Blooms – Page 3

Spicebush

As the woods are shutting down this fall, there is fruit to be had. Fruit for many birds and small mammals. Fruit for the adventuresome human as well.

These are the berries (also known as drupes) of Spicebush, Lindera benzoin. Berries that turn a brilliant scarlet in September, when the leaves are still a lovely contrast. A contrast, of emerald green. The leaves and twigs, if rubbed in your hands, will give off a pleasant, spicy fragrance. For those adventuresome humans I mentioned, the leaves and twigs can be used to make a tea. The berries can be dried and crushed to be used as a spice. While out today, my curiosity got the best of me. This afternoon I tasted some of the berries. I have to report that I was not impressed. Not unpleasant, but nothing to write home about either.

By late October, the leaves that once were emerald, are now a shining yellow, glowing in the forest. Calling attention to the shrub, wherever it grows. It grows in moist, shady locations, but if it is given just a tiny bit of sun, more berries will be produced.

As the shining yellow leaves drop to the forest floor, it’s easier to see the bark of the small trunks of the shrub. Small trunks that are speckled, as if a pretzel. A pretzel that is the wrong color. A soft grayish brown pretzel.

What is left behind, after the leaves have fallen, is a vision of what is to come. Buds that will wait out the winter.

Buds that will be some of the first awakenings of spring. Buds that paint the woods, in early April, a soft butter yellow. A soft wash that stirs my curiosity.

Buds that become blossoms. Blossoms that open before there are any thoughts of leaves. Blossoms of butter yellow in the black, gray and brown woods. No hint of any green.

Blossoms that resemble Sassafras blooms, but arrive a couple weeks earlier. Blossoms that will become berries on the female shrubs. The Spicebush is a shrub that is either male or female (the term for this is dioecious). The berries are only produced on the female shrubs. Berries that will again appear on the shrubs, as summer turns to fall. As the woods are shutting down.

Sassafras

You know the question, If you were a tree, what tree would you be? My quick answer would be, a sassafras tree. I’ve had a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains, in Virginia, since 1992. During that time I’ve hiked my mountain up and down, getting to know all the things that grow here. I love them all, but the sassafras speaks to me. Speaks to me more than any other tree.

I’ll introduce you to the sassafras trees that I know here on the mountain. I’ll start with this season. Autumn. I am a color person. Color is extremely important to me. The sassafras celebrates autumn with splendid colors. Its rich green leaves, fading into lime green, butter yellow, school bus yellow, as the chlorophyll in its leaves fades away.

But that is just the beginning. The sassafras becomes a multicolored fiesta in autumn. Rust red, burgundy and many a shade of orange appear.

These leaves, like the twigs, bark and roots, all have the fragrance of root beer. Perfect timing: as I write this, my husband brings me an icy mug of root beer. Mmm! It takes me back to my childhood.

As I reminisce, I recall that sassafras oil has been determined to contain a carcinogenic substance, safrole. Root beer no longer contains safrole. You would be wise not to dig the roots of sassafras, to use as a root beer flavoring, or to make tea, as I did as a child. That lovely aroma, sure brings the memories back. But let’s be safe.

As the leaves fall, the intricate texture of the bark becomes my focus. And the color of the bark, just below the surface. A rich, cinnamon red-brown. Looking, just the right color, to match that childhood memories aroma. The bark, a lovely lacework of ridges, undulating this way and that.

And, like the bark, the trunks of the sassafras trees appear to dance through the forest. Like the bark pattern, bending this way and that. Winter is a favorite season for me. It reveals the trees’ structure. The trees’ form. Sassafras trees bend and sway, even in standing still.

Time flies and the sassafras trees’ buds are waiting for the first of the slightly warm days. At the beginning of April, they begin swelling and by the third week of April, here on Snow Mountain, the woods are filled with flowers.

Not much for show, but still beautiful to me. There is a soft, butter yellow haze in the woods. The flowers arrive before the leaves.

Now I am going to tell you a secret. As fond of sassafras, as I am, I had never seen sassafras drupes (one seeded fruit), until this summer. On finding some, I was amazed at their unusual look. Patriotic red and blue.

And yet, I understood why I had not seen them before. The leaves provide a perfect hiding place for the drupes. So much so, that it was a challenge to get a photograph to show you.

The drupes are popular with many birds and once they are gone, their receptacles are still attractive. Crimson against the green leaves.

