Goat herds feed on overgrowth to make way for wildflowers
A popular Dallas nature trail is swapping gas-powered mowers and herbicides for something a bit woollier this year.
Each spring and summer, Northaven Trail bursts into bloom with native wildflowers. But before those flowers put on their show, the ground needs serious prep — clearing out thatch, loosening compacted soil, and giving seeds a shot at survival.
Northaven TAILS, a pilot project involving targeted grazing in the trail’s no-mow zones, has brought in a rotating herd of goats and sheep to do the landscaping. Northaven Trail’s grazing project hopes to implement a low-impact, high-reward way to restore native habitat and reduce reliance on machines and chemicals.
The organization piloting the program, Friends of Northaven Trail, reported it being one of the first projects of its kind in Texas to use grazing in an urban setting.
“The project is practical, sustainable — and unexpectedly fun to watch,” said Friends of Northaven Trail’s Dorothy Buechel.
The herds of goats and sheep will eat invasive plants, naturally fertilize the soil, and help create ideal conditions for native wildflowers to thrive, promoting biodiversity while being wildly entertaining for the 30,000+ people who walk, jog, and bike the trail every month, explained Buechel.
“Goats and sheep are the cutest crew in conservation, restoring native habitat with a natural, low-impact touch,” said Will Dawson, who is heading up the Northaven TAILS project.
Dawson shared some insight about the goats, noting that while the sound of their bleating may have the quality of a shriek, it’s actually a natural form of communication for them.
“When goats vocalize loudly, their bleats can sound surprisingly human-like. It is a high-pitched, drawn-out sound that resembles someone yelling or even shrieking. It’s often described as a mix between a child screaming and a person shouting ‘ahhh’ or ‘eee,’” he said.
Dawson, who’d been supervising the hundreds of animals since dawn, was happy the location device hadn’t yet been gobbled up.
Dawson was happy the location device hadn’t yet been gobbled up.
“It’s a 50/50 chance it’ll stay put and not end up in a goat’s belly,” he said.
While some were more industrious than others, I was able to quickly pick out the “goat-getters,” the “supervisors,” the “showboaters,” and “the loungers.”
(I should warn that the fence keeping the adorable creatures from hitting the road after satisfying their munchies, does emit an electric shock — just as the sign says.) Overzealous journalists, of course, must learn the hard way.
Slowly swaggering in my direction, a small but mighty horned fella used a little headbutting to establish his position at the top of the pecking order, while perhaps also trying to discourage fellow grazers from getting in the way of my camera lens’ view of him.
I needed the shot of the G.O.A.T himself as he stood poised for his portrait, nose in the air, flanked by his scruffy, wide-eyed entourage like a celebrity at a movie premiere. What I got instead was a sharp little jolt, and a life lesson in respecting boundaries — both literal and metaphorical.
But honestly? Worth it. The shock will fade. The photos? The stuff whispered about in barnyards across America. Some of us just have to get a bit buzzed to feel alive — or at least to get the money shot. And the hard-working wooly squad makes the small sacrifice — say, your dignity or an electric shock — worth a little face time with them.
I wasn’t the only one enthusiastic about getting up close and personal with the four-legged eco-friendly ambassadors.
“We’re excited about ‘The Greatest of All Time’ joining our neighborhood,” joked trail hiker John Reese. “The bearded environmentalists mind their own business, get straight to work, and are a lot less noisy than a mower.”