Can it be that only two weeks ago our deciduous trees were just splitting open their leaf buds? What a privilege it is to live among forests like these, where we can enjoy the spare beauty of winter, with easy vistas through gray, textured trunks, only to be surprised each April by the intensity and lushness of brand-new green.
No wonder that on a long walk along the Garden’s Nature Trails just a few days ago I was a bit startled to note that munching on this green cornucopia is well underway. Ragged holes in beech and maple, and assorted leaf galls like so many pincushions and warts. When I stood still, I could actually hear the “ticking” sound of caterpillar frass (“poop”) raining down on leaves and leaf litter!
So it is. The herbivorous insects—in particular, caterpillars like these fellas who came in on my sweater—are programed to emerge and become active at the same time their food sources come available.
And let’s not fret about it: there really is plenty of lunch to go around. We need these herbivores, who cycle energy and nutrients stored in the biomass of the forest into other parts of the ecosystem. These insects will be food for songbirds (note that 96% of our terrestrial bird species feed insects to their young). Furthermore, many of the caterpillars will eventually “grow up” into moths and butterflies, who will be important pollinators.
It’s helpful to reflect on what Doug Tallamy said in Bringing Nature Home:
“Of the 4 million or so insect species on earth … a mere 1 percent interact with humans in negative ways. The other 99 percent of the insect species pollinate plants, return the nutrients tied up in dead plants and animals to the soil, keep populations of insect herbivores in check, aerate and enrich the soil, and … provide food either directly or indirectly for most other animals.”
So I’ll enjoy this leafiness in all its forms, pristine and otherwise: nothing lasts forever.
For some weeks now, I’ve heard the sweet warbling song of bluebirds—pine warblers too. The trout lilies opened weeks ago as well. But gosh: last year’s papery pale leaves are still wobbling in the wind on the beeches, and the view out the window is dominated by bare branches of the other deciduous trees.
Regardless, there is one day when I wake up to spring. I guess that’s when some critical number of spring wildflowers have opened and a few choice shrubs have begun to unfold lush, pleated leaves. Whatever it is, that day has come.
A walk along the garden paths and nature trails two days ago brought to my eyes the sight of so many old friends: spring beauty (Claytonia virginica), hepatica (Hepatica americana) [1st photo below], star chickweed (Stellaria pubera), bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis) [2nd photo], windflower (Thalictrum thalictroides), little sweet Betsy (Trillium cuneatum) [3rd photo], spicebush (Lindera benzoin), yellowroot (Xanthorhiza simplicissima).
And how about these painted buckeye leaves (Aesculus sylvatica)?
These seem to emerge in the blink of an eye—that is, over the course of three days, which is fast by my book.
One early spring bloomer that particularly grabs my fancy, and which I don’t manage to stumble upon very often, is the inconspicuous pennywort (Obolaria virginica)—a member of the Gentian family, and a monotypic genus to boot (meaning, there is only one species of Obolaria).
Pennywort grows so low to the ground, tucked into the leaf litter, and its fleshy purple-green stems and leaves blend in so well, that only when little white buds appear in the leaf axils, and later, white-tinged-purple flowers open, do I have any chance of seeing it at all. Like some of the other wildflowers mentioned above, it is a “spring ephemeral” and will be finished blooming and setting seed by the time the tree canopy has obscured the falling of sunlight onto the deciduous forest floor.
On the evening of the same day as this wildflower walk, I saw a bright sliver of new moon in the western sky, where a bit of color from sunset lingered on. I realized at once that this was the last new moon balanced in bare branches of oak and maple that I will see until next fall: leaves will already be at least partway out by the time of the next full moon.
That’s a wake-up call if ever there was one!
My attention, of late, is on buds. Most plants have set their next-year buds by end of summer, if not earlier, so we can observe them all winter long and note what happens in spring. Think of this: a bud is a tightly enclosed package of primordial leaves and/or flower parts!