Lovely sassafras has a weakness, if you are going to plant a few in your garden. If you are in an area prone to problems with Japanese Beetles, beware. Japanese Beetles really enjoy Sassafras leaves. Fortunately for me, my woods are my gardens. They are filled with Sassafras. A Japanese Beetle chomped away on this leaf, but there are still many, many more untouched.

But with that attractiveness to Japanese Beetles, it certainly has its strengths as well. Another critter that eats the sassafras leaf, is the caterpillar of Eastern Tiger Swallowtail. I consider that a big plus. Along with its beauty, it tolerates clay soils, and drought. Deer, and gypsy moth caterpillars will go for other things to eat, before they chomp on sassafras.

Once I became acquainted with the trees on the mountain, I realized that sassafras trees can grow to be quite large. Up to about 60 feet in height. They are most often seen as the understory shrub though.

Allelopathic is a term used to describe a characteristic of sassafras. That means the tree releases a chemical that hinders the health of some plants living around the sassafras. American elm is one of the trees that is affected by this chemical. This is a defense for the sassafras, eliminating some of its competition.

I am very fortunate being here in the woods. Sassafras trees come up as volunteers all over. I love it!

Wood Poppy

Brilliant color. A sure hit in my garden. Add the fact that the brilliant color is a native to moist woods, of eastern North America, and it becomes a must have for me. A must have for my garden.

This screaming yellow bloom is of Wood Poppy, or Celadine Poppy, Stylophorum diphyllum.

The Wood Poppy shows hints of bloom as a fuzzy bud. It begins blooming in my garden (which is at an elevation of 1,800 feet in the Blue Ridge Mountains, of Virginia) in mid April. The plants continue blooming for a couple months.

The leaf of Wood Poppy reminds me of a White Oak leaf. Deep sinuses. As mid summer arrives, the leaves begin to change color. Just a slight change of color. A hint of autumn to come.

The seeds have a way of putting plants in odd places. If you have a neat, tidy garden with regimenation, unlike mine, you’ll want to give the new plants guidance in placement. The plant is most happy in a moist location, in shade or part shade.

Even now, as August weather is hinting at fall, I am enjoying the Wood Poppies in my garden. I particularly enjoy them at this time of year, when there is rain. The rain drops on their leaves are beautiful.

Smooth Sumac

Just a couple weeks ago, some of the bushes along my woodland edges were abuzz with pollinator activity. The flowers of Smooth Sumac, Rhus glabra, were the magnet.

Butterflies, including this Red-banded Hairstreak, Calycopis cecrops, were part of the crowd.

Honey Bees, gathering nectar, to help some bee keeper with his honey supply were also attracted. And so many other insects. Sweat bees, wasps. Too many to identify or list here! Believe me, Abuzz!

Smooth Sumac is a dioecious plant, meaning that male and female flowers appear on separate bushes.

There are many references to a lemonade being made from the berries. Call me chicken, but I’m not going to experiment, particularly because I am allergic to nuts and the thought that this shrub is in the cashew family (Anacardiaceae) is warning enough for me.

Autumn brings scarlet to the sawtooth edged leaves.

The bushes form dense colonies, by means of root suckers, and are easily spotted along the roadsides in many areas, in the fall, thanks to the brilliant red foliage.

The berries are an emergency food for many, many song birds through the winter.

This Yellow-shafted Flicker, or Northern Flicker, Colaptes auratus, is glad to have the emergency supply. I took this photograph during a heavy snow, back in February, 2010.

And as the seasons roll along, winter turns to spring. The compound leaves sprout, looking like ferns as they unfold. And the whole cycle repeats itself.

Blackberry Lily

I like rich, strong, take no prisoners color. In my garden there is one flower that really fills the bill. It is Blackberry Lily, or Leopard Lily, Iris domestica.

Here, a candelabra of spent flowers, having a twisted appearance, and buds ready to burst, on the naked stem of the Blackberry Lily.

Once open, the petals turn into a spinning ballerina out on the dance floor.

Though I try to favor native plants in my garden, this one is originally from central Asia, India, China and Japan. But it does seem, that this gorgeous, very easy to grow flower, has been on this continent forever. At least for a long time. Thomas Jefferson planted Blackberry Lily in his Monticello gardens. So I am in good company.

Once the flowering is completed, the seed pods develop into blackberry look-alikes. Sprinkle the seeds where you would like more to sprout, or let Mother Nature have her hand at placement. I like to have a say at where they end up, but I like the surprises that always happen.

