Gift of the Trees

Ephemera! I chase ephemera. I'm obsessed with fleeting natural phenomena and plan entire days around being there to catch moments. I guess these passing phenomena are my movies and crossword puzzles, my soap operas, my alcohol and tobacco. I live for them.

Around this time of year I go to town more often than usual, because there are trees there I need to connect with. 

It starts with some maples in Mound Cemetery, Marietta, Ohio. This is a Japanese maple, but it's not one of your little weeping threadleaf frailties, all twisted in on itself. There's a lot to be said for those, but I kinda like the rangy ones. This is a stalwart and stately tree, a towering fountain of crimson.

It talks to a Norway maple just across the street. They almost brush fingertips. 

The synergy between the Scandinavian gold and the Japanese lacquered red just sets me afire. I do drive-by checks for weeks in advance of their peak color. And then one fine November day (this was the 7th) I finally strike gold and scarlet. 

Hitting the Mound Cemetery at peak color is only part of the fun, because I start gathering persimmons under trees in town about a week before Halloween. This is my squashy haul, gooshed into the bottom of a feedsack, from October 25.

 These are cultivated American persimmons, and they are about 10x bigger than wild ones, but with the same fabulous flavor. Best of all, many are seedless!

I absolutely don't care that people stare at me as I circle around beneath the trees, looking down at the ground like a dog trying to find the perfect place to poop, then picking objects up, sometimes tasting them, then putting them in a shopping bag. Let them stare. There seems to be almost no competition for this precious food resource, and that's how I want it. Think I'm a weirdo? Great! I quietly feel sorry for you, because being weird is way more fun (and delicious) than rudely staring, wondering what somebody else is up to.

I bring them home and pick the seeds out and peel them, mostly, with my fingers and it takes way too long but I'm happy, standing at the counter, sucking on pulpy seeds, staring out the window, and dreaming of persimmon custard pies to come. I freeze the pulp in Ziploc quart bags, and eat it all year long over cottage cheese, with goat cheese, in yogurt, and atop pies.

Oh, you want my persimmon custard pie recipe? Well, I've been blogging long enough to know I have to give it to you here, or do it in the comments.  Make Velvety Vanilla Pastry Cream and chill it with Saran on top. Then make a graham cracker crust with lots of butter and bake that until it's browning. Fill the cooled crust with velvety vanilla custard (I am drooling) and then top it with persimmon pulp. I jazz up the pulp with vanilla extract and just a touch of sugar. THEN put whipped cream on top. See you in Heaven. I just cobbled that recipe together, because I figured persimmons would pair well with vanilla custard, and they do, they do.

Pro tip: Taste every dang persimmon as you process it. Don't throw them all together until you're sure they're ripe. A persimmon that looks gorgeous and not squashy like the one on the left, below, is going to turn your mouth inside out and line it with fur. The squashier the better, honestly. They do NOT have to freeze to be edible. They just have to be ripe. If they survive the fall without breaking, they're probably not ripe yet. So taste. It's part of the fun.

This post was supposed to be about ginkgo trees, but I haven't blogged in so long that I had to share some maples and persimmons, too. 

Depending on where you live and when you get your first real hard freeze, you can catch ginkgo drop. It wasn't until I started this post that I realized I've been spelling it gingko all my life. Nope, it's gink-go. 

Ginkgos are amazing trees, native to Xitianmu Mountain in China, but endangered in the wild. Go figure. They're everywhere in America, being just too odd and alluring not to plant. Kind of like the Dawn Redwood, which is fairly common in cultivation, and extinct in the wild in China.

Harking way way back to my Harvard botany class with Carroll Wood, I remember that the ginkgo's structure is extremely primitive, as they were among the first trees to evolve. Ginkgos don't have twigs like most later-evolved trees do. What they have is leaves that sprout directly from long branches. Isn't that cool? 

Not only that, but their leaves are super-primitive. They are formed from tiny twigs that come out in a fan-shape and fuse to form the simplest possible leaf. I may have mangled that, but I remember Dr. Wood telling us that. The parallel, fanned venation recalls that of maidenhair fern, another very primitive plant, and in fact the ginkgo is often called Maidenhair Tree. These leaves have been found in fossils on every continent, unchanged for 200 MILLION YEARS. Gack! The first ginkgo in America was planted by John Bartram, a well-known botanist, in his Pennsylvania garden in the 1780's.

