Category — lines under latin

In 1900 it was estimated that over 3 billion Chestnut trees (Castanea dentata) blanketed the American landscape.

The American Chestnut blight was first noticed on trees in the Bronx Zoo in 1904.

Seven years later it was conservatively estimated to have done $25,000,000 worth of damage.

There are currently fewer than 100 American Chestnut trees over 24″ in diameter in its former native range.

3 billion trees. gone.

Strange how things can fade out so quickly. As the Starbucks, Countrywides, Bear Stearns, and other American institutions crumble I propose we infill them with Chestnut Parks. Slivers of land with an f.a.r. of 1. One layer of native plants reaching crookedly parallel to glass curtain walls, up concrete retaining walls, and inside the decommissioned dirt of failed commerce; places to watch the sun traipse between the cities sight lines and spill pieces of shade on unadvertised surfaces.

When the Chestnut tree comes back it will come back recomposed. When plants come back to the city, they will come back recomposed.

I have been to Chestnut Park in Philadelphia twice and once it was closed. I know nothing about it except what I have read on the plaque and seen on those two occasions. I nonetheless find it to be one of the more elusively beautiful places I have ever been and wish that everyone in every city had a place like this to read, eat, watch, daydream, listen, write, do nothing in.

On the National Park Service website Purple Loosestrife makes the list of the Least Wanted Plants and is classified as an Alien Plant Invader of Natural Areas. Next time you consider buying this plant, English Ivy, or any other weed at Home Depot… please don’t. Please take a moment to consider the above list. The problem is that aggressive non-native plants like Purple Loosestrife thrive in disturbed sites like Kingman Island and disrupt the native ecosystem…basically a wrench in an intricate system that fails to provide anything of value to birds, bugs and other creatures of the area.

Of course there are other plants on Heritage and Kingman Islands (just east of RFK stadium shown below) and on the day that Josh, Lisa and I were there we came across plenty of Poison Ivy Toxicodendron radicans, Silver Maple Acer saccharinum, and Josh’s favorite invasive exotic, Porcelainberry Ampelopsis brevipendunculata (which admittedly does have one of the most beautiful berries I have ever seen).

Since the US Army Corps of Engineers created the islands in 1916 they have been a collection point for the destitute and the dumped. Left to grow largely wild, the result, now open to the public (I think) is a thicket of 100 year old weeds. Perhaps even more impressive and beautiful is the re-establishment of many wetland species along the coasts. The last time I had explored the islands, the mud and geese looked like they might overcome the efforts at regenerating the wetlands. However, beyond my surprise that the islands were open was the view from the footbridge across the Anacostia…

the plants seem to be doing quite well and are reclaiming a fair percentage of land.

Unfortunately the archaic is captured in the opposite view and we are quickly reminded of the very visible hand of destruction. Five fingers, nails stained black from the making of progress.

bumble bees be buzzing around. strolling through the gardens of the boss on a conservative afternoon in the middle of a strange political future. and it seems to me that butter doesn’t fly but certainly enjoys a drink of mountain mint now and again. and the younger of us head to the club where they put leaves in our cocktails (and now its me thats looking backward to Ms. Sullivan drinking leafy concoctions in Venezia).  squint your eyes. Strange how it is snow in the middle of summer. The bees and butterflies love Pycanthemum muticum. Please do touch the leaves… come to our house in Washington DC and crush them between your fingers. Leave more than footsteps and take more than pictures. Pictures are worth only a thousand words, and mountain mint tea is certainly worth more. It will grow in full sun or light shade and especially enjoys the edges of our dwindling woodlands. There is a purity to the green and an ancient to the silver. The plant seems to be at once just born and a century old. The wisdom of my garden is but 3 weeks, but it is rumored that this minty addition will repel mosquitos. Drinks for me and none for them.

On a recent trip to the Morton Arboretum I had the chance to walk through the Schulenberg Prairie. Despite the many visitors on this particular Saturday, Kate and I were the only two in the prairie and had the landscape to ourselves (and the billions of bugs, insects, birds, and few cacophonous cars).