Sweetspire

A gift from my son, some years ago, has turned into quite the pollinator magnet. Virginia Sweetspire, or another common name, Tassel-white. Itea virginica. Three small bushes have grown into a lovely mound of cream colored, cascading blooms.These cascading blooms have become tantalizing lures for pollinators in the vicinity of my central Virginia mountain cabin. Whether it is a brilliant orange Fritillary or a Silver-spotted Skipper the word is out.

They have arrived, along with all manner of bee, to take advantage of the buffet. These bushes satisfy a need in the natural world, and fill my heart, and my world of Nature, with great satisfaction. Plants native to the state.

This is something that I’ve grown to appreciate, over the years. Something that I wasn’t aware of, when I began making my home here in the mountains. Concentrating on growing native plants. Something that I wish more nurseries would help more of us appreciate. For instance there is a non-native, invasive plant called, Burning Bush which is widely sold, although some eastern U.S. states are banning the importation of the plant. It breaks my heart to see Burning Bush, Euonymus alata native to Asia growing, spreading, invading. Growing where plants that are native to this area would be of more benefit.

Sweetspire would be a lovely choice, rather than an alien invasive even if your neighborhood nursery has Burning Bush on sale. With perhaps just a tiny bit of effort, you could find Virginia Sweetspire.These yummy, richly red leaves are the autumnal reward of growing Virginia Sweetspire. And winter brings more reward with exposure of the twigs and branches twigs and branches of lovely burgundy. A nice contrast to the starkness of ice and snow.

I live in the woods. I live in the mountains. I strive to keep my world as much as possible like it would have been a hundred, or more years ago, with plants that are native to this state. Sweetspire is one of the plants that is helping me stay happy up here!

Rose Or Berry?

Late May, and the clusters of white blossoms are everywhere. Brambles covered with cascades of white. Blackberry or Multiflora Rose. For me, a friend and a foe. The two plants are nearly twins to the untrained eye. I think I’ve got it figured out though. In the picture, above, Blackberry, Rubus fruticosus. Notice the center of the bloom — a soft, pale green.

The spill of blossoms of the Blackberry, are a bit more thin and scattered than the Multiflora Rose.

Native Blackberry provides much benefit to wildlife here on the mountain. Not only does my family enjoy picking the berries, but many insects, birds and mammals benefit from its presence.

The Multiflora Rose, Rosa multiflora, above, has the same size flower as the Blackberry. The center of the bloom though, is quite a different color — soft yellow with school bus yellow stamens.

Stepping back, looking at the Multiflora Rose as a bush, the blooms are more tightly packed in their clusters than the Blackberry.

The Multiflora Rose is native to eastern Asia, in China, Japan and Korea. It is considered an alien invasive in eastern North America. Multiflora Rose should not be confused with polyantha roses which are garden cultivars derived from hybrids of R. multiflora.

Here on my mountain, and further up, in Shenandoah National Park, Multiflora Rose presents a challenge. It takes over large swaths of ground preventing native plants from establishing themselves and providing benefit to insects, birds and mammals.

Friend or foe? Blackberry is my friend, Multiflora Rose is definitely not.

Seeds Planted by Ants

Large-flowered Trillium, *Trillium grandiflorum*, a native wildflower which benefits from seed dispersal by ants

What an amusing thought. Seeds that ants will harvest and then plant. It actually does happen. There are some seeds in our world of Nature that have fleshy parts, called elaiosomes. These elaiosomes are lipid-rich and are very attractive to ants. The ants harvest the seeds, take them to their underground homes and feed the elaiosomes to their larvae. The leftover part of the seed is then discarded, to the ants’ underground trashroom which contains nutrient rich soil, a perfect place for these wildflower seeds to be planted. This process, of seed dispersal by ants is called Myrmecochory. There are some 3,000 plant species on our planet which benefit from this interaction with ants. This is mutually beneficial to the ant and to the plant. It is obvious that this is a benefit to the ant. The ants are getting food for their larvae. For the plant, the seed dispersal lessens competition between the parent plant and its seedlings, provides protection for the seeds from predation, and provides excellent soil conditions for seedling growth.

This spring, I’ve run into several native wildflowers which are part of this ant/plant interaction.

Take a walk with me, and I’ll show you a few of them:

Twin Leaf has cool leaves Twin leaves which look like butterflies to me

Bloodroot, *Sanguinaria canadensis*, just emerging from the forest soil

Bloodroot, with a blush of pink, the flower not yet open

These are just a few of the plants that benefit from seed dispersal by ants. I just happened to stumble upon them during hikes on my mountain. There must be many more here. I’ll let you know when I find more.

