Cool plant #2: Escarpment black cherry

 

Shortly after we built our house, we noticed an interesting tree tucked into a live oak motte down by the shack – er, Men’s Institute of Higher Learning. We didn’t recognize it, and neither did our family plant expert, my mother-in-law Mary Anne Pickens. Ah well.

Several years ago we noticed it blooming in the spring, and as a result were able to make an identification:  Escarpment black cherry (Prunus serotina var.  eximia). So far as we know, it is the only one on our property. Our specimen is 30 feet tall and lovely.

Voila! I present the second in my occasional series on species endemic to my area!

According to the Wildflower Center website, the escarpment black cherry is a “distinct and isolated geographic variety of black cherry (Prunus serotina) found only in the calcareous soils of central Texas.” It is naturally occurring from Burnet and Williamson counties south to Comal and Medina counties, and west to Kimble and Kinney counties. We are in the middle of that area.

The escarpment black cherry is the white multi-trunked tree behind the live oak leaning across in the front.

 As you can see from the picture, it sports light green leaves with light-colored branches and an open structure. It has lovely blooms in April and May, fruit, and leaves that turn yellow in the fall. We get really excited about fall color here, where our most common trees are evergreen.

Its cherries are edible, but other parts of the tree are poisonous (possibly fatal) to humans and herbivorous animals. Birds and mammals like the fruit, and a number of moths and butterflies enjoy its nectar and use it as a larval host.

The Wildflower Center notes that furniture makers like its wood for its “lustrous, dark red tint.” We have two very dear friends who make furniture. We steer them away from this tree when they visit. They can’t have it.

Here's a closer shot, with the gray water drains
coming out of the shack behind the tree.

I’ve just figured out something else about this tree. The Wildflower Center says it needs moist, but well-drained soil. At first thought, this tree’s home would not seem to be moist. Ah, think again. The tree grows near the end of the gray water pipe from the shack. When we bought the property, renters lived in the shack, which had water but no septic, only a gray water drain from a kitchen sink. Also, they used an outdoor shower (no hot water!) located nearby and slightly uphill from the tree.

It’s a wonder the beauty didn’t perish after we booted the renters and the shack sat empty. I guess the tree was established enough that it could survive without those water sources. I did water it in the terribly dry summer of 2011. It is one of my prize botanical specimens, and I want it to live!

Click here to read about another plant native to my geographic area, the twist-leaf yucca.

Favorite spot in the garden:

While hanging laundry today I looked up and saw this phalanx of twist-leaf yucca bloom stalks. My young garden helper and I gathered rocks earlier this year to put around the base of the yuccas for a rock garden effect, which makes the group stand out. I don't remember so many blooming together before. Aren't they cool?

Now some folks would wait until they bloom before taking photos. However, savvy central Texas gardeners know that deer particularly enjoy yucca bloom stalks. I imagine they taste like asparagus. There is no guarantee these will make it to full bloom. If they do, I'll take another picture!

If you like cool maps . . .

I saw this cool map recently, shared on the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center’s Facebook page from the Biota of North America’s Facebook page.

Verbiage from that Facebook page explains the map as follows:

Relative distribution of species found primarily in the Great Plains/Prairie region. Blue areas have the highest number of species per 10000 km2, whereas the brown areas have very few. Contour interval of 10 species; Facebook does not allow the display of the full resolution of these maps.

A further description posted on the page by Chris Durden goes as follows:

The map is based on distribution of woody plant species that occur in this region but not in the other identified "hot spots". Most occur together in central Texas. Even more occur across the Rio Grande in Coahuila. The Balconian "hot spot" is located at the southern end because that is where the biota survived the last and previous glaciations. Leaf through the other maps in this series and you will see similar treatments for our other regional woody floras. An illustrative species is *Berberis (Mahonia) swaseyi* of Travis, Hays, Comal, Kerr, Bandera and Real Counties in Texas. A species with very similar morphology was described from 38 million-year-old Florissant (National Monument, Colorado) volcanic ash lake beds where it was part of the "Madro-tertiary Flora". There are many more species of animals (mostly invertebrate) with this distribution because they are adapted to life on and among these woody plants. The Barton Springs Salamander and the listed endangered cave arthropods are part of this set of relict communities.

