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Among Green Trees
by Julia Ellen Rogers
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LIBRARY <=
FACULTY OF FORESTRY
UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO
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Digitized by the Internet Archive
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http://www.archive.org/details/amonggreentreesOOroge
AMONG GREEN TREES
=r ©
SLLASOMTOVSS VIN COTA a
MOVTITITA UGNVIDNY MUN V NI SWTH NVOTUUINV
AMONG GREEN TREES
A GUIDE TO PLEASANT
AND PROFITABLE ACQUAINTANCE WITH
FAMILIAR TREES
BY
JULIA ELLEN ROGERS
ILLUSTRATED
CHICAGO
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER
1902
IK ¥- a7
By JULIA ELLEN ROGERS
The Lakeside Press
R, R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY
CHICAGO
TO MY FATHER AND MOTHER
DANIEL FARRAND ROGERS anp RUTH LLEWELLYN ROGERS
PIONEERS OF THE TREELESS PRAIRIE
WHO PLANTED SEED AND SAPLING
WHO TOILED AND HOPED AND WAITED TO MAKE FOR THEIR CHILDREN
A HOME AMONG GREEN TREES
“Aye keep plantin’ a tree, Ti
while youre sleepin’.”
CONTENTS
PART I
OUTDOOR STUDIES WITH TREES
THE NATURE-STUDY SIDE
PAGE
THe Lirt History or A MAPLE TREE - - - - 3
How To TELL THE AGE OF A TREE = - - - . uf
THE FLIGHT OF SEEDS - . = = . = 10
THE BATTLE AMONG THE TWIGS = = - - - lt
STOVEWOOD STUDIES - - - - - - 18
I. Kwyots anp Knot-HoLes = : = - = 18
If. A PINE SHAVING AND AN OAK SPLINTER - - 22
THORNS AND PRICKLES - - - - - - 24
WINTER Bups - - - - - - - 27
I. THe MEANING oF THEM - - - - - 27
IJ. A Fascinatine Stupy - - - - - 28
AN INTERESTING TREE IMMIGRANT - - = = = 33
APPLES ON WILLOW TREES . - - - = 35
PINE CoNnES ON WILLOW TREES - - - - - ail
Tue Witch oF THE Woops - = = = = 40
PART Ot
THE LIFE OF TREES
THE PHYSIOLOGICAL SIDE
THE SLEEP OF THE TREES : - - - - - 45
How Trees Repropuce THeEirk Kinp - - - - 49
Wuy Trees Grow Erect - - - - . - 51
Wuy Trees Dir - - - - - - - 5D
How Trees BREATHE - - - - - - - 57
How Trees Freep - = = = - - = 60
How TREES Grow “ : = - - - - 62
xi
PART III
THE CULTIVATION OF TREES
THE PRACTICAL SIDE
THE PLANTING OF HOME GROUNDS - = =
THE PLANTING OF A TREE - - - -
THE RIGHT AND THE Wrona Way to Cur Orr A LIMB
THE Sprrir OF FORESTRY - - - -
THE FARMER’s Woop Lor - - - -
Fruit Trees at Home - - - -
Lear Bups anp Fruit Bups : - -
THE MAKING OF NurSERY TREES - - -
THE MAKING-OVER OF FRUIT TREES = E
THE PRUNING OF TREES - - - -
InsEctS, DISEASES, AND SPRAYING
PART Ty
THE KINDS OF TREES
THE SYSTEMATIC SIDE
THE OAKS - = - = - =
THE MAPLES - - = = =
Tue Basswoops or LINDENS — - - - -
WILLOWS AND POPLARS - = = :
WALNUTS AND HICKORIES = = = =
Tuer ASHES - = + = =
THE Brrcoues, HoRNBEAM, AND TRONWOOI
Tur Exims - = : : : =
Tuk Brecu = = - = = =
Locusts AND OrHreR Pop-BEARERS - - -
1
1
THE PINES AND OTHER CONIFERS - - -
THe Horst CHEstnut - - - -
xii
LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
Exims InN A NEw ENGLAND VILLAGE -
BLAcKk OAK, Quercus velutina + -
WHItE PINE, Pinus Strobus - = =
AMERICAN EutmM, Ulmus Americana -
LoMBARDY POPLAR, Populus dilatata fe
TAMARACK, Larix Americana = 3
Rep Mapue, Acer rubrum ~ = =
Waite Wriiiow, Salix alba - -
AmeRICAN WHITE Bircu, Betula populifolia
Rep OAK, Quercus rubra - = =
WHITE PopLaR, Populus alba = =
SHAGBARK Hickory, Hicoria ovata =
SuGAR MApuE, Acer saccharwm = =
BALSAM Fir, Abies balsamea - =
WuitE AsH, Fraxinus Americana = =
SouTHERN WHITE CEDAR, Cupressus thyoides
AMERICAN BEECH, Fagus Americana - =
WHITE OAK, Quercus alba - -
Biack WALNUT, Juglans nigra - -
Horse CHestnut, sculus Hippocastanum
Basswoop, Tilia Americana - = =
Biack Asn, Frazinus nigra - :
BuTTERNUT, Juglans cinerea - : =
Locust, Robinia Pseudacacia - -
BirrerNut Hickory, Hicoria minima =
xiii
Frontispiece
PAGE
ALPHABETICAL LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
HALF-TONES AND LINE ENGRAVINGS
AILANTHUS, FLATTENED TWIG
AILANTHUS, LEAF SCARS
AILANTHUS, WINGED SEEDS -
AILANTHUS, WINTER TWIG
AsH, BLAcK, FRUITS -
AsH, BuAck, Kry -
AsH, BuAcK, LEAF - =
AsH, BLACK, TRUNK -
As, BuAck, WINTER TWIG
AsH, WHITE, LEAF -
AsH, WHITE, TRUNK =
APPLE TREE, WINTER TWIG
AppLeE Trees, TRIMMED =
ASPEN (POPLAR), SWELLING Bu
Basswoop (LINDEN), BRANCH
3Asswoop (LINDEN), FLOWERS
BAsswoop (LINDEN), LEAVES
BAsswoop (LINDEN), OPENING
BAsswoop (LINDEN), SEEDS
BAsswoop (LINDEN), TRUNK
Bee, Lear-Currer, Work -
BrecH, BuuE, FRvuItT -
BEECH, FRUIT-BEARING TWIG
BreecH, Leary Twia =
BEECH, STAMINATE FLOWERS
BrEcH, TRUNK - -
BegecH, WATER, FRUIT -
BrecH, WINTER BupDs~ -
BrerLeE, ENGRAVER, BuRROWS
Brrew, CANOE, LEAVES -
BircH, CANOE, TRUNKS -
31RCH, Conr-LikE FRvuIT
Brrcu, SCALE OF CONE -
3rrcH, Winter Bups =
Biron, WINGED SEED -
Box Enprr, Krys -
Bubp, Cur - - -
Bubp, SET - - -
Bubp, Trep - - -
BuDDING PROCESS -
3uDs, APPLE - -
Bups, PEACH - -
Bups, SLIPPERY ELM -
1
SHOOT
XIV
BurrerNvet (Or Nut), CHAMBERED PITH
Burrernut (Oi Nut), Fruit ~
BurreRNuT (O1L Nut), LEAF - -
BurtrerRNut (Oi Nut), Lear Scars
BurTrernut (Om Nur), PistiLLATE FLOWERS -
ButrrernuT (Om Nut), SHELLS - -
BurteERNUT (Om Nut), TRUNK -
Butternut (Om Nut), Winter Bups
BuTTroNwooD (SYCAMORE), SEEDS -
Burronwoop (SycaAMoreE), Winter Bups
CATALPA, NATURAL GRAFT - .