Pink Fog

Perhaps spring is here. Though the forecast for this coming Tuesday (the day this will be published) is for more snow.

My Redbuds, Cercis canadensis, here in the mountains of central Virginia are just now showing the slightest signs, of thoughts of blooms. This picture, above, was taken 5 days ago, while our newest, 8 inches of snow, were still festooning tree branches. Buds with just a hint of swelling.

In what will seem like, less time than the blink of an eye, my Redbuds will be sprouting their pinkish-purple blossoms. Sprouting blossoms that will be pollinated by long-tongued bees. Sprouting from buds along its zigzag branches, and sometimes even from the trunk of the tree itself.

The trunk, with its sprouting buds, is often twisted, looking as if it is participating in a yoga class.

To my eyes, which are even now, just awakening from a black and white, monotoned winter, the color will be dazzling! Along with tiny bits of apple green, there will be a flooding of the softest of magenta, in the just coming alive forest. It will appear to be a pink watercolor wash, over nearly everything.

At this point in the emergence of spring, on rare occasions, an event might happen if I am lucky. Pink Fog. The right temperatures, the right humidity and the sun doing its best to filter through all the Redbud blooms and PRESTO! Pink Fog! Beautiful!

For about one week, during this unfurling of spring, there will be an overlapping of blooms. Redbuds on the decline, and another native tree, the Flowering Dogwood, Cornus florida, just coming into bloom, contrasting their pink, and bright, snow white petals.

While the forests are having their pink and white dance, the Redbud flowers will be aging. Redbud leaves will be pushing their way out into the world. Leaves blushed with red that are perhaps the inspiration for the name Redbud. Leaves that have filled my photo collection, of Mother Nature’s hearts. Leaves that will provide food for caterpillars, of butterflies and moths of the forest, such as the striking Io Moth, Automeris io.

The seasons march on. The distinctive fruit of the Redbud will develop into flat, pea-like pods that contain 10 to 12 seeds.

As those seed pods develop, the Redbud leaves will be turning a brilliant yellow, preparing the trees for winter.

But back to the present and maybe spring. No Redbud blooms yet. Here’s to spring really happening. Here’s to at least one Pink Fog event!

Poison Ivy Good?

I am highly allergic to Poison Ivy (Toxicodendron radicans). As a youngster, I never got a Poison Ivy rash, though I loved to romp in the unending woods directly behind my house. Vines to swing over the creek, forts my friends and I were out there constantly. In 1985 I had a wakeup call, with an extremely painful rash on my arm. My luck had run out. A trip to the doctor’s office got me temporary relief with steroids. I have a quilt to show for the time I was on those steroids and bouncing off the walls. I resorted to creating a quilt to help my addled brain. I quickly learned to avoid at all costs the beautiful plant.

Beautiful Plant?

Yes, I think Poison Ivy is quite a beautiful plant. Just look at its scarlet leaves in the first photograph. This is the scarlet of spring, with leaves that are often very shiny, whether scarlet in spring, or green in summer. As spring turns to summer, the plant puts out flowers. Large clusters of soft, pale green, with brilliant school bus yellow centers.

More Color In Autumn

As trees are putting on their autumnal show, Poison Ivy whether in its vine form, climbing way up into trees, or trailing along the ground, or taking on the form of a small bush, puts on its own show with bright color. Either sunshine yellow, crimson red, or pumpkin orange.

Sculpture

The vines, creeping up tall trees, only know sky as the limit. They climb as high as a tree will grow, with their thread-like hairs. The vines make me think of sculptures, wrapped up and around lovely textured bark. Those thread-like hairs of the Poison Ivy vine, can sometimes be found in the nests of cardinals and goldfinches. A helpful building material.

Berries

As the autumn leaves fall, they leave behind berries. Off white berries, speckled with a bit of bitter chocolate brown. These berries attract many birds. Bluebirds, crows, turkeys and all manner of woodpeckers.

The wonderful winter of 2009–10 which covered the ground here on my mountain with 72 inches of snow, created a Poison Ivy fruit cafeteria of berries for a remarkable number of woodpeckers. Many pileateds, and yellow-shafted flickers descended upon a large oak tree covered with Poison Ivy in front of my cabin. They returned day after day, until the many vines were stripped of their berries. That winter gave me new respect for what Poison Ivy can do for birds in my area.