I had to read this about six times, but as I understand it, this map illustrates the distribution of woody plant species that occur in this region (Great Plains/Prairie region), with the highest concentration occurring in Central Texas. (The other maps the passage refers to are on Biota of North America's Facebook page.)

You wouldn’t know it from my property, which is overrun with Ashe juniper and live oaks. But these seem to be really smart people, so I believe them!

I like maps; I hope you do, too.

Favorite spot in the garden today:

My favorite spot today is out in a wild area. My daughter and I were mining for rocks last week when we both noticed and admired this grouping of twist-leaf yucca (Yucca rupicola), prairie fleabane (Erigeron modestus) and prairie verbena (Glandularia bipinnatifida).

Windfall (not the monetary kind)

Wow, it was blowing dogs off chains a few days ago! If you live anywhere in the middle of the country, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  I’m not complaining, mind you. Compared to the blizzard conditions experienced in other places, we got off easy.

Wind gusts exceeded 50 mph in our area. According to the National Weather Service (From Jim Spencer’s weather blog on KXAN), Hays County’s highest measured gust was 53 mph.

I am amazed at how strong trees are, and how much movement and stress they can take. Looking out the window the other day at the trees thrashing about, I expected more damage. But those trees are tough. Our damage was limited to occasional broken Ashe juniper branches, though one of those was quite a large branch in a tree directly in front of the house.

Besides the woodpile, a few branches fell, also.

One unforeseen problem emerged. In a recent tree-cutting spree we stacked wood five feet high between several moderately sized cedars. When the winds started gusting, the trees started swaying – and a good bit of our woodpile toppled. Now we get to stack that wood twice. Live and learn.

Did you notice the noise of the windstorm? Even inside the house, I could hear a low sustained roar. Outside, the roar was intense:  an amalgam of wind whistling through branches, leaves rustling, limbs crashing against each other, and trees creaking and groaning – for miles around.

“Awesome” – though overworked – is just the right adjective!

Favorite spot in the garden:

The violets have begun blooming, few and sparse right now. These little darlings appeared without my help and began proliferating under the roof overhang and live oak tree. According to the Wildflower Research Center they are “Good for the moist but well-drained woodland shade garden.” Well, that’s not exactly what I’ve got, but I’ll take ‘em! I think they are Missouri violets (Viola missouriensis).

For some reason, I thought of poetry when writing about the violets, and I found this sweet little poem to share.

Who hath despised the day of small things?

By Cristina Rossetti

As violets so be I recluse and sweet,

            Cheerful as daisies unaccounted rare,

Still sunward-gazing from a lowly seat,

            Still sweetening wintry air.

While half-awaked Spring lags incomplete,

            While lofty forest trees tower bleak and bare,

Daisies and violets own remotest heat

            And bloom and make them fair.

In the woods

This was the tallest tree we tackled.

Sunday we spent some family time in the woods. We were doing a job that I enjoy, that exhausts my husband, and that really annoys the children:  slaying cedar.

Technically, we weren’t slaying cedar (Ashe juniper is its correct name), as they were already slain – laid low by that terrible foe, the drought of 2011. A belt of trees were geographically challenged in their quest for water, and a number of them – Ashe juniper, live oak and yaupon – perished. This left an unsightly mess next to the driveway.

And according to our calendar and much to our dismay, it will get cooler here soon and the firewood supply was perilously low.

And it's down, destined for firewood.

It was time to take action. We donned long pants and boots, and gathered chain saw, fuel, bar oil (or as my husband says, bahr awl), gloves and loppers, and ventured out solve two problems at once.

