Gray Dogwood (Cornus racemosa). Gray Dogwood drupes providing sustenance to many birds and mammals as autumn thinks of becoming winter, leaving what resembles tiny red trees for snow to fall upon.
Its leaves provide a unique color palette of plum red and yellow chartreuse in an opposite arrangement as they succumb to diminishing daylight and cooler temperatures. Autumn at its finest.
Witch Hazel (Hamamelis virginiana). As a last *HOORAH* for the floral world. Witch Hazels are blooming on my mountain right now. Though there are a few at my elevation, they are much more common higher up the mountain.
The flowers of Witch Hazel, looking like lemon zest. Not showy or spectacular but still beautiful in their own way. Complete with a subtle spice scent. Nice to have some flowers blooming now, along with all the brilliant autumn leaves doing their thing.
Winged Sumac (Rhus copallina). The last of the brilliant cheer of red. The last of the flowers that called out to so many bees. Bees that made the small trees come alive with buzzing. Shutting down for winter. Thinking of spring when it will all begin again. The joy of Nature.
Milkweed Tussock Moth Caterpillar (Euchaetes egle). This caterpillar just might alarm you if you’re growing milkweed with Monarch Butterflies in mind. No need to worry though. The Milkweed Tussock Moth and the Monarch Butterfly have grown up in the “same neighborhood” side by side, sharing the bounty. Both butterfly and moth caterpillars are eating a poison contained in the milkweed called cardiac glycosides (cardenolides) to provide protection, making both creatures distasteful to birds and bats. As adult moths, the Milkweed Tussock Moth is able to communicate with bats emitting an ultrasonic click which bats take as a warning to stay away. Mighty clever.
Those of us who are growing milkweed to help the plight of the Monarch Butterfly might consider that the Milkweed Tussock Moth would appreciate our help as well. The photo above gives you a glimpse of Milkweed Tussock Moth Caterpillars in various stages of development. Let them dine at the milkweed plants with the Monarchs!
Redbud (Cercis canadensis). It isn’t surprising at all to find that the Redbud is in the legume family (Fabaceae). Those seedpods certainly look like they belong in the family that includes beans, peas, lentils, and soybeans.
Something that immediately pops into my mind when I hear “legume” is that it is nitrogen fixer. Nearly 80% of the Earth’s atmosphere is nitrogen gas. Nitrogen is necessary for plants and animals to live and yet the nitrogen in the atmosphere is not in a form in which it can be used. Nitrogen gas must go through a process called nitrogen fixation. Fixation converts nitrogen in the atmosphere into a form that plants can absorb through their root systems.
Nitrogen fixing is a process that involves bacteria in the soil converting nitrogen gas into a form that plants and animals can use. It occurs in the root nodules of the legume.
However, with all that said, the Redbud is an exception. The Redbud does not have those root nodules that are usually found in legumes. The Redbud is not a nitrogen fixer. While it’s not a surprise to find that the Redbud is in the legume family it is a surprise to find it is not a nitrogen fixer.
Asters are dainty flowers that resemble daisies. Flowers that are just the right size for a dollhouse. They generally bloom in late summer into autumn.
I love the ones that are lavender, blooming as the trees are beginning to change color. Blooming all along the dirt road coming up my mountain. There’s also one that has a deeper purple color with petals that are just a bit longer than I usually see. Late Purple Aster (Symphyotrichum patens). These are a bit more difficult to find but worth the search.
But I’m telling you all this to tell you about the seeds. After the diminutive bloom comes the seed. Changing from Daisy-like to Dandelion-like.
Every little seed has an attachment much like a single barb of a bird’s feather. Nearly weightless and ready to take flight with the slightest breeze. Makes me think of that Dandelion’s Wishing Flower. Blow on it and make a wish.
Some Blueberry Bushes celebrate autumn in an amazing way. The area around my cabin is a perfect illustration of this. Some of my bushes are really kicking up their heals with joy. I can’t tell you which species or cultivars these bushes are. I’ve got between 10 and 15 bushes, most of which were put in nearly 30 years ago. Back in the days when I had no idea I should be keeping track of what I was putting in. I only know they produce wonderful blueberries. So it’s a big mystery. But take a look at that photo above. Almost half the bushes I’ve got are that color. Screaming red. Blueberry Bushes send out rewards every season of the year. Spring with their blossoms. Summer with their fruit. Autumn with their color. And in winter the rewards are the red stems which are glorious with snow sparkling on them.
During the summer months the trees around us are covered with green leaves. The green color in those leaves is thanks to a green pigment, chlorophyll, that the leaves use to capture the sun’s energy. That energy is used to change water and carbon dioxide into glucose and oxygen, in a process called photosynthesis. Glucose is used by plants for energy and to create other materials such as cellulose, and starch. But how do we end up with the warm colors of autumn? The reds, yellows and oranges?
The principal pigments that produce color within a leaf are: chlorophyll (green); xanthophylls (yellow); carotenoids (orange); and anthocyanins (reds and purples).
During the summer there is an abundance of chlorophyll as the leaves work to provide energy for the tree, this gives the leaves their green color. As summer winds down trees will pick up signals that the seasons are changing. Those signals? Days that are becoming shorter and cooling temperatures. In response photosynthesis slows and the amount of chlorophyll drops drastically, leaving the other pigments within the leaf more plentiful, changing the colors. Yellows, oranges, reds and sometimes even purples. And we have AUTUMN.
It was the coldest morning so far this autumn. At 32° not extremely cold but cold enough to please this lover of winter. Driving down the mountain on my way to yoga the changing leaves delighted me with their warm colors. Water running through the gravel and dirt of the road hadn’t gotten an opportunity to freeze. It will be ice one of these mornings soon. As I got to the lower elevations, into the pools of colder air I was a greeted by a delightful expanse of scintillating frost covering everything. Even house’s roofs were covered with it giving the impression that snow had fallen. At the yoga studio I was able to take closeup pictures of what seemed to be a dusting of sparkling sugar. So nice to have the class get me up and out to see such things.
Red Maple (Acer rubrum). Up here in the mountains I’m seeing the peak of autumnal color. If you haven’t noticed, come on up. It’s ubiquitous.
Even down below, in the lowlands, the colors are changing to knockout warmth and brilliance.
Come, take a deep breath, slow down, let go of all that is making you blindly rush around. Autumn is out there waiting for you to notice. It won’t be here long. Take it all in before it’s GONE.
One contributor to the grand rollout of color is the Red Maple. It’s a tree that is native to eastern and central North America, from Quebec to Minnesota south to Florida and east Texas, and is one of the most extensively distributed trees in eastern North America.
It’s a tree that generally grows to 40 – 70 feet and on occasion even to 120 feet tall. Red Maples can be as much as 4 feet in diameter. The bark is a distinctive smooth silvery gray which becomes furrowed as the tree ages.
It’s not particular about its growing conditions growing equally well in swampy areas or in dry areas with poor soil.
Most often its fall coloring is red, or yellow with hints of red. There are wonderful autumn colors out there. Take NOTE!
