Back in July, when this post about the Minneapolis Buckthorn Removal Singles Club started gaining traction online, I received no fewer than five Instagram DMs from coupled friends about it.
The messages were sent with the same gleeful energy these friends have when they ask to swipe through my Hinge matches or recount my worst dating story at a Christmas party. (I don’t tell the real worst story—it’s too dark.)
As the token chronically single friend, I’m used to laying bare my so-far fruitless attempts at romance for the entertainment of my pals. Whether it’s a post-pandemic era problem or a Minneapolis one, dating in the Midwest as a straight 34-year-old woman in the year 2026 is not for the faint of heart.
The state of human connection seems to be going the way of, well, most things: In recent memory, it hasn’t been worse. The good news? I’m not the only (if you’ll humor me) cute, kind, employed, funny, interesting, and progressive mid-30s woman banging her head against the metaphorical wall of dating apps. My misery has plenty of company. So I texted three of my fellow single female friends, “will you ~please~ go to the Buckthorn Singles Thing with me?”
My text was met with the following replies: “lol,” and “maybe if I can get enough done this weekend” and “sure…!” But when I pressed further for back up, I received the dreaded night-before text from the friend who had kinda agreed to go with me: “I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to bail!” I knew what question lay beneath the hesitancy: “isn’t it kind of cringe to go to a singles event?” Wanting love, in theory, is not embarrassing; finding it through the removal of an invasive plant might be.
Other questions included: “Who goes to these events?” “Are they… normal?” “Are they cool?” “Are they hot?”
I knew I needed to be brave and find out for myself.
What is Buckthorn and Why Are We Removing It?
Buckthorn is a shrubby invasive species originally brought over from Europe that has long plagued the forests and parks of Minnesota, crowding out native trees and plants.
Minneapolis-based buckthorn removal clubs actually date back decades, a fact that might not surprise the average Racket reader. Savvy thrifters can still find group T-shirts from the ’80s. And while those early groups weren’t necessarily singles clubs, they were quintessentially Minneapolis. Minneapolis Buckthorn Removal Singles Club (MBRSC) designed their “Die Buckthorn Scum” T-shirt after the one that came 40 years before it. But why buckthorn, and why now? I asked the group’s creator, William “Buckthorn Daddy” Cooke, what prompted his hatred of the plant and love of interpersonal connection.
It started with some conservation work in his youth, he tells me, followed by a deep passion for Minneapolis and its community. “How can I best help take care of this city?” he asked himself. Cooke was moved by reading Potawatomie author/botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass, in which she tells the story of the Windigo, a cannibalistic monster that, according to Algonquian-speaking traditions, preys upon the weak, the vulnerable, the socially disconnected.
“The more a Windigo eats, the more ravenous it becomes,” Kimmerer writes. “It shrieks with its craving, its mind a torture of unmet want. Consumed by consumption, it lays waste to humankind.”
It’s not difficult to connect the metaphor between late-stage capitalism’s suffocation of genuine human connection and, well, buckthorn. It’s the botanical embodiment of the Windigo, Kimmerer writes: “[it] takes over the forest, starving other plants of light and space. Buckthorn also poisons the soil, preventing the growth of any species but itself…”
For Cooke, the algorithm is a sort of virtual buckthorn.
“I got rid of Spotify because I don't want algorithms telling me what music I should like—I want people telling me what kind of music I should like!” he says. “I find new music less frequently, but I need to think about it a lot more.”
“So we’ll have to bring you mixtapes!” quips Jon Hicks, the official Buckthorn Removal Singles Club photographer.
“Dating apps are another one,” Cooke continues. “They tell you, ‘Here are the people you should be interested in.’ I don’t like it!”
Thus, he created the mixtape equivalent of dating, all while you rail against technofascism via conservancy. Honestly? Chic. And since launching this summer, MBRSC has been a hot-ticket hit; the 150-capacity Google Form signup sheets fill up quickly for each scheduled outing.
What Happens at the Buckthorn Removal Singles Club?
