The landscape during winter. Shades of black, brown, white, with a bit of deep, subtle blue-green. A Cardinal adds spark to the setting. Feathers of scarlet keeping him warm.
Look down as you step. Wild strawberries that gave you joy last summer have left a reminder. Leaves of wild strawberries now covered with frost.
It has been so dry, but yesterday brought a glorious 1/4 inch of rain. Hallelujah! That rain brings a brief moment of relief to suffering vegetation.
The rain also brings beauty to the landscape. I love what rain does to colors, deepens them, makes them more rich. But of course more rich! Those colors are decorated with DIAMONDS. Here a Catbrier leaf, Smilax bona-nox, sparkling with rain drop diamonds, set against berries of Japanese Beautyberry, Callicarpa japonica.
Those berries will go begging for a while. There are more yummy things to tempt the birds right now, but as the days get shorter until we reach the dead of winter, birds will gather in the branches of these bushes and strip them bare.
Keep in mind if you are interested in Beautyberry, there is a highly recommended native, Callicarpa americana. Keep that scientific name in mind as you shop. Natives are the way to go.
Here in the central Virginia Blue Ridge Mountains, the Tulip Poplar, Liriodendron tulipifera, is among the first of the trees to begin to change colors in autumn. The apple green leaves take turns, one by one, turning to bright yellow with brown spots. Giving the trees a dotted appearance. Not an impressive start, not a hillside of color – yet.
In early October the Tulip Poplar takes on a golden yellow glow.
A golden yellow to celebrate. A lovely color worthy of a tiny parade! But start that parade without fail.
That smashing color, the color we cherish autumn for, is quick to come and go.
And – POOF! The trees are bare.
And before we know it not only are nearly all the trees are bare, but snow will be falling.
It has a color that pulls me in, bright medium blue, with a smidgeon of purple thrown in. It tugs at my heartstrings. Chicory, Cichorium intybus, is native to Europe but has become naturalized in many parts of North America, and is part of the roadside landscape here in central Virginia.
Chicory is a tough plant, sending its deep taproot into hard packed soil where other plants might have a difficult time. It blooms from June into October, producing just a few buds at a time on each plant. Each bud blooms for just one day.
The leaves are edible and are most tasty in early summer and in the autumn. The leaves in mid-summer tend to be bitter. The roots, roasted and ground, are used for an addition to coffee, or as a coffee substitute. Also, in beer brewing, the ground and roasted roots are occasionally added in the making of stouts and Belgian-style ales.
Its pollen and nectar entices insects, including bees, flies and butterflies. Chicory seeds, leaves and stems invite small mammals to come by for a meal or snack. And for those who love a bouquet of wildflowers, keep in mind that these flowers only last a day, and those stems are mighty rugged, requiring more than just a quick snap of the shoot.
Rather than taking some home, I will depend on my photographs and thoughts of that gorgeous purply-blue.
Poison Ivy, Toxicodendron radicans
I’m feeling itchy already just anticipating writing this blog. It was not until I was well into my adult life that I first got a Poison Ivy rash, complete with huge blisters. OH! How very painful it was. Fast forward 30 years or so and I’ve grown to love, or at least truly appreciate the native plant.
Yes I do hold the plant in high regard, even though I am now extremely sensitive to urushiol, an oil found in all parts of the plant. The urushiol is not a defensive mechanism but rather aids the plant with retention of water. Urushiol is also found in Poison Oak, and Poison Sumac. A similar oil is found in the skin of Mangoes, and its leaves and bark. Nice to know about this. I won’t be chopping any Mango anytime soon, and will leave the preparation to someone else if it is on the menu. Eating the flesh of the Mango is no problem for me. The shell of the Cashew nut also contains a similar oil, and only creates a skin reaction until the Cashew is roasted. After roasting, the Cashew shell is problem free for those sensitive to urushiol.
This (photo above) is how a Poison Ivy plant starts out in spring, a brilliant crimson announcing its entry into the world. Perhaps the color is a warning. It certainly tips me off.