My boys were enlisted to drag brush frequently when we first bought this land, and it was a battle every time. Now they are out of our clutches, and we have shifted our sights to the little daughter. She has begun exhibiting the same reluctance her older brothers did. On Sunday I heard things like, “I don’t have any shoes” and “Can I make a pie, instead?” No.

Iris the dog is site supervisor.

I set her to using the loppers to break off dead branches and cut small cedars; she prefers this to dragging brush. Dan wielded the chain saw, while I stacked firewood and piled up brush.

In addition to the reward of how the area looks when we are done, we usually find a few surprises or treasures to make the job more enjoyable.

The first thing we saw was a giant pink and cream lantana, escaped into the woods and twining up through a cedar tree. It is far from where I had planted one in my garden. The thing is at least six feet tall!

Green tree frog and daughter's hand against
freshly cut Ashe juniper stump.

A while later, Dan called our daughter over. As he was prepared to take down a dead cedar, he discovered a bright green tree frog on its trunk. My daughter was entranced, of course, and carried the frog back to the house where she constructed a home for it near the new pond - deluxe accommodations that I’m not sure it will appreciate.

(Have I mentioned how much I love having a daughter who is not afraid to pick up a frog or toad?)

Tote that wood, sister.

It was a productive day:  dead trees cleared away, firewood stacked, brush pile created (which may be chipped sometime, but until then will be home to sundry critters), unexpected plant found, frog examined and relocated, fresh air taken in, muscles used, pre-teen ejected from the house, sense of accomplishment felt all around.

The finished-for-today product - more dead trees remain for another day.

We are cedar choppers!

What a slacker I’ve been. I can only claim summer as an excuse, though the date would indicate that summer is about over. GET TO WORK, SISTER!

This coming weekend marks a year since the Labor Day fires in Bastrop. Numerous fires sprang up that weekend, and we spent a nervous few days frequently scurrying upstairs to peer out the windows, watching for smoke nearby. As you may recall, I vowed to clear brush away from our house. (See Snow White and Me.)

Yesterday my oldest son and I worked on the west side of our house, where the cedar (Ashe juniper to be precise) stood close by, looming ominously over the driveway.  He has worked out there several days, but this time I helped by dragging brush and stacking firewood.

Walker is a U.S. Forest Service-certified sawyer, courtesy of a summer spent maintaining trails with the forest service in South Dakota. I am the proud owner of a chainsaw, but I’m not certified. Perhaps certifiable . . . oh, let’s not go there. Suffice it to say that we deemed it wiser for him to handle the dangerous equipment.

It looks so nice out there now. We are not deforesting the area, simply lifting the canopy, as fire would do if we (by that I mean Americans in general) could let fires race through periodically to burn the underbrush.

These two sad live oaks are right outside my office
window. The one in front has a few leaves,
but is not long for this world.

 

Last evening, sunlight angled through sparser foliage and illuminated patches of green grass and brown mulch here and there. This effect is my favorite part of clearing (after the part where our house doesn’t burn down in a wildfire).

Next on the chainsaw agenda:  Lots of trees - cedar and live oak - succumbed to the drought. Cedars continue to die, despite the rains that fell over the winter.  We need to take the dead trees down and process them into firewood-sized pieces.

Good thing there’s a certified sawyer in the house.

Favorite spot in the garden:

My garden looks grim right now. We’ve had no appreciable rain since July 15. The days are long and hot. I have been watering enough to keep things alive (maybe), but not enough to keep things show-worthy.

However, the tried and true flame acanthus (Anisacanthus quadrifidus var. wrightii) continues to bloom gaily, enticing hummingbirds to linger outside my office window. Even the volunteer plants, which receive no supplemental water, are blooming, though not as prolifically as the one in my bed (which does get roof run-off, when it rains). By the way, I have watered it once this summer.  That’s right, once.