CATALPA, SEEDS ~ - -
CATALPA, TWIG - =
CATALPA, WINTER Bubs =: 2 =
CEDAR, WHITE, LEAFY TWIG - =
CepAR, WHITE, TRUNK - =
CHERRY, WILD, Twig EATEN BY C
CHERRY, WILD, WINTER Bubs -
CHESTNUTS, HorsE, IN JUNE - -
CuHEstNut, Horse, LEAr-SCARS =
CuHEstTNuT, Horst, LEAVES - -
CHESTNUT, Horse, TRUNK - =
CuHEstNuT, Horst, WINTER TwiG <
CoTronwoob, CRIPPLED BRANCH
Cup Funeus on DEAD TwIG = =
Exper, Box, Fruits - -
Eu_mM, AMERICAN, FRUIT-BEARING SHOOT
Eu_M, AMERICAN, LEAFY TWIGs -
ELM, AMERICAN, TRUNK - -
ELM, SLIPPERY, WINTER Bups -
ELM, SLIPPERY, OPENING SHOOT =
ELM,
SLIPPERY, WINTER TWIG =
Fir, BAtsaAmM, LEAry SHOOT - =
Fir, BaALsAM, TRUNK - -
Funer, Cur - - - =
GALL, APPLE, ON WILLow - =
GALL, PINE Cone WILLOW = =
GALL, Pins Conre WiLtow, Cur Oren
GALL-GNAT, LARVA - - =
GALL-INSECT, LARVA - -
GINGKO LEAF - - - -
GRAFT, NATURAL = = =
GRAFTING, CLEFT = = =
GRAFTING, VARIOUS STEPS - =
GrowTtH, DIAGRAM - - -
Hemuock, Fruitinc Spray =
Hickory, Birrernut, Lear
Hickory, Birrernut, Trunk =
Hickory, Borers’ Work - =
Hickory, LEAF SCARS = =
Hickory, SHAGBARK, LENGTHENING Bubp S«
Hickory, SHAGBARK, Nut IN Husk
Hickory, SHAGBARK, OPENING BuD Z
xv
ATERPILL
sARS
SALES
Hickory, SHAGBARK, OPENING LEAVES - - - - 159
Hickory, SHAGBARK, LEAF - - - - - 156
Hickory, SHAGBARK, TRUNK - - - - = bp
Hickory, STAMINATE FLOWERS - - - = 156
Hickory, Winter Bups = - - - - ~ 32
Hickory, Nut SHELLS - - - . . - 14
HoRNBEAM, FRUIT - - . - - - - 167
HorNBEAM, Hop, Fruit - - - - - 12
IRONWOOD, FRuUIT - - - - - - - 12. AGG
KENTUCKY COFFEE TREE, Pop - - = - - 180
Kry FRvuIT- - - - - - - - . 3
KNotT, GROWTH - - - - - - - 19
KNoT, STRUCTURE - - - . - - . 21
LAWN, SIDE PLANTING - - - - - - 70
LEAF, Cut BY BEE - - - - - - ale
LENTICELS ON BircH BARK - - - - - 166
Limp, IMPROPER CUTTING - - - - - . 76
Limp, PROPER CUTTING 2 - - - - 76
Locust, Honry, Pops - - - - - - 13
Locust, Honry, THORNS - - - . - 24
Locust, LEAF - - - - - - - 181
Locust, Pops . - - - . - - 179
Locust, TruNK = - - - - - = SiS
MANDRAKES IN APRIL Woops - - - - - 48
MAPLE, JAPANESE, LEAF - - - - - - 1386
Marie, Norway, Keys - - - - - - 136
Marie, Norway, RINGS - - - - - = 9
Marie, Norway, Twic - - - - - 8
MaApiE, Rep, LEAVES - - - - - - 133
Marie, Rep, Key Fruits - - - - - 3
Mapp, Rep, OPENING LEAVES - - - = - 3
Mapp, Rep, PistinLATE FLOWERS - . - - +
Marie, Rep, Wrnter Bups = - - - . 4
Mapie, RED, SEEDLINGS = = - - - 5
Mapir, Rep, STAMINATE FLOWERS - - - - . 4
Mapie, Rep, TRUNK = = = - - - 132
Mapie, Rep, Two-yEAR-OLD TREE - - - - - 6
MAPLE, SILVER, LEAF - - - - . - 133
MaApP.LbE, Sort, Krys - - - - . - 13
MAPLE, SuGAR, Krys - - - - - = 135
MAPLE, SUGAR, LEAVES - - - - - - 135
MAPLE, SUGAR, TRUNK - - - - - - 134
Oak APPLE, CuT OPEN - = - - - = Si
OAK, BLACK, LEAF - - - . . - 129
Oak, Buack, TRUNK = = - - - =. 12s
OaxK, Bur, LEAF - - - - - - 126
OAK, CHESTNUT, ACORN - - - . - - 127
OAK, CHESTNUT, LEAF - - . - - - 127
Oak, HALF-GROWN ACORNS - - - - - = 323
Oak, Rep, ACORN - - - - - - 131
Oak, Rep, LEAF - - - - - - 130-131
OaK, RED, TRUNK = = = = = = 130
Oak, WHITE, BRANCHING HABIT - . - - - 15
XVI
Oak, WHITE, LEAF -
Oak, WHITE, TRUNK
Oak, WHITE, TWIG =
OAK, SCARLET, ACORNS
OAK, SCARLET, FLOWERING SHOOT
OAK, SCARLET, LEAF
PracH, Bups - -
PEAR, FRUITING SPURS
Pear, WINTER Bups
PENNYROYAL -
PINE ‘*CoBs”’ - =
Ping, WHITE, LEAFY SHOOT
PINE, WHITE, TRUNK -
PLANTING, MEANINGLESS
PLANTING, SIDE - -
PLANTING, SCHOOL GROUNDS
PopLarR, Bubs” - -
PopLtAr, LomMBARDY, LEAFY SHOOT
PorpLar, LomBparpy, TRUNK
PopLaR, WHITE, LEAVES
PortaAr, Waite, TRUNK
«¢PussIEs,’? POPLAR -
«*Pussigs,’? WILLOW =
Scion, Cur - =
Scrons, SET - -
Sctons, WAXED -
>
ScHooL GROUNDS, SUGGESTION FOR
Spruce, LEAFY SHOOT
Sprucr, Norway, Cone
Spruce, Norway, WINGED SEEDS
Sumac, WINTER Bups- -
SYCAMORE, PETIOLE -
SYCAMORE, SEEDS 2
SYCAMORE, WINTER Bubs
TAMARACK, LEAFY SHOOTS
TAMARACK, TRUNK -
TENT-CATERPILLARS ON WILD CHER
THORN, FULL Grown
THORN, YOUNG AND LEAFY
ry. = ry
TREES, APPLE, TRIMMED
Waunut, BLAcK, LEAF
WALNUT, BuAack, Nut aAnp Husk
WALNUT, BuAack, TRUNK
WILLow, FRvItT -
Wittow, NARROW-LEAVED SHOOT
WILLow, ‘*PUSSIES’’
WILLOW, STAMINATE FLOWERS
WrLtow, Twia -
WiLtLow, WHITE, LEAVES
WiLttow, Waite, TRUNKS
WILLow, WINTER Bubs
PLANTING
RY
WitcH Hazet, EXxpLostve SEED Pops
Wircu HazpeL, FLOWERS
Xxvil
'
And what a glorious object is a TREE! How magnificent a
Jorest of them on the boundless plain or on the mighty hill-side!