As spring begins to think of summer and warmth, as the Poison Ivy bursts forth with a thick growth of leaves, the plant blooms, with tiny pale yellow-green petals in clusters. The stamens are a standout color of school bus yellow.
As I’ve hiked my mountain trails I’ve noticed that one butterfly in particular will seek refuge on the leaves of the Poison Ivy plant. Time after time, individual after individual, Northern Pearly Eye butterflies (picture above) will alight on those leaves as if they provide some safety zone. These butterflies can feel safe. I will not hunt them down, except with my camera, while they are sitting on the Poison Ivy leaves!
Those leaves that are safety zones for some butterflies, can compete with any of the trees of autumn with their outstanding colors. Turning bright sunshine yellow, pumpkin orange or a rich deep red, they bring on an artist’s palette of warmth.
I am a big fan of Mother Nature whether it is birds, trees, flowers, frogs, toads, snakes, spiders, geology, weather – all aspects of it. This brings me to the above picture. The fruit of the Poison Ivy plant, drupes. Birds depend on these drupes as midwinter leaves them with few things to eat. I have seen many woodpeckers congregating on the Poison Ivy vines that wrap, cling and climb my huge oak trees in front of my cabin in late January. Little to eat but salvation in the Poison Ivy drupes.
The woodpeckers are not the only critters that find a meal at the Poison Ivy vine. Here a Chickadee dines on the drupes, keeping an eye on me, as he does.
I remove Poison Ivy when it emerges in one of my gardens, or on my paths that I regularly use, but if it is growing where only birds and the creatures of the woods venture, I leave it for them. I appreciate the beauty and the need for this native plant.
Sunday morning found me walking to the Westover Farmer’s Market, through Mother Nature’s slant on things in an urban environment. An environment a bit different than I have become accustomed to.
Some of the trees, shrubs, flowers, familiar – from my childhood. The Japanese Red Maple brought back memories of a tree that my parents planted at the house where I grew up. A small tree with dainty, elegant, deep rich red leaves. That yard, from years ago – I think I could still map out each of the many trees that were within its boundaries.
The beautiful Springstar blooms, I don’t recall ever seeing before. In one patch, they covered a wide swath of not yet mowed grass. Perfect timing for the blooms since the grass was still in sleepy mode and was only just beginning to think of growing.
There were, of course, plants that I see everyday in my mountain woods. Maples with smooth, silvery bark. Samaras, which I called helicopters, long before I knew the word samara.
Honeysuckle, which is all too abundant in both this urban setting and in the mountain setting that I am used to. Honeysuckle growing rapidly, making it difficult for native plants to get a foothold in the competitive world of nature.
Lilacs, which I used to associate with Mother’s Day, but look it is blooming now. Perhaps my childhood home is a bit further north than this setting, or is this a sign of climate change, or a sign of memories a bit askew?
A Camelia, which makes me think of how fussy they always seemed to be, trying to bloom when it was still much too cold. Now in my mountain home, I try for plants that are native to that mountain, things that have proven to be survivors. Things that don’t have to be fussed over. I want to be out taking photographs, not fussing in the garden!
Small native trees like Redbud, require no fuss. They are everywhere along the road up to my cabin. Planted there by Mother Nature. I’m glad to have her on my side.
Mother Nature has a large team of assistants. Squirrels who collect nuts in the fall, bury them and often leave them to grow. Squirrels in this urban setting are much more bold than the ones I’m used to now. Country squirrels don’t wait to see what you are up to, they scurry quickly at the least little bit of movement.
On the way home, the obligatory stop at the park brings joy to everyone. Smiles all around. No farmer’s market on my mountain. No playground to delight, but oh, so many other things to lighten my heart!
Perhaps these are my pets, the birds that come to my feeders. Wild birds that give me comfort just by being there. The bird you see in the picture, above, is a winter bird in my area (the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia), a White-throated Sparrow, Zonotrichia albicollis. He has a sweet song that is easy to remember, using the mnemonic, “Poor Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody.”