I felt very at home in that set of plants and critters and it made me think of the cultural geographer Yi Fu Tuan and his description of comfort in the American southwest. And while the beauty of the prairie is in plants such as Purple Coneflower Echinacea purpurea, the power of the prairie is up to twelve feet deep where roots are storing water, carbon and nutrients necessary for survival. Hence, of course, the fertility of midwest soil and the ongoing growth of corn for cars and cattle.

The unfortunate reality of our historical cultivation is that we released more carbon expunging expanses of prairie than we will ever release from all the cars in United States combined. According to the Nature Conservancy, less than 4% of the original tallgrass prairie remains.

We have crossed a cliff where conservation will not be enough. Conservationists cannot do enough. It is time for regenerationists. Regenerationists will have to recognize that humans are part of the current ecology (and will be for the foreseeable future, but if not…) and must intertwine human action with ecological balance. Prairie museums will not be enough. Prairies are going to have to take over front lawns, rooftops, building facades, and highway medians. Their regeneration must be aggressive and stealth; beautiful and functional.

Morus rubra

In my dreams I was picking ripe persimmons and bowling ball size pommegranites from trees along a shaded street. The persimmons were somehow more orange and tasted like sunrise. In my day life, I have been lunching on mulberries Morus rubra and serviceberries Amelanchier arborea, both now ripe in and around the dc area. The looks I get as I pick fruit from trees and pop them in my mouth are those of confusion and disbelief. It seems that we have grown accepting of pesticide bathed, individually wrapped, laboratory grown and cross-continent shipped fruits and vegetables but aghast by the thought that these thing once grew on a tree or in the ground. Under fluorescent lights, with a *SALE* nametag we notice and respect these things but beneath the cover of green they fail to catch our eye.

ChemLawn and the movement of beauty

While I was eating mulberries from the tree in the photograph above I was thinking about ChemLawn. Imagine a company being called ChemLawn; that’s what was plastered on the trucks and yard stakes that would decorate the street and lawn I grew up on. I was remembering that logo and thinking about beauty and how fluid it is. Of course, great efforts are still made in the pursuit of monocultural lawns of neon grass, but cultural eyes seem to be awakening to the toxicity of the pursuit. The word chemical is in a dive. As beauty is re-defined it will be interesting to note its dripline. Will well placed weeds and edible berries overtake chemical fertilizers and relentless lawns under the protection landscape logic and ethical aesthetics? Without a sure answer, I continue spending my days Influencing the flow of beauty towards something less ridiculous…

TruGreen ChemLawn is now TruGreen, because one word is all you need for a great lawn. We have shortened our name to make it easier for you to remember that we are the experts of lawn care. While we are known as “TruGreen”, the name ChemLawn will always be a part of our Company. The two companies merged in 1992 and we kept both names for the last 15 years because ChemLawn was a respected and trusted name in lawn care.

Recently, we have refocused our company to be much more customer oriented. Enhanced service levels, the introduction of Lawn Quality Audits (LQAs), EASYPAY and the customer benefits of the new TruGreen.com are just a few examples of the many customer initiatives here at TruGreen.

This name change is symbolic of these fundamental customer improvements. The “new” TruGreen is dedicated to Superior Service and Visible Results by proving to you, our valued customers, that to us, Your Lawn Means More. (http://lawn-care.trugreen.com)

If you are in Washington DC and have some free time this week or this upcoming weekend, go see the Azaleas in bloom at the National Arboretum. Although the Rhododendron genus is certainly not my favorite collection of species, and Azaleas are not in my view the most interesting of plants, I must admit that their display and collection of color is fantastic (in a sort of F. Scott Fitzgerald way). Not because of any one species or even as a collection of flowering azaleas but more because of the composition and experience as a whole. Moving from the Capital Columns set in the meadow to the Azalea collection set beneath a canopy cover helps contain their song and let light in and out of the path. I found them most striking when they were able to contrast a structure of brick paths and boxwood edges. It was great to see so many people at the Arboretum and I encourage anyone to get there within the next couple weeks to see the blooms.