And the solitary tree — there is scarcely its match for beauty among
unintelligent objects on the face of the earth. They are surpassed
only by him who walks among them in living and thinking grace
and beauty. ‘In form,” though not in “moving,” like him, * how
express and admirable!” The thick-topped maple, with its wholesome-
looking foliage, in whose close und dark recesses the hang-bird sings
her **wood-note wild” in the hot summer noon. The lofty, clear-
limbed, open-boughed button-wood, with its dainty leaf, its scarred
trunk, and excoriated branches. And the elm, the patriarch of the
family of shade— the majestic, the umbrageous, the antlered elm!
We remember one at this moment —in sight from our old home on the
banks of the Pemigewassett. It stood just across that cold stream, by
the roadside, on the margin of the wide intervale. It stood upon the
ground as lightly as though ‘it rose in dance,” its full top bending
over toward the ground on every side with the dignity of the forest
tree, and all the grace of the weeping willow. You could gaze upon it
Jor hours. It was the beautiful handy-work and architecture of God,
on which the eye of man never tires, but always looks with refreshing
and delight.
The planting of a sapling is a trifle in expense. There it grows.
and costs nothing but time. Every tree is a feather in the earth’s
cap —a plume in her bonnet —a tress upon her forehead. It is a
comfort, an ornament, a refreshing to the people. It is a virtue to
set out trees. It is loving our neighbor as we love ourselves. Set out
but for him
to look at and walk under, and to beautify Gods earth, which he
clothed with trees.
trecs —not to make your home outshine your neighbor's
NATHANIEL PEABODY ROGERS.
(“Herald of Freedom,” Concord, N. H., August 6, 1841.)
XViil
PREFACE
We now have a half-dozen recent popular books devoted to the trees
of the northeastern United States and Canada. These books are well
written, well illustrated, and sold at a reasonable price. The aim of
each is to describe all the trees, or approximately all, and to show the
general reader how he may learn to know them apart. All this is as
it should be, and I doubt if any other country is so well provided.
But the book that describes all the trees has this obvious limitation: it
can have little or no room left for other interesting and practical matter
about trees. In short, the ‘ identification book”? which deals only with
the kinds and names of trees is necessarily one-sided, and there is a great
need and a clear call to-day for an “ all-round tree book.”
Moreover, all the trees are too many for most readers. The greater
the number to consider, the harder it is to distinguish and to remember
them. Few of us care to know about all the oaks: it is the ten or a
dozen common oaks that we want to /now—to recognize wherever we see
them growing. This book aims in Part IV to describe the common and
important trees that grow in the states north of Virginia and Arkansas,
and east of the Rocky Mountains. Among the native species are
included many forms introduced from other countries, and commonly
planted in the United States. About 125 different kinds of trees are
described.
The limits set to the identification part of this book give room for
the consideration of much besides that is of interest and importance to
any one who loves trees and longs for a closer and more intelligent
acquaintance with them. In Part II the author has nothing new nor
startling to reveal on the subject of the life that a tree lives from day to
day. The facts stated are set down in books already. But these books
are written for the special, not for the general reader. They are learned
books, which abound in technical terms. They satisfy the scientific mind
which has this particular botanical bent.
xix
Because “general readers’? do not throng the public libraries asking
for works on Physiological Botany, Dendrology, and Horticulture, some
would conclude that they have no interest in the underlying principles
upon which the life of a tree depends. And yet you have but to speak
of one of these principles in simple, every-day language to discover that
people are keenly interested. Recognizing this truth, the author has
attempted to state clearly, accurately, and in small compass the essentials
of tree physiology, to interpret the language of the specialist, and to
present scientific truths m a form that will attract and satisfy the
general reader.
Thousands of dollars are expended each year upon the services of
quack “ tree doctors,” “tree scrapers,’ “expert pruners,” and their ilk,
who prey upon the good intentions of a credulous public. The idea that
a plug of lard and sulphur pushed mto an auger-hole in the heart of a
tree will cure all its diseases seems reasonable to people who have given
no special thought to the subject of how trees are made, and how they
feed, grow, breathe, sleep, and why they die. The voluble “doctor”
confuses them by his comprehensive grasp of the subject, and easily
beguiles the owner into having his neglected trees treated—at $1.00
each! Time and again have such preposterous notions been exploded in
the newspapers. Yet the tree doctor flourishes, and his deeds follow
him but slowly and afar off.
Part III, therefore, deals with horticultural phases of the subject. It
is devoted to practical every-day problems. How to plant a tree, how to
prune and shape it, how to keep it free from insect enemies and fungous
diseases, how to renew the youth of old and neglected trees—these are
some of the problems discussed. A chapter gives the reader an idea of
what forestry is; another suggests means of applying its principles to
the farmer’s wood lot and similar small areas. The application of the
simple but fundamental principles of Landscape Gardening to the plant-
ing of home grounds is one of the live problems to which attention is
called, especially as it bears upon the improving of small yards in cities
and villages. Another subject is the making of nursery trees, including
the various means by which ornamental trees and shrubs, the variegated
and cut-leaved and weeping forms, are multiplied for the market. The
interest in planting the home grounds and the enlightened public
XX
interest in the beautifyimg of parks, school grounds, and cemeteries is
one of the most hopeful signs of the age.
Last in this survey of the scope of the book, but first in the
volume and in the heart of the writer, is the Nature-study side
of the subject, Part I,— Outdoor Studies with Trees. In its broadest
sense, Nature-study is a keen, appreciative interest in the common
things about us. It means accurate seeing and clear thinking. Nature-
study is the most vital idea to-day in education. It is the getting
of God’s truth at first hand. It is studying things instead of study-
ing about things. Do not call it Elementary Science. The true spirit
of Nature-study is opposed to cold, formal study of lifeless things.
It is the informal study, for short periods, of things that interest.
It opens a new world of delight. Under it, the commonplace becomes
transfigured. It shows us how we may get the very best out of life
no matter where we are, how to realize the possibilities of happiness
that exist even in the most unpleasant environment.
This book, then, has at least four pomts of view: —The nature-
study side, which embraces outdoor studies with trees, quite inde-
pendent of books; the physiological side, which is fundamental to all
intelligent tree culture; the practical side, with directions for the care
and cultivation of trees; lastly, the systematic side, which distinguishes
the kinds of trees, and explains their family ties.
Such is the writer’s conception of an “all-round tree book” for the
general reader. The field covered is a wide one. The author disclaims
any pretensions of having given it an ideal treatment. If any credit
is due it is merely for the recognition of a distinct field,—the appre-
ciation of a great and well defined need of the people. The present
volume is, let us hope, but a beginning. The life of the trees is a
fascinating study. It grows upon one. To any one, young or old,
who loves trees and longs to know them better, this book aspires to
be a friendly helper and guide.
JULIA ELLEN ROGERS.