I know that autumn will not last much longer, when I see these little birds, rustling around in the leaves on the forest floor. I have to look very closely to see them. Their feathers provide a great camouflage against the dry, brown, fallen leaves.
I must wait for the bears to retire for their winter slumber, before I put out the feeders for the cold months of the year. Otherwise I am likely to need to purchase a new feeder. Believe it or not, the bears do like bird seed too, and will carry a feeder off, or just totally destroy one with ease.
The bear, above, came out of his den, unannounced on January 17th, to cart off one of my feeders. He chose a new model that was designed to keep squirrels out. Needless to say, bird feeder designers don’t aim to keep bears out of the seeds. I suppose that would be an impossible task. If I know that bears are roaming, I don’t put out feeders.
I’m hoping Mr. Bear, is now back in his den. Hoping that the cold will keep him all snug and warm, and away from the bird feeders for while longer. Not only do I enjoy simply watching the birds and their antics, I depend on the feeders to bring them within easy shutter range, so that I can get pictures of my winter pets.
Another bird of winter, is the Dark-eyed Junco, Junco hyemalis. Most of them summer in the far north, some going into the Arctic. A few however, do stay in this general area year ’round. I have seen some summering in the Shenandoah National Park, which is just a short distance from my cabin. Here at my feeders though, it is only the migrating Dark-eyed Junco, that I see.
I speak of the wild birds as my pets. I don’t have any “all the time” pets living with me. A frequent visitor, though, is my son’s and daughter-in-law’s cat, Betelgeuse.
That’s Betelgeuse, in the picture above. She’s a rescue, Maine Coon cat. She is a predator. For her own safety and health, and for the sake of my wild pets, she is an indoor pet. I hope your cat is an indoor cat as well, for the sake of my wild pets.
It took a while for me to figure out. Figure out the little trees, clinging dearly to their leaves well into winter. Hanging on as if the trees’ very life depended on it. I would see these trees from the window of my truck, as I would drive past. Such a common sight. Many woods contained the mystery trees.
Finally, I got myself established in my cabin in the woods, moving from, what some might call the city to, definitely not the city. Finally I had time to hike, to identify plants, both large and small, that had been intriguing me. My mystery tree, it turns out is American beech, Fagus grandifolia, a tree native to eastern North America. American beech is not necessarily a small tree, but can grow to be 80 feet tall, with a diameter of 3 feet or more, and can live 300 to 400 years. I was noticing the small trees, simply because they were so visible, their leaves still there, against the otherwise empty forest understory. American beech is a tree that tolerates shade, doesn’t get discouraged, keeps growing, even in the understory.
The leaves are reminiscent of a tree that is near and dear to my heart. It is reminiscent of the American chestnut, having sawtooth edged leaves, a coloring similar to the American chestnut in the fall, and being shade tolerant. It is no wonder. American beech and American chestnut are both in the beech family Fagaceae.
An easy way to tell that you’ve found an American beech, is by looking at the end of the branches, where you will see long, tapered tips that look much like cigars.
Another clue that you have come upon an American beech, is its bark, which is smooth and silver gray, even into old age. The tree is monoecious, which means it gets both male and female flowers on the same tree. The wind does the job of pollination. The pollinated flowers grow into beech nuts, which are eaten by many mammals (including humans) and birds. Every two or three years the tree will produce a bumper crop of these beech nuts. It may take 40 to 60 years for the tree to begin producing these flowers and nuts though.
The American beech reproduces both by seed, and by sprouting seedlings from its shallow roots. It can be found along streams and bottom lands, although it does well, in most any situation, given adequate moisture. Must be moist up here on my mountain. American beech is plentiful up here.
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.
Autumn is doing its thing. Leaves turning brilliant colors. Spiders with black and orange stripes on their legs, spinning intricate webs. Black walnuts thumping to the ground with loud warning, as they cascade through leaves, high in the forest canopy.
And a favorite of mine, maidenhair fern, in the genus, Adiantum, shutting down. Turning straw color, and purple. Preparing for the cold winter. Anticipating a spring in which it will send out graceful fronds. Fronds that will thrill me, once again.