Ginkgos can achieve tremendous heights and live for centuries. To me, it's a pure miracle that they get planted in cities, where they get mangled because they grow up through wires and such. They get planted because they are almost impossible to kill; they thrive in compacted soil full of pollutants; and they are very easy to prune back because they have no branches, only long straight limbs.  I love to see them planted, though, where they have room to grow! Here's a young hopeful with plenty of space overhead. 

Landscapers try to plant only male trees, but the occasional female sneaks through the lines. Apparently, the trees can change sex, perking along being a male for 20 or 30 years, then suddenly taking to dropping fruit! Though I'm tempted to call them drupes, they are technically cones, with a fleshy outer layer designed to be alluring to...something. You know how a juniper has fleshy fruits that everyone calls berries? Those are cones, too. Now I'm thinking that yews must have cones, as well. Yep, the red aril on a yew fruit  is actually a highly modified cone scale. COOL. Sometimes cones are fleshy and look just like fruits.

A female ginkgo drops jillions of fleshy, olive sized, pinkish-orange cones that smell like puke, which does not endear them to anyone. People have tried everything from shaking the green cones from the trees to (in Seoul, Korea) paying an army of more than 400 workers to hand pick the green cones so nobody has to slip on them and smell vomit come fall! 

Ginkgos are said to be toxic to insects that try to eat their leaves, and as I think about it, I have NEVER seen a ginkgo leaf with a hole chewed in it. Nor have I seen anything eat the fruit. It may have been dispersed by dinosaurs. Whatever liked to eat fruit that stinks of dogvomit is, evidently, long extinct.

But back to ephemera. The coolest thing, at least for me, about ginkgos is the way they shed their leaves.

First, they turn entirely golden yellow, and they hold that for a little while, maybe a week, maybe two. 

And then one fine night it gets really cold, down to the 20's. And the next morning, the ginkgos drop all their leaves almost at once. I'll quote a fine article in the Atlantic: 

In the autumn, deciduous trees form a scar between their leaves and stems to protect themselves from diseases and winter’s coming chill. Most flowering trees, like oaks and maples, form the scar at different rates, in different parts of the tree, over the course of weeks. Their leaves then fall off individually. But ginkgoes form the scar across all their stems at once. The first hard frost finishes severing every leaf, and they rain to the ground in unison. 

The article also quotes soil microbiologist and professor Serita Frey, who found records for one tree in front of James Hall at the University of New Hampshire. In 1977, ginkgo leaf dump occurred on October 24. With each decade, the tree dropped its leaves three days later. Now, leaf dump occurs around November 7. She has shown the effects of climate change on a single tree! The article is well worth checking out.

I was thrilled to see evidence of leaf dump, in the soft carpet of perfect golden fans beneath each tree.

From splendid to utterly naked, with a tablecloth of gold beneath.

At the elementary school Bill and his siblings attended in Marietta, there's a particularly nice ginkgo that paints the still-green grass with gold. Look at that structure, compared to the twiggy oak behind it!

Just once, I'd love to be beneath a tree when it dumps its leaves. Until then, I'll settle for driving around town from tree to tree, gawking and hoping, and slishing through the carpet beneath them.

On my way home, I noted that the Three Graces had dropped their dresses entirely. I missed most of their coloring, because I hadn't gone anywhere much at all.

I've revised their identities. Leftmost is a red maple. The middle tree, which I'd thought was a sugar maple, appears to be a black maple, Acer nigrum. And the rightmost tree, who holds her arms down, is still a black tupelo, and a fine one at that.

Tonight's ephmeral event was a sunset that brought me to my knees. I actually had to lie down, it was so beautiful. It caught me and Curtis out in the orchard, where I was freeing young trees of honeysuckle vines. I didn't think I had time to make it to the tower, so Curtis and I watched it through the trees.

He was clearly enjoying it, looking left and right, gazing fixedly at the sky. There could be no better companion for such a show. His only agenda, to keep me company. I am a lucky woman, and he is a lucky dog.