IrHaca, NEw York, October 1, 1902.
xxi
ILLUSTRATIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The photogravures of entire trees and the halftones of trunks and
leaves are from negatives made for the exclusive use of the publisher,
and are identical with those used in the portfolio known as Series
I, IJ, and III of Typical Forest Trees. The line engravings are
from drawings made under the direct supervision of the author. The
most of them were drawn by Mrs. Marie Robertson Duggar and Mr.
W.C. Baker. A few were done by Mrs. Agnes Rogers Kerr and Mr.
A. M. Garretson. The frontispiece was made from the original nega-
tive by Miss Mary Allen, of Deerfield, Mass.
The botanical nomenclature in this book conforms with that of Sar-
gent’s Silva of North America, except in the case of the sugar maple,
in which the specific name, barbatum, used by Sargent, is replaced
by saccharum, the name agreed upon by the leading botanists of the
country since the publication of the Silva.
The chapter on “The Sleep of the Trees” was published first in
“Primary Education,” and is reprinted here by permission. The author
is under obligation to Mr. George W. Cavanaugh for his critical read-
ing of Part I; to Professor L. H. Bailey, at whose suggestion the
preparation of the book was undertaken; and to Mr. Wilham K.
Higley for kind assistance in many ways.
Xxil
PART I
OUTDOOR STUDIES WITH TREES
THE NATURE-STUDY SIDE
~
THE LIFE HISTORY OF A MAPLE
To an intelligent and sympathetic questioner an aged tree speaks
freely of its later life, but of its youth it tells little. We must begin at
the beginning if we would read the story of a tree’s
life. Where is the beginning? Is it the sprouting of
a seed? No, for what is a seed but a little plant which
lies within the inclosing seed coats waiting for release?
The next question is, When was the seed formed ?
Let us go with our last question into the woods in
March, when the red maple begins to glow against the
grim darkness of the leafless trees. It is the red buds set
opposite upon the twigs that warm the gray old tree.
They have felt the stir of the sap. All the tree can
ever express of life and beauty and energy must come
through these buds. A few of them lead the rest.
The outer scales are shed, the inner ones lengthen as
if they would be leaves, and then a rosy veil encom-
passes the tree—the red maple is in bloom!
The tree has two kinds of blossoms. Both have cups
set round with crimson petals. One bears within on
slender filaments a number of yellow anthers, which
give the opening flowers a yellow cast. Out of these
anthers shakes the pollen like golden dust. The other
flowers are ruddy of hue. They bear no anthers at all, Gracefully swinging
: : F ; key fruits of the
but instead, thrust out of each cup a red stigma like red maple
a forked tongue. The inner faces of this stigma are
sticky. At the base of each half is a closed chamber in which lies a
tiny soft body called an ovule. It may become a seed. But that depends
upon chance.
The air is full of pollen grains—of poplar, birch, and alder; of elm,
willow, and maple. The grains are so small and so light they drift on the
wind. Some are borne on the hairy bodies of insects that go from
flower to flower. Pollen of all of them (or of none) may happen to
lodge on the sticky surface of a red maple stigma. This is pollination.
But all strange pollen lies there inert. A grain of maple pollen is the
3
only kind that makes any impression. It absorbs the sweet
juices present in the stigma. A tube grows downward like a
little root among the loose tissues. Still feeding and growing the
tube reaches the ovule and enters it by a little doorway. An
eve-cell is within, and a sperm-cell is in the end of the pollen
tube. The two unite, and thus the fertilization of the ovule is
accomplished. This is the beginning of the life of the tree.
The fertilized ovule ripens into a seed.
Look at the maple tree just after blossoming time. The
staminate flowers strew the ground. Their work was done when
they cast their pollen. But the pistillate flowers do not fall,
although stigmas and petals have withered. In the place of
stigmas pert little horns are rising. They are to be
the wings of the maple seeds. The stems lengthen,
and on each one of them two crimson winged samaras,
or key fruits, swing gracefully in the breeze. Late
in May the tree, now clothed in its unfolding leaves,
Red buds ;
'S loosens its seeds and gives them to the winds. Each
set opposite c
little key must shift for itself. Where shall it alight ?
I know a maple tree which stands in the edge of the
woods where the ground is stony and broken. An oozy
bank above it waters the thirsty roots of many plants. In
front is the broad, hard highway in which no seed can grow.
Behind is the deep leaf mould on the forest floor. All kinds
of soil are spread under the tree. Which seeds will be the
fortunate ones? They veer and sail and pitch to earth, driv- Yellow anthers
borne on slen-
ing their pomted bodies before the lighter wings. In most 4. gaments
of these winged seeds there is a sleeping plantlet. Warmth
and moisture are required to wake it into life. If these are not sup-
plied, the plantlet waits. If it waits too long, it loses its own moisture
and dies. In a favorable situation the seed will germinate without delay.
There are two long seed leaves folded palms together
and then coiled in the seed pocket of the key. There is a
little stem that joins the two. This is all we see. The
waking seed absorbs the water. The seed coat cracks
along its edges. The two leaves uncoil and lift into the
light. The stem elongates and turns toward the soil.
There is a small bud between the seed leaves. It lifts
— and opens out a pair of true leaves. The lengthening
a ‘i : root takes hold of the soil by means of fine rootlets. The
Stigmas thrust out like . : . 5 3 .
forked tongues picture shows the little tree, relying for its growth upon
1
the food stored in the seed leaves; and yet the leaves and the
roots promise that before long they will be able to gather food
“from honest mould and vagabond air,” that the tree will come
to be independent. In the next figure this promised time has
come. A faint scar shows where the seed leaves were attached.
Here they shriveled and were finally shed. The stem and
root grew longer. Two new leaves unfolded at the top of the
stem. But vicissitudes await each little tree. For every well
grown specimen under the parent tree there are twenty
cripples. The tender tip of our maple seedling is sacrificed
to the appetite of some hungry insect, or it breaks off in a
lashing wind.
The little The last picture tells the interesting sequel to the accident
tree depend- that broke off the central bud. Much time remained of that
ent upon its
ee first growing season. The energies of the plant, no longer able
5 Ss ‘S
to express themselves in terminal growth, forced into shoots
the buds that were growing in the axils of the two large leaves. By the
end of the season they had extended to b, b, one obviously stronger than
the other taking the lead. No better proof of vigor is needed, nor of
good soil and plenty of sun, than this forcing out of buds intended for
the following year.
Spring comes again, and the second year extends the two forks. Two
by two the leaves are unfolded, just as in the first year. The root goes
deeper, the stem goes higher. Both add an outside layer of wood and
an inner layer of bark to the parts that grew the
year before, thus adding to their strength as well as
to their substance. If both of the limbs persist, the
tree will always be forked close to the ground. The
chances are that the smaller one will soon be over-
shadowed by the larger one,—that it will dwindle
and die. Then the stem will straighten and grow
on into a single trunk, giving no sign that it ever
was a cripple.
It will be worth while to set a stake beside this
two-year-old seedling maple, or otherwise mark its
place, so that year by year we may note its progress.
It is one of many, and truly it lives the strenuous
life. The rivalry of these little trees is no playful
exercise, — it is a matter of life or death. Choose
you a pair of lusty two-year-olds and watch them
5 The beginning of a life of
grow. Try to find out why one outdoes the other. independence
7)
How different and yet how much
alike are the life histories of these
maple trees. Each succeeding year
repeats and multiplies the labors of the
last. Each summer earns the rest of
the long winter. The contest for light,
for room, for foothold, and for food
becomes more intense as the tree grows.
j And when at last the wood-chopper, or
¥ the lightning stroke, or the less merci-
] ful agencies, insects and diseases, re-
move the parent tree, its place will be
taken by that one of its offspring which
has overcome in the struggle with its
| own kind and with other plants which
coverthe ground it standson. The young
\ red maple, casting its first seeds upon
) the ground, enters formally upon its
Bee if career as a full grown tree. It is now
an integral part of the forest, having
attained its majority.