(From top to bottom: Paw paw buds—a leaf bud at the tip of a branch, and flower buds along the stem; Bigleaf magnolia flower bud; and Smooth sumac leaf bud, showing the heart-shaped “scar” from last year’s leaf)
Long fascinated by the engineering feat represented by a plant bud, I am watching the changes that buds undergo this time of year—changes in color and size. As days grew longer and warmer (with a lot of variability in the latter), flower buds on red maple trees became redder and larger. I hear that red maple flowers have already begun to burst and are open for business—that is, pollination with the assistance of wind.
Yesterday I discovered that the slender buds of our local trout lilies (Erythronium umbillicatum) are now opening to reveal their yellow flower.
Observations on the timing of seasonal, life-cycle events in plants—such as first flowering, first fruit, leaf drop—are known as “phenology.” There is a wonderful opportunity for you to contribute your observations on plant phenology to a citizen science project called Project BudBurst (www.budburst.org). Since 2007, Project BudBurst has engaged citizens in making observations of local flora. Participants can choose species growing in their backyard or community and enter observations of phenological events into a web-form connected to the BudBurst database. Apparently there are now about 13,000 participants representing all 50 states! Perhaps you’d like to be one and build your budding relationship with plants?
Last Friday we had a light dusting of snow. My perspective always seems to be enlivened by the way snow accentuates shapes and textures. With the see-sawing temperatures that now characterize winter in central North Carolina, we never know whether we will see any of the white stuff in a winter, nor how much will fall in any one event.
Most gardeners take some time in January to dream about and plan their gardening activities for the spring. So I thought I’d offer some fodder for your dreams: the 2013 North Carolina Wildflower of the Year! The Wildflower of the Year project—a joint effort of the North Carolina Botanical Garden and the Garden Club of North Carolina, Inc.—has been highlighting and promoting a different wildflower each year since 1982.
Our Curator of Habitat Gardens Chris Liloia wrote the following profile of New Jersey-tea, the 2013 NC Wildflower of the Year …
The 2013 North Carolina Wildflower of the Year is not a wildflower at all! New Jersey-tea (Ceanothus americanus) is actually a small deciduous shrub, but we’ll bend the rules a little for such a great plant. New Jersey-tea can grow to three feet in the garden and is often smaller in the dry rocky sites it favors in the wild. Though its size and fine texture might let it pass for a wildflower when in bloom, this shrub has multi-season interest. In spring it produces abundant white flowers borne in terminal clusters reminiscent of lilacs. Fall brightens its leaves with warm bronzy shades. When the leaves fade they drop to reveal delicate yellow-green twigs which are attractive through the winter.
Ceanothus americanus is one of a few east coast representatives of this primarily western genus. It can be found throughout eastern North America and grows from the mountains to the coast in North Carolina. Thick deep roots allow it to survive drought and dry sites. In the wild it grows in open spots on sandy or rocky soils and on steep slopes, so be sure to give it similar growing conditions. This plant is a survivor, even fire won’t bother it much, but it won’t stand for constantly wet or poorly drained soils. Provide plenty of sun and good drainage and New Jersey-tea will take care of the rest.
The flowers are full of nectar and attract all kinds of interesting pollinators including native bees and butterflies. It is the host plant for the larval stage of spring and summer azures and mottled duskywing butterflies. This plant also has a long history of human use. A number of Native American tribes are reported to have used various parts of New Jersey-tea for medicinal purposes in addition to using the dense roots as a portable fuel source. Colonists used the leaves as a tea substitute during the American Revolution, though they lack caffeine!
New Jersey-tea has lots of stellar qualities that make it work well in gardens or less formal landscapes. Take advantage of its drought tolerance and deep roots to stabilize a steep slope. Grow it with eastern silvery aster and woodland phlox for a colorful easygoing garden display. Incorporate it into a meadow planting or butterfly garden. It won’t sucker or spread so its compact size and simple elegance make it well suited for more formal landscapes too. Masses or rows of New Jersey-tea help draw attention to its best features. We hope you’ll find the perfect spot to grow this great plant.