The sunset went on and on, and I did have time to climb to towertop and take in its last flames, on this soft warm evening in late November. What a gift. What a gift they all are--the maples, persimmons, the ginkgos; the ephemeral things I live to see and share. 

 

Looking Back on Fall

Man, it was such a beautiful fall. In the midst of all the mishegas going on in this country, we here in Ohio had that, at least, and it was a lot. I look at these photos and can't believe the meadow ever looked like this. 

But it did, it did, and I was out there every morning I could be, photographing it and reveling in the million little cigarette lighters the goldenrods held up, saying Thank You Fall, We Loved It! Play One More!

I had an absolute blast with monarchs, watching them chomp six potted Asclepias, bringing them in so I could be there for their special moments. And there are so many special moments with monarchs. I have reams of them on video, and I must get to them. So when winter finally arrives, I will have a busy studio, humming with industry. I don't intend to twiddle my thumbs.

I wanted to show you a few of the birds who came across my little bit of Appalachian ridgetop this fall. There were so many bay-breasted warblers! You can tell them by their lead-colored legs and sweet open faces. Blackpolls have orangey feet and a more severe look about the eye.  

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Same baybreast, preparing to go. 

Here's a blackpoll for comparison. If you click on the photo, you can see its orangey (not cool lead gray) feet. See the facial expression? Sort of calculating. Not as innocent as the baybreast, whose eyes are framed in pale crescents.

And there was a late flush of blue-headed vireos, and I don't think a BHVI is ever more beautiful than in fresh fall plumage. Look at that snowy white throat and breast! The shading of olive at the sides of its chest are just delicious. And those shining white spectacles. Hard to miss this bird, and it's quite vocal in fall as well, voicing a squeaky, chirrupy, slow, Cheree! Cheerio? Squee? 

They love willows, even our beat up old weeping willow. This one sidled down a willow whip almost to the ground.

Blackburnian warblers have the mostest eye stripes! This is a superciliary (over the eye) line. Look how long and pronounced it is--and orangey. Also note the pronounced back striping. The central pair down the middle of its back will be whitish on a Blackburnian.

It's pretty easy to identify the diminutive black-throated green warbler. Males keep a good bit of their coloration in fall. The stark black throat is overlain by white scaling, which is just fresh feather fringes. Those will wear off by spring.  The big golden head sides are a good tipoff for ths species.

The sycamores are almost done dropping their tremendous leaves now. Each one falls with a kind of slishy thud, which is pretty freaky to listen to in the dark. The sycamores, of course, don't care whether they drop them in daylight or dark. I like thinking of the leaves falling all night long. Some of these leaves are a good 10" across, making our sycamore a frustrating tree to bird in, until you see one calmly perched atop a leaf. Don't try that with a maple or a birch!

One of the most common fall migrants here is the Tennessee warbler, notable for its plainness. There are almost always traces of wingbars. Tennesses have short, sharp bills and a short-tailed cobby shape. They make constant lisping notes as they forage together, and when they take off they invariably drop a sweet shower of tsit notes as they go. Over the years and the annual waves of fall migrants, these little cues tell me what I have--I don't even need to see them to know they're around. 

White undertail coverts help separate the Tennessee from the similar looking orange-crowned warbler. Tennessees are whiter below than orange-crowned, and only rarely have any streaking on the breast. This is a Tennessee, taking off from a bath in the Bird Spa.

Finally, the waves of warblers and vireos were replaced by the hardier migrants. We had gobs of eastern Phoebes this fall, as well as a tolerable number of eastern wood-peewees. Listen for the phoebe's soft Chip! note and watch for its bobbing tail. Pewees are more elegant, keep their clothes cleaner, sit up straighter--phoebes who have been to charm school. 

Above: sludgy lil phoebe; below, natty lil peewee.

I love to see the field sparrows coming through. I know the juncos can't be far behind. 