Come, then, let us to the woods
together to see what is happening
DPhp Aateres ine eeune: among the trees. Let us inquire of the
saplings that form the miniature forest below how it fares with them.
Let us find out, if we can, what their past has been, and what are
their prospects for the future. Trees speak a language, if only we have
the patience to learn it. It is a sign language, and through it they tell
us all manner of interesting things about how they make their living—
about their hopes and their disappoimtments.
Are you afraid? Do not the denizens of the woods treat you civilly?
When have they scolded you, or bitten or stung or poisoned you? These
are foolish fancies. Go into the woods without fear. Show yourself
friendly, and the forest and all the creatures that dwell together there
will delight you with their gentle friendliness.
RED MAPLE
Acer rubrum
HOW TO THLE THE AGH OF A TREE
It is not always necessary to cut down a tree in order to find out
how old it is.. Each twig and branch bears a record of years, written in
the scars of bud scales and leaves. In old trees the reading of these
records is often a task, but with young ones it becomes a delightful
amusement. It has the fascination of detective work. After your first
successes, you find yourself questioning every tree you meet. Your
friends get interested with you, as soon as they learn the key that
unlocks the tree’s secret.
With experience comes facility, and the undertaking of more difficult
problems. The old apple tree by the roadside challenges you to make
out the story of its eventful life. You can learn to read the record of
last year’s crop. You can tell exactly how many fruits a particular
branch has ever borne, and even whether they reached maturity or were
picked green. The promise of next year’s crop is revealed to you, though
you cannot foretell whether the flowers will be frosted. The veteran
recites to you its past successes and failures, declares the year it came
into full bearing, the time of the big wind or the ice storm that broke so
many large limbs, and you can even give a shrewd guess as to whether
the tree has been a profitable investment or not. It is as if the owner
kept an account with each individual tree and opened up to you his
book of record for this one.
But come, let us try our skill. Young trees have all the naivetée of
children. They shout their ages at us almost before we have time to ask
for them. Let us go down where young maples are starting a “ sugar-
bush,” or where young beeches cover the floor of the woods. Here are
a graded series of reading lessons for us. We will leave the cripples for
a later time, and consider only those which have had a fair chance, and
have grown as nature intended them to. It is best to begin with
kinds that are characterized by rapid growth—that have big buds and
lusty stems. They speak a language that is clear and plain. Perhaps
the first thing you notice is a ring of scars. What does this mean?
Each branch finishes its year by forming buds. Every spring it begins
to grow by casting off the scales that protected these buds over winter.
The scales leave a little group of scars to mark the place of their attach-
7
ment. Now, on the main trunk of any little tree, let us count back from
the tip to the ground. The length between each two of these groups of
scale scars represents the growth of a year. Now we have the clue.
The oldest side branches are a year younger than the main
stem. Every branch, great or small, is normally a year
younger than the stem that bears it. Hach tells its age by its
groups of bud sears. The youngest wood is set with buds in
winter, and in summer all the leaves are borne directly upon
shoots that grew from these winter buds.
Very commonly there is a difference in the bark of vari-
< ous years’ growth. The newest shoots are greener, smoother
and more herbaceous in texture than the older ones. All buds
on older wood are dormant. They should have grown into leafy
shoots the season after they were formed. When we have
determined the age of a certain little tree, we may strengthen
our faith by a further test. You think that a certain part of
the stem is four years old. Cut it off and see if you can count
around the pith the rmgs of wood inside the bark. If there
are four, your judgment is vindicated.
Let us challenge every little tree that we meet. Those that
*have had a hard life will give us some problems. They are
so small, and yet so old. But remember the fixed principle.
Bud scales mean winter. Each group of their scars on a stem
marks the end of another year’s growth.
When we have learned to read these records in little trees,
we may look up and read the same story among the branches
of the older trees. The twig that gets the most light and air
is lustiest in growth, and its story is the easiest to read. The
picture shows us a twig of Norway maple. Let us count its
groups of bud scars. Three full years of growth they record
on a base which is four years old.
It is now the spring of 1902. In April, 1899, a bud threw
off its scales at a and grew to b, bearing three pairs of leaves
and a terminal bud. In April, 1900, this bud opened, and
erew from } to c, bearing three pairs of leaves and a terminal
bud. In April, 1901, the bud at ¢ started, bore a pair of
leaves, then died by some accident, and the two buds in the angles of
the leaves carried the growth forward to d, and formed each a pair
A four-year-old twig
of Norway Maple
of leaves and a bud, which is full of promise for 1902.
This maple twig’s story is a tale of woe. I found it on a lower
branch where it rarely got any sunlight. It has borne twenty leaves
8
whose sears are plainly seen. Each leaf showd have had a bud in its
axil, and these buds showld have grown when a year old into side shoots.
All these possibilities have failed except in the special emergency case at
the top. A single bud below ¢ remains, but it has been dormant for a
year, and is probably dead. All the others have died and fallen off.
But the lusty end buds have better light and more air. The growth
would probably have been better from this time forth if I had left the
twig on the tree.
The final test of age is made by a slanting
cut through the wood of the different years.
Each year of age reduces the size of the spongy
pith and adds a thin belt of compact wood.
Why is it so thin? The leaves are the nurses of
their own buds, and the feeders of the twig that bears them. Grow-
ing in shadow, they are small; they get but little food from the soil and
The tinal test
the air; they can make but little starch to send to needy, dependent parts.
Hence, the short growth made by this twig each year, the weakness
of its buds, its failure to increase in diameter. All these are but out-
ward signs of the poverty that for years has been the portion of this
unhappy little twig.
But all over the treetop we may find to contrast with the ill-favored
twig lusty ones that tell a story of free and independent life, where sun-
shine and sap and good fresh air abound. Want and plenty, misery and
happiness exist side by side in the world. We read all about them in
the books and in the treetops!
THE PLIGHDP OF SHEDS
When we want a symbol of indepenaence we are wont to point to a
great tree—a sturdy oak, perhaps. Yet how helpless trees are, after all!
Like Prometheus chained to the rock, they cannot move, while creatures
smaller than eagles but fully as ravenous,
come to prey upon them. Their sacred
mission in life is the propagation of their
kind. Yet in performing it how dependent
are they upon blind chance !
There are great epochs in the lives of
trees, and great days in each year’s calendar.
Critical indeed is the time when the flowers
open and the pollen is given to the wind and
to the insects. Upon these unconscious and
irresponsible agents largely depends the setting
of seed. The maturing of the seed may soon
be accomplished, or it may be a long, slow
process, which fills a whole summer, or even
two. With its completion another critical
epoch is at hand. The tree yields its precious
seeds to the heedless wind or drops them upon
the ground. The fate of each tree-child
trembles in the balance while the parent tree
Fruit of the Black Ash
is powerless to take any further part in the
great work of seed distribution.
