Tendrils

Snow Mountain

This morning I was greeted by a tiny bit less than an inch of snow here on the mountain. I skipped yoga (!!) and spent the morning walking and enjoying the sounds of snow. Okay, mainly the sounds of birds enjoying the new, white blanket. Many were robins, and cedar waxwings gathering in the tree tops, exchanging stories of how this winter has been mighty wimpy so far. They agreed with me. The winter is still young. There is still hope.

This first picture, above, is of greenbrier. There’s loads of it up here. It is a native, and though many people don’t like it, it has numerous benefits. Greenbrier provides good cover for small animals, and some animals eat the leaves and stems. Deer, beaver, and rabbits are three of the animals. That they eat this plant, impresses me. Those stems, complete with thorns, must be mighty tough. There is an impressive number of birds that enjoy the berries during the winter, along with squirrel, raccoon and possum.

These red fruits, are rose hips, from a plant that I really wish would just go away. It is a non-native, invasive. Rosa multiflora produces white flowers with yellow centers during its short blooming period. It forms an impenetrable mass, spreads rapidly and has very unfriendly thorns that are hooked backward, making being snagged an unpleasant experience. I’m waiting and hoping. There is a virus that is attacking these walls of thorns, slowly decreasing its population here in the Blue Ridge. I’m sorry that the same virus may be putting your garden rose bushes in jeopardy, but I am cheering it on, in the case of rosa multiflora.

Another plant that I captured in pixels on my walk this morning, smooth sumac. Among the plants that grow up here, I have many favorites. This is one. My favorite time for this sumac is winter, when birds enjoy its brilliant red berries. Cardinals, and many types of woodpeckers are among the visitors to the small trees.

Snow still covers my dirt, twisty turny, steep mountain road, but tomorrow morning I’ll be heading down to go back to yoga class. My “snow day” was a total pleasure. Yoga will be tomorrow’s total pleasure!

Beech

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.

Winterberry

I am in my element now. It is winter. I like to say, whatever season is happening at the moment – it is my favorite, but truth be told, winter is really my favorite. At least for the next few months! I love the stark landscape, very little color (with the exception of black, gray, white, and browns), skeletons of trees. I get to see the unveiled character of trees. Their personality is exposed. They talk to me. But along with that starkness, it is nice to see a rare sprinkling of brilliant color. Much like a black and white quilt. Add just a few crimson patches to all those blacks and whites, and you have a quilt that sings.

A bush that accomplishes that splash of color in my “garden” is winterberry, Ilex verticillata.

I must explain why I have put quotation marks around, “garden.” I live in the mountains, in the middle of the woods. I don’t really have gardens. Things just grow, with very little guidance from me. On occasion I will plant something, or trim something, but I love natives, things that already grow in my woods.

Winterberry fits the bill. A native to eastern North America. Winterberry perhaps, would rather live in a wetland habitat, but after several years at my cabin, it is doing well for me. And doing well for the birds that enjoy its berries, and its shelter, and for insects that benefit from its nectar.

Winterberry is in the holly family. You will see in the picture below, it does not have sharp points on its leaves, but it does lose those leaves during the winter. The winterberry bush is dioecious, meaning that male and female flowers are found on separate bushes, and you must be sure you have at least one male bush. for pollination, to get these beautiful berries.

Winterberry, is perfect for this season. Perfect for brightening up a gorgeous, bleak landscape. And yes, bleak is good!

Happy winter to you and yours!

Virginia Pine

The holidays. They’re here. They’ve got me thinking of pine trees, and pinecones. And I’m wishing for snow. I’ve had a tiny bit of snow already, but I’m ready for more.

This is Virginia pine, Pinus virginiana. I live in a cabin, in the Blue Ridge Mountains, in central Virginia. There are plenty of Virginia pine up here, in part because it is a pioneer plant. Pioneer plants will take over abandoned farm fields. Fifty and sixty years ago these mountains had very few trees. Even in the higher elevations, such as where I live, there were fields of corn, as far as the eye could see. As the corn fields were abandoned, pioneer plants, such as Virginia pine and black locust, took over. There are many other trees up here now, as the older trees, that took over the fields, mature, and make way for other tree species, as the forest matures.

Virginia pine is native from southern New York state, through the Appalachian Mountains, on into Tennessee and Alabama. The tree is small to medium sized, growing to 40 or 60 feet tall. With optimum growing conditions, a tree may reach 100 feet. The tree will tolerate, quite easily, very poor sandy soil, but prefers loam or clay.

The cones on Virginia pine will stay on the tree for several years. Small birds and mammals will eat the seeds from the cones. White-tailed deer will eat the branch tips and needles. The young pines provide shelter for small animals and are a popular tree for woodpeckers, because of the soft wood.

In the picture below, a red-breasted nuthatch is eating pine seeds.

The bark of Virginia pine is a mosaic of loose plates, reddish brown in color. A typical pine bark. The needles, twisted, bundled in pairs, 1.5 to 3 inches in length.

My husband and I may choose to cut a Virginia pine, as our Christmas tree this year. Surely there is one that is just the perfect size and shape. If things go as they usually do, we will wait until it is extremely cold and snowing to bring the tree in from the forest. Cold with blowing snow, perfect weather for cutting down a Christmas tree. I hope that, at the very least, we will have tromped through the woods, and selected and marked which tree will grace our great room, while the weather is pleasant. That being done, the cutting ceremony will be short and sweet, though very cold!

This monarch butterfly, in a picture from early July of this year, may be hinting at its choice for our Christmas tree. I think I’ll give this tree serious consideration!