Yellow-bellied sapsuckers had a good showing. Most of them are immatures, which makes for some very nondescript woodpeckers. But note the big longitudinal white wing panel. This is surprisingly easy to pick up at a distance, and when coupled with their swoopy flight style, usually ending as they stick a vertical landing on a tree trunk, you can amaze your friends with your long reach woodpecker ID's. I hope I get a peanut/suet freeloader again this winter. I love sapsuckers. They pound my birches to pieces, but that's OK with me!

So I passed an agreeable and lovely fall, walking the paths and watching the birds. Watching the meadow change every day was a thrill--waiting for them to throw the main power switch that would light up all the goldenrod at once. 

And the Maximilian sunflower glowed.

 

Liam is TWENTY-ONE!

 He really was a cute little boy, with a mop of white hair and a penchant for bacon. And he hasn't lost any of that, the white mop or the bacon or the cuteness, either. 

                                        

We had a Zoom birthday for Liam tonight, with family and special friends, and Liam made us all laugh so hard with his unique brand of humor, which cannot be described, but always catches you off guard. He said he didn't have a birthday cake, and every woman on that screen did a quick mental calcuation about what might be involved in getting him one, instantly. That's the kind of kid he is. You just want to do nice things for him because he's so appreciative. Mighty fond of good food. But this is as close as he has ever gotten to being a chonk. Well, he was a spherical baby, but that doesn't count. Look how cute he is!! squee! Talking, of course. 

Oh, the memorable meals of this past summer! 

Time was when I made him a ninja Lego cake for his birthday. Or a Cars cake. I would, in a heartbeat, if I could. 

But instead there we all were on Zoom, and Liam showed us how he taught himself to move his nostrils independently, up and down, so we all tried it. Ha haha!! 

It's really hard to be away from him for his 21st birthday. But prudence dictates that he remain at West Virginia University until he is able to get tested and come home for Festivus, which runs from Thanksgiving through New Year's. I can't wait to have my buddy home again! Then, there will be maple cake!

I keep thinking back to this past spring and summer, when we three got to be together from March-August. It was amazing. Here I am, not actually pointing out a bird. Ha ha! Photo shoot for New River Birding's not-festival this spring. And so it goes. We're all rolling with it, the not-actually happening of it.

I am so proud of this young man for adapting to the new constructs that have been forced on us all. When I think of my college life in the late 1970's (wooohooo), I can't imagine carrying on in a mask, but you do what you must. And Liam does it with style.

He does send me photos of his current mood from time to time. Often it's like this

                                                                            Or this...

my son, dripping like a Dali clock off a bench at the art gallery where he works. 

I prefer to see him with his beloved Curtis, at peace

and soon we'll get to do that. And I'll bake him a cake and take him shopping for some new clothes or some skateboard accessories! (I got him a nice skateboard for his birthday, with protective gear because MOM). 

Phoebe will get a short Thanksgiving break and we can all be together again for a few days. That will be the best present of all.

If all this quarantining has taught us anything, it's that spending time together is the most important thing of all. That's a beautiful lesson, one I think a lot of people have learned, now that they so often can't be together.

Now, to remember Bill, I'm going to do an awful thing. I am going to post the photo that Bill always posted on Liam's birthday, because for some reason he loved it. Sorry, Liam. Gotta do it. You both look like little blind cave fishies, freezing your fins off, jumping at Daddy's behest in the January surf somewhere off Titusville, Florida. Brrrrr! Notice there's nobody else out in the water except a couple of snow-white Ohio kids.

Fast-forward to Christmas, 2019, to see what these blind cave minnows grew into, soaring over Tenerife's volcano in one of my favorite all-time shots of them together. 

Liam, know that you delight everyone who takes the time to get to know you. Thank you for endeavoring to persevere, and making the best of the situation we're all floundering in. You're keeping a handle on your grades (as far as I know...) and your job, taking your classes seriously, staying away from parties and bars, and running out every chance you get to slish through the autumn leaves. No mom could ask for more. Thank you for being so kind, sweet, considerate and funny, and for calling me all the time. 

Two weeks and you'll be home again

and there is someone waiting to smother you in kisses,

someone waiting to take a bunch of photos of you, to cook for you 

and talk art with you

and make you chop things and haul things around.

And being Liam, you'll do it with a smile. I love you, sweet boy. Happy birthday! You are loved! So much!

xoxoxo Ma