As a matter of fact this point of view is altogether human and
somewhat sentimental. There is not so much chance, after all. The bee
is wonderfully efficient in the pollination of flowers. She attends strictly
to business, and for her the day is long. Between dawn and dusk she
visits countless flowers. The wind may be a reckless fellow, but he often
works while we sleep or play. Then, too, many species of trees will
survive without cross-fertilization or wide dissemination. Trees have
ways of propagating their kind that do not involve the seed at all. But,
what subject is so interesting as the flight of seeds? No wonder it appeals
to the imagination and holds the attention of us all!
10
The seed of ash trees is like a dart. -
These are not tubes, but simply intercellular spaces without walls which
enlarge as the resin accumulates. Resin is not the sap of pine trees, as
many suppose. It is a substance made by the breaking down of cells.
Its origin and use to the tree are not well understood. When a pine tree
is wounded resin flows out and covers up the wound, thus preventing
tue intrusion of disease germs. The gum of cherry trees serves a
similar purpose. Whether protection is the purpose for which these
substances exist is quite another question, and is at present unanswered.
Our pine kindling stick is a type of the so-called non-porous woods,
which simply means that the fibers are so small that their hollows are
invisible to the eye except under a magnifier of high power. All cone-
bearing trees have wood of this kind.
No such regularity of shape and arrangement of fibers is to be seen
among the woods of the broad-leaved trees. They are all classed as
porous woods. The oak is a type of this class. We may take a stick
of oak from the woodpile, or better, examine the surface of any piece
of oak furniture. The varnish brings out more clearly the details of
structure of the wood.
Oak is coarse-grained wood, full of “holes,” but its fibers are tough as
sinews and hard as bone. They are spindle-shaped and extremely various
in size. They are crowded together, big and little, breaking joints by
the overlapping of ends. Here is one secret of the toughness of oak
wood. Many fibers end near together in pine, and they do not overlap,
hence the brittleness of the wood. Oak fibers have many open doors in
their sides and ends that permit the free circulation of the sap. These
doors are as various in shape and size as are the fibers they belong to.
They are not curtained as the bordered pits of tracheids are.
The annual rings of oak wood are shaded from light to dark. But
unlike the pine, the dark edge is the spring wood coarsely porous, and
quite narrow in good Jumber compared with the band of yellow close-
knit summer wood. Oak Jumber has broad and very prominent pith
rays crossing the grain. ‘In specimens of good white oak it has been
found that they form about 16 to 25 per cent of the wood.” (F. Roth,
in Bulletin No. 10, U.S. Department of Agriculture.) They form the
gleaming bands which are the “ mirrors” seen in “ quarter-sawed”’ oak.
In other than radial sections of the wood they appear as brown, more or
less long and narrow pencils crowded in between the bundles of wood
fibers. Because these large pith rays interlace the other wood fibers,
and because the regular longitudinal fibers are tough, and overlap
their ends, the splitting of oak is a difficult matter compared with the
splitting of pine.
23
THORNS AND PRICKLES
In the midst of an old pasture stands a stunted apple tree. By all
the signs, it is a close relative of the thrifty trees that grow in the neigh-
boring orchard. They are large because they grow in fertile soil and are
given careful tillage. But this ugly dwarf sends its roots into a hard
crust Whose nourishment is largely stolen by the mat of grass roots.
The twigs have had little encouragement to grow.
Every ambitious shoot has paid dearly for its temerity. It
has become a sweet morsel under the tongue of some hungry
cow. Starved and browsed to the point of utter discourage-
ment the tree stands
twigs hardened and sharpened into ugly spurs that look like
a most unlovely shape, with stubby
thorns. Over in the orchard the twigs are long and lusty,
with ample leaves and plump buds; and there are no thorns
at all. The fat and lean kine of Pharaoh’s dream were not
more like and more unlike than the fat and lean apple trees
we are considering.
Nevertheless the pasture tree does grow, if very slowly,
and there comes a turning-point in its life. Its roots find
better and deeper feeding ground. Among the young shoots
there is one that is out of harm’s way. It is in the very
middle of the top. The cows come by and are cheered by
Wicked-looking the sight of it. They lean toward it, but the longest neck is
thorns of
Honey Locust
not quite long enough. The thorny twigs make a stubborn
defense. One last inch of distance cannot be compassed by
any patient, yearning tongue. The shoot mounts up and out of danger.
Its twigs grow soft and succulent. One can almost fancy that the parent
tree is neglecting the lower branches in order to give this youngest one
the best of everything.
Plainly, apple twigs grow soft and leafy when well fed. Poverty and
abuse make them crabbed and thorny. Stunted twigs are the products of
“hard times.” The carrying of weapons is a habit to which the trees
are driven by adversity, and which they abandon as soon as * good
times” return.
On the other hand, there are certain trees which habitually bear
24
thorns. One of them is the honey locust. Above the opening leaf a
sharpened point comes out of the twig. At the end of the season the
leaf falls, but above it is left standing the wicked-looking three-pronged
thorn, sharp as a needle and hard and smooth as if
enameled. It is not uncommon to see a honey locust
tree with trunk and limbs fairly bristling with these
thorns, the largest approaching a foot in length.
What are these thorns? Are they branches, assigned _ \
to special duty, and properly uniformed for their work ?
It is useful and interesting at this point to bring in for |
comparison a branch of one of the hawthorns. Near _ |
the end of the branch is a half-grown leaf in whose |
axil arises a slender thorn. It is green and soft, and set thorn, still soft,
with a half-dozen tiny leaves. Farther down are bigger seccwiacs ea
thorns, set in the axils of full-grown leaves. These thorns have
hardened. Below, on older wood, are thorns of larger size. Some of
them have leafy shoots on their sides. Here we have a series of thorns,
the youngest of which show the leaf-bearing habit of the twig, the oldest
ones, the twig-bearing habit of the branch. The honey locust thorn
shows the branching habit. Tear off any of these thorns, and you find
them attached to the stem just as the twigs are.
On evidences like these the botanist bases his belief that thorns are
branches, hardened, pointed and destitute of leaves, gradually modified
by the plant to serve its special needs. The beginning of such modifica-
tion has been seen in the pasture apple tree. The process has progressed
much farther in hawthorn and honey locust, where the branch has
assumed a kind of disguise —the livery of its special office.
The common locust bears at the base of
its leaf two sharp points, and each leaflet
repeats this peculiarity by having two tiny
guardsmen of the same kind at its base.
But these points, though they persist and
some of them grow large and strong, do
not rise from the wood of the branch as
do thorns. They come off with the bark.
Hence they are prickles such as grow on
Miipeeriviom,hatdasenamel "OS8¢ bushes and raspberry canes. They
are mere outgrowths of the bark.
Certain spines are evidently modified leaf ribs. The holly that we see
at Christmas has the edge of its leaf contracted between spmy poimts. The
barberry shows all the gradations between leaf and spine on the same twig.
7
a
In arid countries the vegetation tends to be leafless and spiny. Not
cacti alone but other plants have their surfaces reduced and hardened
or otherwise protected against loss of moisture in the hot, dry climate.
In more humid regions the same species of plants have their spines
dilated into leaves.
Each modification of bark or leaf or branch into prickle or spine
or thorn is an expression of the varying needs of plants, and is the final
result of Nature’s attempt to adapt plants to their surroundings. We
cannot say that thorns exist for defense against injury by animals, for we
have no absolute proof of it. Yet it seems to us an obvious inference.
We must avoid jumping at conclusions. Nothing is easier than for us to
deceive ourselves by unconsciously projecting our experience into nature.