I pitched my story to Racket—it was the perfect pretense that absolved me from the vulnerability of going in earnest—and force myself over to Minnehaha Falls kicking and screaming into my notes app. On my way over I write:
“I really don’t wanna go.”
“It’s Labor Day weekend so I’m here with all the other cabin-invite rejects.”
“Is everyone here going to be super age-inappropriate for me? Is it gonna be like, a bunch of 24-year-olds?”
“I think I’m gonna throw up”
But here’s what happens: The Buckthorn Removal Singles Club sets you up for success.
After checking in, you fill out your nametag. This includes your pronouns and what you’re looking for: “M” if you date men, “W” for women, “NB” for non-binary, “A” anyone, and “F” if you’re just here for friends. You’re provided water, gloves, sunscreen, and a few pairs of hedge trimmers.
It immediately feels deeply natural to chat up anyone here, which makes sense considering you’re bonded by the resolve to show up to a Sunday morning singles event. It’s a free pass to be openly friendly—you’re not bothering anyone. Having a task is huge. Like parallel play, digging out shrubs together eases the intensity of interacting with a stranger. There’s something to bond over, talk about, and struggle through, which is half the battle.
We split into two groups—the under-30s and the over-30s. (I’d put the median age at 31, but that’s a rough estimate.) My group includes several over-40 folks and even an over-60 individual. Loathing buckthorn unites singles of all ages.
Before we literally dig in, Will and conservationist Shelby (who herself found love at MBRSC!) gather the group to review buckthorn constitution. You learn what buckthorn is, how to identify it, and what “critical cut” means. You’re bribed to do the hard job—wielding a shovel to dig up medium-sized buckthorn plants—under the guise that it will be most impressive to potential suitors. Peacocking, if you will. You split up and get to work.
How It Went
I made friends!
The first are two very cool women named Rachel and Berit, who were both also there for the first time, also because of Instagram. I compliment Rachel on her feather earrings; she tells me about her recent breakup.
Then there’s Emily, the social work grad student who enthusiastically jumps at the chance to assist Will with leading the group. She has been attending since the inaugural meeting, along with a ragtag group of buckthorn OGs (shout out to Emily—she loves Racket). I meet countless other people who chat about being over the apps, recently out of relationships, excited to be part of a new kind of community. One person even pulls me aside to discreetly tell me I have a burr stuck on my ass—buckthorners have your back.
Jokes about shitting in the woods, falling into a pile of buckthorn and never getting out, and doing the hardest job to impress the nearest “buckthorn cutie” are thrown around generously.
I was most touched after meeting a woman about 10 years older than me named Jessi.
Jessi and I bond over a few niche commonalities. First, we discover we both have day jobs working for the Twin Cities’s two professional orchestras across the river from each other—me in comms and social media, her in fundraising. Then we bond over widowhood: She’s a widow, and I recently had my heart badly broken by a widower. I was disarmed by the connection, how casually you can stumble upon someone who has an understanding of what you’re going through, how it can relieve you of feeling so alone, with such ease, while yanking at a deeply rooted invasive species.
We get to chatting about what piqued our Buckthorn Singles Club curiosity.
“I am so tired of dating apps,” I sigh, defeated. “Really?” she responds, “I’ve only had positive experiences online—but I love the idea of being in a community around like-minded people. That’s why I wanted to come.”
A refreshingly positive outlook! Something I can learn from.
The Minneapolis Buckthorn Removal Singles Club has yielded a few successes, if you measure success the way they do on Love Island: coupling up. To date, the group has produced two official couples, but there may be more budding love yet to sprout! Oh yeah, and so much buckthorn has been removed, although that work is sadly never done.
Cooke says he plans to take a much-needed break this winter to rest and plan, but he promises that this spring MBRSC will be back with a vengeance. Before the group goes dormant for winter, a few opportunities remain. MBRSC just had their first queer-only removal day; a 40+ event is scheduled for October. Cooke says they’ll work and flirt until frost arrives.
As for me, I haven’t found buckthorn love—yet. But in a way, already I have.