If i was a bird I think I would eat red berries. I think my favorite would be serviceberries. I wonder what else I would think about? Surely I would travel in search of hedgerows along century old American farmlands and seek winter warmth in coniferous hearts.

What if I was to design a landscape entirely from the perspective of a bird? Would humans appreciate it? Would they applaud its variance from other parks and plazas? Could I design a house for a human that birds would like to fly over, land on and sleep around? Could the walls of my house be houses for birds… singing the sun under the western horizon.

As a bird, would I like music? How about Bob Dylan? What is the best size wire to land on? Are my feet shaped this way to stand in a particular tree? Are my colors suited to the changing landscape. As the leaves, berries and blue skies disintegrate into a culture of consumption will my feathers match the strip mall? Will it matter anymore?

My bird’s eye view still looks for serviceberries and serviceberries are coming soon. Amelanchier sp., common name Serviceberry or Juneberry, is an understory tree that flowers in early spring (now) then produces small (1/2″) red/purple berries that are prized by 40+ species of birds and some astute humans. The fruits likely won’t be out around these parts until late June or July but the flowers that are blooming now are paving a sweet road to summer…between the white flowers, the delicious fruit and lantern fall color, the serviceberry is surely top 5.

On my family tree and the one out the window…

Growing on the sunny side of the window closest to my current desk is a beautiful Witchhazel. While I don’t know the story of Arnold’s promise, the name of this particular cultivar, I do know a thing about witches. It turns out that my sister is a witch… or shall I say that both my sister and I are descendants of a witch. We happen to be relatives of Susannah Martin, one of 19 witches hanged in Salem in 1692.

While this relation bestows many powers upon me (spells, potion mixing, broomcraft travel, etc.) it unfortunately does not provide for a fuller understanding of Hamamelis x intermedia, common name Witchhazel. If one traces the etymology of this common name it shakes out that the witch in Witchhazel is derived from the Old English word ”wice” and the Middle English ”wyche”, both of which mean pliant. Susan Post at the INHS Center for Economic Entomology explains;

The tree has also been called water-witch. The word witch comes from an Anglo-Saxon word meaning “to bend.” The forked springy branches of witch hazel were used by early settlers, and later dowsers, as divining rods to search and detect underground water and minerals.

As someone more attune with magical mixes I find the plants homepathic uses as an astringent and lotion more valuable. Scroll down Steven Foster’s overview of Witchhazel for a tested preparation of bark and leaves and some excellent background information on this fine plant.

Looking back to the family tree, the genealogical rhizomes of the Moody’s (including Susannah Martin) have been studied and documented by my Grandmother, Dorothy Moody, and it is a gift from her that I turn to as a conclusion. She recently gave me her copy of Trees, Stars and Birds, a book of Outdoor Science, published in 1919 by Edwin Lincoln Moseley. Upon receiving it I learned that it was one of her favorite books as a child and that she often studied it in her youth. Trees, stars and birds linked in words and drawings… The mixture is very inspiring to me and I can’t help but set a sylvan scene of Witchhazel potions, sun yellow flowers and flying witches when I peek beyond the panes from the drawing on my desk.

Octopi and radii, but unfortunately no Croci. There are over eighty species of Crocuses. Photographed species unknown, we march towards Spring nonetheless. The most impressive Crocus scene I have collected was at Dumbarton Oaks last year. I encourage any and all to seek it sooner than Summer. The combination I have spotted most often around Capitol Hill has been purple and yellow. Itten would call it complementary contrast and suggest 3 purples for every yellow, and me,

I suppose I would try to design a red one and fill half my yard.

One to one red to green just like the Bauhaus tells me. My perennial text is at the office otherwise I might threaten to name these devils. Any botanists out there? Crocus lovers, what say you; what flavor have we found? And so I go on wondering about the radio at night, if birds see in color and why they (the birds not the flowers) are so noisy at sunset. The Crocuses are smart and I wonder how consistent they are. How close are they to sprouting at the same time every year? Chasing seasons just like the birds… and me. Eleven days, each one longer than the last.