Our point of view is not the same as the plant’s. It is easy to say that
cacti have thorns to protect them from being browsed by cattle. Scien-
tifie research, however, shows that the thorns of cacti are probably mere
incidents to the contraction of the whole plant body, the main enemy
being drought rather than browsing animals.
The truth in these matters of adaptation and specialization of parts
can be gotten at only by a thorough study of each plant’s actions under
varying circumstances. The student must come to his work with his
mind free from preconceived notions and theories on the subject. If, in
many cases, he finds his researches unfruitful, there is always this
question to ponder upon: “Is it reasonable to expect Nature to reveal
to me in a few months or years the stages by which, through centuries,
perhaps, she has been making perfect the adaptation of this plant to its
present environment?”
26
LOCUST
Robinia Pseudacacia
ny
+i
{
a
: ;
| = *
;
“4 we 3
:
1
, ¢
WINTER ‘BUDS
I. THE MEANING OF THEM
It is a common thing for people to look into the tree tops in Feb-
ruary and exclaim, ‘*See how the buds are swelling!”’ As a matter
of fact, the buds are no bigger then than they were in October and
December. But the air certainly has a feeling of spring in it,
and we naturally look for the signs that give encouragement
to our hope that the winter is waning. When were these
buds formed? This is a very reasonable question.
Away back in apple-blossoming time when the leaves are
but half-grown and _ still covered with downy hairs the little
buds may be discovered deep in the angles between leaf and
twig. Examine the trees of door yards and of forest and you
find the apple tree but exemplifies the general rule. Buds show
their beginnings with the opening of the leaves, they grow all
summer, and reach maturity by the time the leaves are shed.
All winter they are dormant, but with the rise of sap in March
and April they swell and burst and grow.
What is a bud?
It is a miniature branch. It may bear leaves or flowers or
both. Suppose it is a leaf bud. This does not mean that it
will bear but a single leaf. It means that the winter bud will
east off its scales and lengthen into a twig which will unfold
young leaves. This process will continue throughout the grow-
ing season, the tip and the stem between the leaves gradually
elongating. These leaf buds produce most of the foliage of
trees. The long leafy shoots of quick growing trees sometimes
attain wonderful length in a season. I have seen ailanthus
shoots that grew ten feet ina summer. ower buds cast their scales,
and blossoms are revealed, single or clustered. The full development
of these may soon be accomplished, or it may require a whole season,
rl’ . . . . .
The elm blossoms, borne in side buds, ripen into seeds which are shed
’ » TI}
late in May. This ends the career of the bud. A flower bud of peach
produces a single flower, whose development into a ripe peach occupies
many weeks, perhaps all summer. Mixed buds cast their scales in
27
Ailanthus
twig
spring and unfold shoots which bear leaves and flowers. Apple and
pear blossoms are thus borne in leafy clusters.
Buds are not alike in appearance, even on the same branch. They
are large or small, strong or weak, according to their contents and
the chances they had when they were forming. The leaf is the nurse
of the bud in its axil. If that leaf had plenty of air and sunshine,
and its share of sap, then will its bud be well formed. In most cases
the terminal bud is largest, because it had the best advan-
tages when growing. Leaf buds are likely to be slender
in form, flower buds more plump and more hairy; mixed
buds, as they contain leaves and flowers, are usually larger
than buds containing flowers or leaves alone.
The winter buds are the promises one year gives to
the next. In them are packed away the leaves and the
flowers, all perfectly formed but very small. In them
is the only possibility of lengthening shoots and thicken-
ing stems. In them lie all the tree’s hopes for the future.
Il. A FASCINATING STUDY
Most people consider themselves lucky to know the
commonest trees during the growing season, recognizing
them by their leaves, flowers, or fruit. But when winter
comes they can hardly be sure of a maple, or even an elm.
AN It is not easy to grasp distinctions of shape, habit of
Tip of Sumac branching, or the characters of bark, and express these
oO?
twig : : . :
things in words. If people only knew that each species
of tree has a characteristic winter signature, which is imprinted hundreds
of times on each individual tree, they could transform many a dull
winter day into hours of delight.
This tree signature is no fanciful thing, and it does not require
a microscope. ‘He who runs may read,” if he will but break off a twig
as he runs. The winter bud and the leaf scar below it,—these form
the tree’s autograph, a sign that is never misleading,—a sign that
is as easy to recognize as are leaves or flowers or fruits.
Do you want a young tulip tree to transplant from the woods in
early March? You saw a fine one in the summer time. Go out to dig
it, and your eyes, and your memory, will tell you which one it is. The
tulip tree has a characteristic bud. Once seen, it will never be con-
fused with buds of other trees.
The study of winter buds is a fascinating business. You may begin
28
at any time after midsummer, for then the buds are well grown and the
leaves are loosening their hold. Learn one at a time. Tear off a leaf
or two from a familiar tree and notice the bud and the leaf scar.
You will not forget. In winter you will find those well-remembered
characters in the woods, and thereby know the tree that bears them.
A new interest in trees will be roused within you. They are not dead
things. They are only sleeping. Unsuspected beauties of form and
color are discovered by you in winter buds. The various modes of
wrapping and packing and varnishing by which the precious young
shoots are protected from injury by wind and weather—all these
are things that challenge your attention, and lead you into pleasures
heretofore undreamed of.
Break off a willow twig. Its buds are pointed, and each is
clothed for winter with a leathery hood, made all in one piece,
and attached around the base of the bud. This leathery hood has
a delicate lming membrane. There are willows and willows, but
their buds all have these characteristics. The whole
twig grew last summer from a single winter bud.
What is the most noticeable thing about the upper
and lower half of the twig? What is its signifi-
cance? Willow leaves are slender and light. They
leave small scars under the buds. Larger, broader
leaves could not be so thickly set upon the twig
without seriously interferimg with each other.
The buttonwood, which we call sycamore, makes
no show of winter buds until the leaves begin to
fall. You might think it an utterly improvident
tree, if the swollen bases of the leaves did not tempt
you to investigate. The hollow tent-like bases of the
Willow
leaf stems fasten down all around the plump, conical tyi¢
buds. Like the willow, the sycamore bud wears a
cap made of a single brown scale. Even after the leaves
are fallen, one usually has no trouble in finding some buds
that still wear these summer leaf caps, the petiole having
broken off above them.
The bases of locust leaves cover the buds while they
are growing, and when the leaves fall only the very tip is
uncovered, so deeply does the bud he buried in the stem.
So with the honey locust and the Judas tree and others
of the pod-bearers.
Buttonwood twig The velvety antlers of the staghorn sumac often carry
29
over winter the bases of their youngest leaves. In spring
these are loosened and pushed off by buds that are cov-
ered by them in the fashion already seen in the sycamore.
One can generally judge in winter of the size of the
leaf a certain tree bears by the scar it leaves, and by
the sturdiness of the twig itself. By these tokens we
know that the horse chestnut has a large and heavy leaf.
The dots that show so plainly on its broad triangular scar
tell where fibrous bundles bound the leaf firmly to the
stem. There is a dot for each leaflet. Through these
vascular bundles came also the sap which fed the leaf, and
back through them flowed the return currents by which
each individual leaf contributed to the nourishment of the
other parts of the tree.
We shall be disappointed if we expect to find a bud
above each leaf scar on a horse chestnut twig. Most
of the tree’s energy is usually expended in forming \g
the large terminal buds. These generally contain
flowers and leaves. Side buds, one or two, are
Horse Chestnut twig formed below to carry forward the growth of the
that blossomed i 4
apeaenee twig which comes to an abrupt stop where flowers
and fruit are borne. Then we shall find other nN
weak side buds, formed as if to fall back upon in case of injury
to the stronger ones. If no such emergency arises, these buds die.
