sumac

Cedar Blush

The foggy morning was a prelude to the storm that just ended. Blue sky, something we've had little of this winter, is now in its stead. It is these weather events that make a cold climate tolerable, just rewards for what can be hard.



Moisture riding the push of warm advection crystallizes on cold twigs and grasses.



And sumac not yet pecked by the birds.



I love the cedars that grow here; reminding me of those that break the monotony of old fields on Long Island. They, of course, are the same species, and aren't truly cedars -Eastern Red Cedar, Juniperus virginiana. These are tough trees, can be over nine hundred years old, tolerate drought and wet, cold, and the poorest soils. While deer browse your expensive arborvitae hedges, by the looks of the Eastern Reds around here, they hardly touch them. There is gin, of course, and the aesthetics which, to my eye, are some of the best an evergreen can provide.

There is a moment every autumn, usually middle to late, when the cedars turn bronze, red, mauve, blushed or however you may see it. This change requires a loss of some of chlorophyll's green and the development of red anthocyanins and the two, together, create this bronzing effect. This is painter's stuff, mixing reds and greens to create blacks more green or more red. The dark bronze contrasts with the white of aspens and snow and plays well with ochre field plants.

Like so many plants you love, someone, somewhere lists them as invasive. How can this be, you ask, after all it is a native in its range! Well, I rationalize it this way -Eastern Reds grow readily in farm fields and get a bad rap for its ability to grow readily from bird-dropped seeds in these fields. The other reason is the loss of fire as a control agent, but this is our fault, and we shouldn't be blaming the cedar. Finally, because we plowed under so much prairie that there is less than one percent of it left, managers curse the Eastern Red for colonizing what's left that isn't being managed by fire. Given these rationalizations, I still wouldn't blink if I had the opportunity to plant one on our land.  I may well have that chance in one of the many clearings created by downed large oaks or bass that have given rise to another accomplished colonizer -common buckthorn.




Glacial Lakes State Park

Last night I had a tornado dream -usually the kind I have when I am deeply bothered by something. The tornado bears down on me, I hold on. This one shook and rattled the concrete building I dreamt myself to be in. I woke up.

Magically, this made me think of last summer's trip to Glacial Lakes State Park in Minnesota's prairie country. I chose this park as my destination because the name of a nearby lake, Minneswaska, was the same name as a lake and state park in the Shawangunks of the New York's Hudson Valley. And the closest town was named Starbuck.


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Minnesota is divided between three distinct regions: northern coniferous forest, prairie, and the western most extent of the eastern deciduous forest (called Big Woods in Minnesota). My trip took me on one of several roads that follow an arc of glacial lakes, or kettles, that remain as reminder of the Wisconsin glacial period (so-so Wiki article). I left the Big Woods and entered the prairie. According to the Minnesota DNR, 98% of Big Woods has been converted to farm land, housing and commercial development and 99.9% of Minnesota prairie has been turned for farm land.

When I neared the park, the land turned from farm to grassland. The road turned from asphalt to gravel.




This landscape was rolling, elevated, scattered stones and boulders about, and grass -lots of grass.



After entering the park, the roadway descends toward a kettle lake. The parking area is surrounded by a glade of trees.


I began walking on the trail that circumnavigates the main kettle lake, called Signalness Lake.
I'm impressed with the oak forest and the feeling like this forest is a hidden pocket in the prairie come farmland. It also strikes me how similar this landscape is to my own Long Island experience with its kettles and oaks.




As you walk down the slope toward the lake, you cross this simple footbridge. It crosses a wetland adjacent to the lake. Among the many plants, milkweed -Asclepias syriaca and what looks like yarrow, Achillea millefolium (native or not???).


I couldn't ID so many of the plants I discovered on this trip, like this one below. It was just above the wetland.




Lakeside, half-way around and looking at my starting location.




Leaving the lakeside I move back uphill toward the drier forest. To the east rolling hills and prairie grassland. Notice how the woodlands are in the depressions in the land, where there is more moisture and protection.



The drier uplands are primarily prairie land. But native sumacs can aggressively fill the slopes without fire as a control agent. Prairie loves fire because it keeps woody plants from taking hold.



Scanning the prairie you see a fabric of grass and other plants.



Closer looking finds brilliant flowers. What is it?




Of course the native coneflower, Echinacea angustifolia.




Hoary Vervain, Verbena stricta




Name this grass.





I know this one because of my time in New Mexico -its Leadplant, Amorpha canescens.



I always enjoy the interpretive signs, especially old disintegrating ones like this explaining how this landscape was formed.

 



Sumac Surprise

Yesterday I was taking a break, walking around the Brooklyn Bridge Park area. I noticed that many of the branches of the Staghorn Sumacs (Rhus typhina) planted there were broken, people snapping them for the clusters of red drupes that sit atop the branches. Going over to inspect the damage, I noticed for the very first time why these are called "Staghorn" Sumac. I always thought it was because the branches resemble the antlers of a young stag, which is true, but more than that, it is because the sumac branches are covered in a fine hair, giving them the appearance of a young stag's new antlers.

The hair was soft, felt-like, and attractive up close. I was amazed at discovering this. I really like Sumac, so easy to grow and very attractive. However it does spread, so you may need to have the room to let it go or hem it in with an underground barrier. I really like the cultivar Rhus typhina 'Laciniata', growing in two locations at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Isn't it beautiful?