QUICK PICKS: THREE TREES

An average weekday in June, sun setting at 9:00pm, a quiet night at home, waiting for the rice to cool off, waiting for the thunderstorm to break, waiting for Cliff Lee’s first win, just sitting around waiting for the phone to ring, ladies…and I make the heart-breaking mistake of delving into the photo archives to look at tree-pictures I never posted.

What happened?

There are just too many trees and not enough time.

Out there on the mean streets, I always end up running into trees that don’t quite fit into my planned posts. 

I mean, I’ve missed a lot of great trees. 

The yellowwood and the black locust?   

Never got around to writing about that deep-ridged bark.  Never got around to describing their brief spell of dangling flowers in mid-spring, though I have loads of pictures.

Honey-suckle and fringe trees?   

Yeah, I missed that boat too…although even their pretty pictures can’t capture the spring breezes that always belied their presence, wafts of honey out of the corner of your eye.

The horse chestnut?  Now, that’s a big regret.   

What a spectacular miss.  It’s got everything I’m looking for in a tree.  Droopy branches.  Big-fisted, tear-drop leaves.  Bright steeples of spring flowers just popping out of the green. 

What happened, Jon Spruce?  I was busy, horse chesnut.  Busy and lazy.

Well, I won’t make the same mistake this time.  Here are three quick sketches of three notable trees…trees I just can’t watch pass by.

CITY PICKINGS

Ah, summer.

Long days of blue skies, big clouds, green trees, colorful flowers, warm rain, tall grass, iced coffee in the morning and Corona beers at night.  You got your flies, mosquitos and bees, sure, but you also have the hummingbirds and woodpeckers -- the season of the bear, the bat and the beaver, the ant and the squirrel. 

It’s also the season of sweating on the couch.

According to the Farmer’s Almanac, the northern summer solstice begins this week, a stretch of long, long days clocking in at 14 hours and 47 minutes, gray moons in the blue evening skies.  If we were cabin-bound in northern Inuit country, then we might be able to see old Sol, for a brief moment, standing still in the sunny midnight hour.  The origin of the word solstice is a combination of sol for “sun” and sistere which means “stands still.”

According to the Medicine Wheel, Wabun the Golden Eagle is flying away from his nest-throne and Shawnodese the Coyote Trickster begins the next three-moon reign, beginning with the paradoxical Strong Sun Moon.  Although considering that the sun and the moon share the sky during this season, maybe the Wheelmakers were on to something there.

If I had any of the spirit of Wabun in me, then I wouldn’t be here right now, in an air-conditioned urban cabin on some numbered street in just another grid in just another city somewhere along this great sprawling megalopolis. 

No, I’d be high-tailing it to the Big Horn county of Wyoming, ten-thousand feet up Medicine Mountain, and I’d be watching the sun rise along its solstice while sitting Indian-style at the southern cairn of an actual medicine wheel. 

Up on Medicine Mountain, there be one of the largest surviving Medicine Wheels, seventy-five feet in diameter, over eight hundred years old, perfectly aligned with the northern summer solstice.

Now that’s the kind of entrance that the Coyote deserves.

If Wabun the Golden Eagle is all eyes and wing, then Shawnodese the Coyote Trickster is all teeth and heart and, for better or for worse, all that the teeth devour and all that the heart ignites: love, hate, fear, sympathy, envy, jealousy, delight, rage, anger, desire, regret, hunger.

And so, it is only appropriate, that the Coyote’s three moons are dominated by the family of trees called the Roses.

PREDICTIONS FOR THE PLANT WORLD

In the last few hours of daylight on Tuesday June 5th, I walked over to the Drexel University observatory to watch the planet Venus cross between the sun and earth.  This will not happen again for another 105 years.

When you think about it that way, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to just sit at home and watch the Phillies blow another game. 

That’s a long time away, 105 years.  It’ll be the year 2117.  That’s five score and five years away but, as I was walking towards the university, my mind wasn’t on the future.  I was thinking about the last hundred and so years…and everything that’s happened in between.

People are always asking me: Hey, Jon Spruce, what are the five most important plant events in the last hundred years?

PIONEER TREES

The other night, I went for a walk to enjoy the last moon of spring, the last moon of Wabun, the Golden Eagle.  This be the Corn Planting Moon.

According to the Farmer’s Almanac, the days right now are long, fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes long, to be exact.  By the end of this moon, on June 20th, the day will be ten minutes longer, the longest days of the year, clocking in at fourteen hours and forty-seven minutes, the summer solstice.

According to the Wheel, people born under these spring moons are full of wonder and curiosity.  They are awake.  They are spontaneous and creative and, like Wabun himself, they are able to soar high, see clear and see far.  Wabun’s children are, by nature, explorers, hunters, scouts, trailblazers, navigators, pilots and cosmonauts. 

 

THE THIRD AND FINAL MOON OF SPRING

The Wheel always moves forward…but to what?  Usually, it’s about food.  The trees and plants have mostly flowered and budded and leafed and they are now beginning to fruit.  This is food, whether it comes in the form of flowers, stems, buds, roots, bark, leaves, fruit or pollen.   

The wild dinner bell is ringing. 