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According to the Casey Trees Tree Map the Red Maple outside my window is worth about 4 and 1/2 grand. And boy is it lookin good with its tail-light red flower fireworks show. I forget how brilliant the Red Maple can be in both leaf and flower. I don’t see Acer rubrum used too much as a street tree anymore, but most of the maples on our street seem to be doing ok. I love the fact that Casey Trees has mapped the trees of the District and stamped a dollar amount on each one. I don’t really have the slightest idea how many leaves their will be on this particular specimen but something tells me it might be around 5,000. A buck a leaf… sounds fair to me. Whats your view worth?

(below is the rest of the information on this pollution eating, oxygen spewing beauty)

Height: 40 feet
Diameter at Breast Height: 16 inches
Crown Radius: 15 feet
Leaf Area: 392.01 m
Leaf Biomass: 26.40 kg
Leaf Area Index: 5.97

Green is making me sick.

The word is being abused so much, and the idea is so saturated, that I’m beginning to have trouble spitting it out of my mouth. You can paint cowpies green all day… they are still cowpies. In this time and art of greenwashing I’m afraid we’ve lost any understanding of the word.

The interesting thing about green is its location at 520-570 nanometers in the color spectrum. According to Wikipedia (via the Olympus Microscopy Resource Center) “the sensitivity of the dark-adapted human eye is greatest at about 507 nm, a blue-green color, while the light-adapted eye is most sensitive about 555 nm, a slightly yellowish green; these are the peak locations of the rod and cone (scotopic and photopic, respectively) luminosity functions.” The translation is that our eyes are most sensitive in both light and dark to the color green; we can distinguish more hues of green than any other color. This is why newer fire engines and cross walks are painted bright yellow/green; the color is visible both day and night. Green is interesting because we are wired to detect subtle changes in our environment, much of it dominated at one time by green, blue and yellow.

Removing mountaintops is not subtle and coal is not clean.

Green is interesting because it suggests some type of growth, a connection to water and sunlight, and the beauty of diversity. The absurdity of the green revolution is that it is occurring in advertising and not in environmental action; it is the representation of an ideal painted on a surface (in the hue of our choice). We, as communities and individuals, are very responsive to green ideas. The question unknown is if these surfaces can grow.

A cowpie is great fertilizer.

Can something worthwhile grow from the sh*t we are being thrown. Can advertisements like Clean Coal, get people to think about what coal really is and how difficult and dirty it is to find, access, extract, burn, sequester, store… maybe some intelligence can grow from the green facade? Maybe we can attract new ideas, solutions and inspiration from greenwashing? Or is too much green dangerous? Perhaps the washout will turn inspiration to cynicism.

Ilex vomitoria and too much green

Although the leaves of Ilex vomitoria, common name Yaupon Holly, do contain caffeine and have been historically used for medicinal and social purposes, too many leaves or berries leaves one feeling not so good. The plant is an emetic and is used to induce vomiting (hence vomitoria). In my state of American overdose on green I’m thinking that I’m being forced to consume too too many berries, and too much green is making me sick…

That said, the Yaupon Holly is an attractive native species that can grow as tall as 20′. It is the only native plant that contains caffeine and its berries are an important food source for songbirds. The Yaupon Holly is generally found along the coastal plain and as far north as Washington DC.

going underground…

There is a fungal network of Armillaria ostoye in Oregon that covers an estimated 2200 acres below ground. The fruits from such an organism appear in sporadic places above ground as mushrooms, stars in a massive galaxy of tentacle like rizomorphs that compete under the soil surface for water and nutrients. There are simply so many things happening that our eyes can not see. In some ways it is better not to see, but rather to imagine this vast network of the Honey mushroom taking over entire states. There are, however, of course other competitors. The Quaking Aspen (Populus tremuloides) might be one. In variable fashion, this tree takes over huge tracts of land by sending out suckers; new trees born from the root system that are all connected as one organism. The clonal colony of Quaking Aspens in Utah named “Pando” is estimated at 47,000 stems (trees) covering 43 hectares with an average stem age of 130 years. The collection of stems are all born from one genetic individual.