Witch Hazel

The autumn bloomer. American witch hazel, Hamamelis virginiana. Blooming to catch the last of the lovely purple asters. The asters have been blooming for many weeks now, adding an unexpected color to the color scheme of fall. Their bloom time overlaps, just a bit but I’m getting distracted. I want to tell you about American witch hazel, with blooms of lovely yellow. Four petals for each flower. Petals that look like lemon zest.

As fall reaches its mid-point, the leaves of American witch hazel are a brilliant yellow. Its flowers too, are blooming. At first, one must know. One must look for the blooms. They are not showy and the lemony yellow leaves compete for attention, and pretty much win. As the days pass, the leaves give in to the change of season, and drop to the forest floor, revealing the last blooms in the mountains, till spring returns.

I say mountains. That is where I see American witch hazel. The higher the elevation, here in the Blue Ridge Mountains, the more likely I am to see them. I live at an elevation of 1,800 feet, and in my woods it is unusual to see an American witch hazel, which is a shrub or small tree with many trunks. Further up my mountain, to its summit of 3,586 feet, American witch hazel is a very common sight. I have planted American witch hazel, here in my yard and, so far, have been successful in having them grow.

The shrub, which is native to northeast and southeast North America, grows to 20 to 30 feet in height, and has a width of 15 to 20 feet. In the wild, American witch hazel enjoys moist, shaded sites. The shrub is pollinated by a moth. The moth, and its chilly night pollinating activities has an interesting story, that you can read, here.

The seed capsules that form, after the bloom is pollinated (seen in the picture above, as a fuzzy golden thingy), overwinter. In their second autumn, the seed capsules dry, popping open to send the one or two seeds inside, a distance of up to 30 feet. Fun seed distribution! Ruffed grouse and squirrels eat these seed capsules, and white-tailed deer like to munch on the leaves and branches.

There are many stories of how witch hazel got its name. My favorite story has to do with a gall that is often seen on the leaves. It is the gall of the witch hazel cone gall aphid. It supposedly, made the namer of the shrub think of a witch’s hat, and therefore the name witch hazel. Ive captured this gall in green, in the photograph. You might also see them in a red shade. I have not noticed that these galls, on the leaves, are a serious problem.

This picture, a new American witch hazel leaf in spring. I am looking forward, into the future, hoping that next year will be that magic year. The year that the witch hazel shrubs that I have planted in my gardens, will be mature enough, and will bloom for me.

Toad Lily

Toad lily, Tricyrtis ‘Tojen’

The family of flowers that this hybrid cultivar is from – Tricyrtis – has 18 species. Some of the species are cultivated for their beauty. Looking on the web, at the variety of those cultivars, I think of orchids growing in the garden. They are that beautiful. My cultivars are mundane in comparison to some of the spotted lovelies.

The family, Tricyrtis, is from the area of the Himalayas, China, Japan, the Philippines and Formosa. Seeming to be quite at home here in my garden, they thrive in a moist soil and dappled shade. They are even tolerant of what my winter weather throws its way. Going into a winter sleep, just waiting for spring.

They are blooming right now, in this blustery weather. Tough, but gorgeous flowers. I’m looking forward to their resurrection from their winter beds, as spring comes. Looking forward to showing them even more appreciation, now that I am armed with more knowledge about them.

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.

Fall Shutdown

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.

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!

Jack-in-the-pulpit

Anticipation

Anticipation makes my world go round. I find something, perhaps a plant, just beginning to emerge in the spring. I return to the infant plant often. Watching and waiting. Looking forward to its grand finale.

This is the story of anticipation from beginning to disappointing end, of a Jack-in-the-pulpit, Arisaema triphyllum. The photograph above, taken in mid May, is the discovery, of an infant Jack-in-the-pulpit. A Jack-in-the-pulpit full of promise, on its way to producing a flower.

What is thought of, as the flower of the Jack-in-the-pulpit, is actually a stalk (called a spadix) inside a tube-like structure with a top flap (called a spathe). If you would like to see the flowers of the Jack-in-the-pulpit, you will need a hand lens. They can be found at the base of the spadix, appearing as very small yellowish dots.

The hard for humans to see, flowers of the Jack-in-the-pulpit, are mushroom scented. Yum. Sounds delightful! The scent does the trick. The scent and warmth produced by the plant, attracts fungus gnats. The fungus gnats go through a complicated system which accomplishes the pollination, which in turn produces berries.

The object of my anticipation. The berries of the Jack-in-the-pulpit were beginning to mature in mid July. In the photograph above, the berries are bursting forth, through the walls of the spathe. Peeking out, into the world.

I get the first hint of trouble in mid August, as the berries free themselves of the last of the remaining walls of the spathe. My hint? The uppermost leaves, of this patch of Jack-in-the-pulpit, growing taller than they usually do, have been chomped off.

And then, the crushing blow. The clusters of berries are gone. The grand finale is gone. Along with the berries, something has eaten the stems, and has even left holes where the corms had been. Color me frustrated. No beautiful crimson berries this year, by the back porch.

The culprit(s)? My first thought is rabbits. They are always plentiful in the summer. Many hanging out, eating grass and weeds. Usually well behaved rabbits, but on rare occasion they will turn brazen. But no, the plants were too tall for a bunny to chomp. The plants had gotten to be more than knee high at the back of my cabin in perfect growing conditions: moist and shady.

My second thought, is deer, but a deer sighting here at my cabin is rare. And I see, on lists of plants that deer will avoid, Jack-in-the-pulpit (unless they are starving). I doubt they are starving. The woods here are lush with growth. In searching for an answer to my mystery, on the Internet, I find my answer.

Bears love Jack-in-the-pulpit. Bears! Yes! I often see bears up here. Now to figure out how to discourage their eating the Jack-in-the-pulpits, all the way down to the corms.