The new growth of spring rings that bell.  On the farm, this is the time when new lambs and piglets wean off the milk and taste, for the first time, green food.  In the forests, wild berries are just about to burst, the perfect food for bears.  In the woods, the beaver family swims out of the lodge and chomps down the weak new trees to repair the winter damage to their dams.  On the plains, the grass is growing high and that provides a cover for the rabbits and mice as they dart across the fields and lawns, looking for food, hiding from hawks and owls.  Bats are born in May and June, just in time to catch the bees and insects hunting for pollen in the roses and peonies and sunflowers.  Down by the sea, the blue crab molts under the first full moon of May and becomes soft-shelled.  The seagulls and pelicans have been waiting.

And for us?  This third moon of spring is salad: lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, baby turnips, baby beets, spring onions, green garlic, the radish, the rainbow chard and the spinach.  

Eat up…but don’t forget to plant the corn.

This is the Corn Planting Moon.

This moon actually has many different names.  It’s sometimes called the Strawberry Moon.  If you take a visit to any local farmers’ market, it’s easy to see why.

It’s also called the Rose Moon.  I like to do my rose-hunting by night.

But I prefer to call it the Corn Planting Moon.  Here on Turtle Island, it’s hard to think of a plant more important than corn, our native grass, the maize, the food of the ancient Wheelmakers themselves. 

I’ll wait for summer to talk about the corn.  It’s the moon that fascinates me now.  This one is for Wabun’s children: the pioneers.  These curious pilots?  Sometimes, they bring back trees.

GOTTA WEED

FROG FOUND: JUST IN TIME

The other day, I received an urgent message from one of the many citybillies following this blog: FOUND A FROG.

Just in time too.  She sent the following photo within the last days of the Frogs Return Moon:

This particular citybilly works in the produce section of a supermarket and, as she was unpacking a box of local asparagus, she found a frog.

I think this photo would’ve really tickled the ancient Wheelmakers.  Frog and asparagus, two totems of the second spring moon of Wabun, the Golden Eagle. 

We enter, this week, Wabun’s third and final moon of the year, the Corn Planting Moon.  It’s time to start preparing for the long slog and the bountiful harvest of the upcoming summer months.  Most of the tree-flowers are gone, the leaves are out, the frogs have returned and the asparagus?  That quintessential spring crop?  Time to let it go wild and weedy.

STALKING THE WILD ASPARAGUS

Just recently, I asked one of my farmer friends, “Why does asparagus season have to end?”   

I mean, as I understand it, the asparagus shoots out of the ground, you let it grow, you snip it at the base and you take it to market…then, a week later, another asparagus breaches the surface…and it’ll keep coming back and coming back.  “Can’t you just keep picking it all summer?”

“No time,” she said.  “There’s too much else coming up.  Got to pick, got to plant and you gotta weed.”

Gotta weed. 

I went over to her place, the Urban Girls Produce farm located at the Schuylkill Center, to watch the wild asparagus. 

 

So this is what happens when asparagus goes wild.  This is what happens to your favorite vegetable when you gotta weed.

Trees can go to weed too.  There is a whole roster of trees that are unwanted, uninvited, undesired, blackballed and ostracized.  In the books, it’s called spontaneous urban vegetation.  In the college classrooms, it’s sometimes called Urban Ecology.  Down here on the mean streets, we call them weed trees and I’ve found a couple worth talking about.

MAYPOP

Look at this.  A nondescript street in West Philly, exact location will remain a secret for reasons that will be obvious later. 

I was walking down Street X the other day, for no particular reason.  It was an overcast day and getting muggy, which meant more rain was on its way.  I wasn't even hunting for anything but, citybilly or no citybilly, you'd have to be blind not to see the maypop.

 

WILDWOOD TULIPS

No frogs.  No frogs for the blog.  Not yet.  I’ve been looking and I can’t find a single frog in this city.  I’ve only got about ten days left under the Moon of Returning Frogs, only ten days till the next moon rises.  I’ve got to find some frogs in the next ten days.

Frogs or no frogs, I’ve been enjoying this moon nonetheless, especially the recent cold and rainy weather.  These cold and rainy days are setting things right again.

We had a warm winter, too warm, and I don’t trust warm winters.  Everything was happening just a little too early this year: maple leaves, cherry blossoms, magnolia flowers, asparagus, taxes and lettuce.  Too fast, too early…but now this recent spate of cold and drizzly days have slowed it all down and we’re getting back to schedule.  Funny, how the Wheel rights itself all on its own.

That’s what I like, especially this time of year, just at the brink of the growing season.  No need to rush through asparagus.   

Just the other day, at the local farmers’ market, among other seasonal things, I saw a farmer selling some pokeweed. 

 

Normally grown in dark Amish basements, this strange native plant looks a little like asparagus.  Growing it in the dark gives it that groovy, fluorescent color.  It’s really cool to see, mainly because it only grows in this little pocket of the Northeast, out there in Lancaster Dutch country. I didn’t buy any.  It doesn’t agree with me.  Technically, botanically, it's got a little poison in it.  The cookbooks say you got to boil it three times to remove its toxins but the Amish kids say that’s bunk.  I don't argue with the Amish kids.

On the way back to my car, I noticed something on the ground. 

 

I know this flower.  It’s the season of the tulip poplar.  Of course.  Just in time for the rain.