish trapped in the bilges of later boats. The pattern continues today as we and our guests spread into new environments and make those places conform to our needs. The current invasion will keep on going until every place that can be occupied, is.

In our top-of-the-heap hubris we try to manage our invasive mistakes. All told we have introduced some 1,512 plants, 463 insects, 64 mollusks, 94 fish, 82 reptiles, 32 mammals, 7 amphibians, 92 birds, 29 crustaceans, 32 arachnids, and 175 disease pathogens into the United States alone. Some of these, like the nutria, kudzu, python, and water hyacinth, are our invited guests. Others like the zebra mussel and lionfish just hitched a ride. Sort of like getting home from Christmas dinner at your sister’s and finding your drunk brother-in-law asleep in the back seat. None of them could have gotten here without our help and they are all here to stay. Currently the United States Federal government alone spends some $1.5 billion dollars a year trying to get rid of our guests. Without success. So little success in fact that I can still find a poster tacked to a mailbox in Seattle, Washington asking the public to report sightings of the elusive nutria.

The simple fact is, despite the billions spent and the effort involved, all of those species are here to stay. Eventually Nature will get involved and a grouper or shark or tuna will get hatched that thinks Hmmm. These lionfish do taste pretty good. Nature will begin to exert her ultimate power and things will once again swing back into balance. But this time it will be a balance that includes the “invasive” pest. Nature will have factored its presence into the equation and at that point the former invader will be just another local. Regardless of our careless transmission of species from one part of the globe to another eventually it will all go back into balance. The balance will be different than what was here before we started messing with things. Nature doesn’t care about that.  At the end of the balancing act all of these new species will have integrated into the local environment. They won’t need maps or guidebooks. They’ll know where all the good restaurants and coffee shops are. They will have made themselves at home. They will be “native” species.

But last on the list, in the number one and now only position will be the original invasive species: Us, the inappropriately named homo sapiens, the great unbalancer. We think ourselves above Nature but that is really just an illusion. Sometime, somehow Nature is going to figure out how to bring us into balance. And, given Mother Nature’s predilection for irony, I’d just bet it’s going to have something to do with the nutria.