To receive a brochure and seeds of the current North Carolina Wildflower of the Year (available in mid- to late-February), send a self-addressed, stamped envelope to: 2013 NCWFOY, North Carolina Botanical Garden, Campus Box 3375, UNC-CH, Chapel Hill, NC 27599-3375. To see what past years’ Wildflowers of the Year, visit our website.
Residents of Chapel Hill recently witnessed the Ginko trees in town and on campus turning gold. Carol Ann McCormick, UNC Herbarium assistant curator, wrote the following essay for the Carrboro Citizen a few weeks earlier. Although the Citizen has ceased publication, you can read “Flora” articles that were published by that good paper in their web archives. Thanks to Robert Dickson, publisher, for allowing us to reprint Ms. McCormick’s essay here.
10 Things I Love About Ginko Trees by Carol Ann McCormick
1. They’re old—really old. The earliest gingko trees were found in the Middle Jurassic (180 million years ago), and the seeds were probably dispersed by carrion-eating dinosaurs. Since the Jurassic there have been about a dozen species, but only Ginkgo biloba is alive today, and since we are sadly lacking in dinosaurs, it now depends on humans for dispersal.
Ginkgo trees have fantastic autumn foliage. Photo by Peter Del Tredici
2. Ginkgo biloba is more closely related to pines than to maples and oaks. (For botany wonks, it is a gymnosperm in its own division, Ginkgophyta.) An individual tree is either male or female and depends on the wind, not insects, for pollination.
3. An individual tree can live 1,500 years! Ginkgo biloba is native to China and the oldest trees are found growing near temples. Monks did not ascribe any religious significance to the trees, but appreciated them for their longevity, beautiful leaves, and edible nuts.
Ginkgo fruit and green leaves. Photo by Laura Cotterman
4. Ginkgo seeds have a squishy outside (“sarcotesta” for those studying for the SAT) containing hexanoic and butanoic acids, so they smell like rotten flesh or vomit (remember the carrion-eating dinosaurs in 1?). However, the interior “nut” is not stinky and is used in Asian cuisine. Margo MacIntyre, curator of the Coker Arboretum, reports that the seeds are avidly harvested by visitors. (She also asks that you not leave a pile of sarcotesta right by the bench where other people want to sit and enjoy the ginkgo foliage.)
Ginkgo adiantoides fossil. Photo by Patricia Gensel
5. Ginkgo trees have beautiful leaves—simple and elegant in form, leathery in texture. Ginkgo adiantoides, an extinct species native to North America, had leaves remarkably similar to Ginkgo biloba.
6. Ginkgo trees are remarkably resistant to disease and tolerant of air pollution, so they are an excellent choice for urban environments. Because of the aforementioned malodorous fruit, usually only male ginkgos are planted.
7. Despite cultivation for 200-plus years in America, there is scant evidence of gingko naturalizing and becoming a weed.
Golden ginkgo. Photo by Peter Del Tredici
8. Ginkgo trees have fantastic autumn foliage. In mid-October an entire tree will go from green to gold in a day or two. In mid-November, the tree will go from all gold to bare in just a day or two.
9. The University of New Hampshire has annual contests to Pick the Day the Ginkgo Leaves Fall (winner gets pizza) and Catch a Ginkgo Leaf (winners get good luck for the year). “They’re actually quite difficult to catch,” says UNH student Mary Dellenbaugh. “Because the leaves are fan-shaped, their falling pattern is very erratic. As soon as you think you have it in your hand, it darts out of reach.”
10. Go find a ginkgo! There are two mature trees (one male, one female) along the north edge of the lawn in Coker Arboretum on the UNC campus. Between Hanes Art Center and Kenan Music Hall there is a new allé of 20 trees, and UNC Forester Tom Bythell promises, “In a decade when these trees are mature, this will be the place to be when the leaves turn gold.”