American Beech (Fagus grandiflora) has its own strategy. This copper beauty uses allelopathy which is difficult to remember word that means it releases biomolecules into the soil that inhibit the growth of other plants. By doing so, the Beech trees are able thrive with limited competition. The result is limited but beautiful expanses of copper colored leaves dominating an otherwise leafless hardwood forest view. Why the American Beech tree is able to hold its leaves longer than others, I can’t say I know, but under and above, they are working hard to gain valuable ground… even without a super Tuesday to await.

tasting yellow and Les Fluers du Mal…

A story on the radio this morning described a rare condition called synesthesia in which people see words as colors, feels sounds or even taste shapes. Synesthetes of note include Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Paul Klee, and Richard Feynman. Baudelaire’s Flowers of Evil and Paul Klee’s The Goldfish are certainly two of the more beautiful things in this world and I can’t help but wonder if smelling colors=creative genius. While it isn’t known exactly what causes the condition or how many people have it, it is clear that such people truly do experience crossings of the senses. While I’m afraid I can’t include myself in their company I am certain that the pale yellow of the flowers on a Wintersweet shrub will send me spiraling into my universe of memory searching for their smell. If you go out looking, it flowers in February around these parts, likes partial shade, and as another author noted turns back into a pumpkin come Spring.

Halving the number of days between December 21 and March 21 lands us on Tuesday February 5, 2008 sometime around noon. As this midwinter hump approaches I am curious about the use of seasons. While I know that “winter” and “summer” are created by the tilt in the Earth’s axis which places us in northern hemisphere closer or further from the Sun at different times of year resulting in variable temperatures; what I don’t know is where winter starts. I mean at what latitude do people call the season winter (for the english speaking world). Do other languages account for more than four seasons? There is of course the rainy season and the dry season in many places. Can seasons be named after colors? Certainly we could look at the color studies of Johannes Itten (page 23) and pick out the seasons quite easily…

In any event, the Red Twig Dogwood is a wonderful plant with particular winter interest that thrives in full sun and should be cut back at the end of each winter. It lives with the other Cornus species in the Dogwood collection at the National Arboretum and is tough to miss this time of year. Happy midwinter…

Ahhh yes… the elusive Paw Paw tree. I first learned about the PawPaw tree in my plants and ecology class as one of the 300+ plants we met. I’ve seen patches of seedlings on a stream bank in central Virginia, searched out specimens after dark in the Chicago Botanic Garden, and read stories of George Washington enjoying it as his favorite fruit. But I didn’t get to taste a PawPaw until Kate and I discovered some ripe fruit on a patch in Theodore Roosevelt Island this past fall. IT IS DELICIOUS. For those of you unaware of the delights of a paw paw, it comes from the PawPaw tree which is a US native understory tree that grows up to about 25′ in height. The fruit is a little smaller than a mango and tastes something like a cross between banana and vanilla custard. IT IS DELICIOUS. This of course is very confusing to me as we continue to ship bananas and similar fruits many miles to keep our cereals adorned. While it’s true that many of the native PawPaw trees have been lost to development, our landscape is still fit to grow them from the Midwest to the East Coast (the PawPaw tree is native to 25 states). I have this story in my head where at some point early in our post European conquest development someone says that he or she likes bananas better than paw-paws and poof…we start jumping through hoops to procure this exotic fruit only to forever neglect the backyard pawpaw. I would love to start seeing the now elusive paw paw on our grocery shelves but have yet to come by them. While their are people working on cultivars that offer more, better tasting fruit, there doesn’t seem to be too many folks working on the agricultural potential of this darling. The PawPaw Foundation is something of a lonely, but hopefully viable voice.