Very fully developed and easily made out are the parts
locked up in the big terminal winter buds of the horse chestnut.
Outside are the bud scales, set on in pairs as are the leaves.
They shingle over each other, and are weather-proof, being sealed
tight with a gummy substance. When the scales are all removed
we come upon the miniature leaves, folded in pairs, palms
together, over a central spike of flowers. If the flowers are
lacking, the number of leaves will be greater.
The twigs of the wild cherry are supple like the willow, and
their buds are slender and pointed. Each is protected by over-
lapping scales, and sits upon a little shelf that bears the small
leaf scar on its outer edge. At the base of the twig is a cluster
of lines. These are the scars of the scales of last winter's bud.
The accompanying twig with its five leaves and its five buds
grew this season from that winter bud.
The gray-green downy twig of the butternut is full of char-
acter in winter. Its buds are like no others. The terminal bud
30
is large, containing besides a tuft of leaves the cluster of pistil-
late flowers. The lateral buds vary in number from one to
three over each leaf scar. The lower one is usually too small
to amount to anything. The two above may both be little
pine-apple like bodies which are the unprotected catkins of
the staminate flowers, or one may be a catkin and the other
a sealy bud that has a leafy shoot wrapped up in it. The
buds are borne on a shelf, under which is the leaf scar, three-
lobed, with bundle scars well marked, and over it a beetling
hairy ridge, like a pair of eyebrows.
Very noticeable are the pungent odor, and the clammy feel
of butternut twigs, and the chambered pith characteristic of
all walnuts and butternuts. The black walnut buds and leaf
scars somewhat resemble those of the butternut. But there
is never a suggestion of hairiness or clamminess
upon a black walnut twig.
The slender winter buds of the beech are very &
elegantly formed. The brown scales that wrap
them are thin as tissue paper, and covered with \
soft silken hairs. Two years of growth are shown — Butternut twig
in the picture, each of them beginning with the
casting off of the bud scales whose scars form a band of
considerable width on the stem. The little bud near the
base of the twig is dead. While the terminal bud grew
out, bearing three leaves and as many lusty buds last
summer, the side bud, less favorably situated, grew a frac-
tion of an inch, bore a leaf, and finished with a bud.
The shagbark hickory expresses well the vigor and
decision of its character in its winter buds. Note the
strong thick coverimmgs that le under the outer pair of
scales. The leaves are perfectly formed inside these
scales—all’s ready for the spring start, and the steady
growth next summer. The prominent scar below each bud
is an index to the size of the leaf that grew there.
If we examine a catalpa twig in winter we are almost
sure to think that the tree is dead. The oval leaf scars
stand out prominently, set at intervals in whorls of threes
4 or in pairs about the stem. But above each scar is a mere
F dot. If this is a bud it must be a blighted one. What
prophecy do we see of the almost tropical foliage and the
Two-year-old : y © i
twig of Beech great flower clusters that are the glory of these trees in
31
June? But the catalpa tree is not dead. About the middle
of May it wakes from its winter sleep, and in an incredibly
short time those tiny buds have clothed it in a luxuriance of
leaf and flower that outdoes all the efforts of neighbor trees.
Have you ever opened a winter bud and counted the tiny
crumpled leaves? They were made last summer and tucked
away “for future reference.’ These miniature leaves are
arranged upon their miniature stems in a definite mathematical
order. Upon the position of them how much depends? For
are not buds to develop later in their axils? And are not the
twigs that rise from these buds to be the great boughs of suc-
ceeding years? Leaf-arrangement is intensely interesting, when
we come to study it. The botanists try to scare the common
folks away from it by calling it Phyllotazy. But they can't
keep the fun all to themselves. Let us get into their pleasant
—they all have their leaves opposite. This fact is
Shagbark well worth remembering. A pair of leaves reaching
Hickory . ,
twig orth and south are set above (and below) a pair reach-
ing east and west. Twigs and branches have the same
arrangement. We know why. Then there is the alternate plan.
Beech, syeamore, elm and basswood have two-ranked leaves, one
at each joimt, all lymg in a horizontal plane, but alternating
along the sides of the twig.
There are many ranking plans,—from twos to thirteens and up,
to be found among trees. The five-ranked order is very common.
The leaves are set, one at a joint, and a line joing them is a
spiral that goes twice around the twig before the sixth leaf is
reached directly above (or below) the one chosen as a starting
point. All the common fruit trees have this order,—plum,
cherry, peach, apple, pear. The flowers and often the fruits
repeat the “Rule of Five;” for floral parts, the botanists say, are
simply ‘“‘ modified leaves,” which are brought into the same plane
by the shortness of the stem. An apple core and a_ peach
blossom will have more to tell us hereafter, will they not?
What does it all mean, this precision of arrangement of leaf
and bud and branch? The fulfilling of the law means for each tree
the best possible arrangement of its foliage, year after year. Be-
cause of this law, each leaf in its appointed place has a chance to
make the most of the blessings of air, sap and sunshine it
receives.
32
game. Here are the maples and the ashes and the buckeyes
Twig of
Catalpa
AN INTERESTING TREE IMMIGRANT
The Ailanthus tree, which landed here from China about one hundred
years ago, has called much attention to itself ever since.
in a big city —a strange tree standing with all the stately
dignity of an English elm at the head of the street. But,
unlike the elm, it was clothed with foliage of tropical
luxuriance, and agaist the fern-like leaves lay masses
of half-ripe ‘seeds, flushng pink and green, strongly
resembling, at a little distance, the great flower clusters
of the hardy hydrangea.
I saw Ailanthus trees next on a rough hillside —
hundreds of lusty saplings. Unmindful of the protests of
the lawful owner, they had seized the land, like the
undaunted Tenth Legion of some mighty conqueror. On
the sober conventional city tree, the average twig was no
thicker than an ordinary lead pencil. But here, with the
restraints of civilization removed, there was evidently
going on a free-for-all race among these wild youngsters.
I can easily imagine that many records were being broken,
for I measured a single shoot that was eight feet long and
“almost two inches in diameter at its base. It bore thirty-
four leaves, the largest of which was three feet six inches
long, and where it broke off, the scar was easily an inch
in length. ‘Tree of Heaven,” indeed! I never before
saw a tree so aspiring. But the name the farmer calls
it by is ** Devil’s Bush.” Because he cannot contend success-
fully with it, he stands back and calls down maledictions
on its leafy head.
A queer freak of certain of these Ailanthus shoots was
the broadening and flattening of the tips and the irregular
crowding of the side buds. In the branch from which the
drawing was made later the tip had been severely injured,
and instead of lengthening, the end curled around, and
a multitude of undersized leaves rose in a very small
space, forming a huge rosette. A similar crowding of
33
I saw it first
“A queer freak”
leaves produces on willow trees the familiar pine cone willow galls
which are described a few pages farther on.
By these tufted Ailanthus branches I am strongly reminded of an
abnormal growth we often see among the branches of willow and hack-
berry trees. Sometimes it is the egg of a gall imsect; sometimes it is
the spore of a fungus that perverts the growth of the soft tissues of
a terminal shoot. Whichever is the cause, the result is the checking
of the upward growth. The stem throws out side shoots in profusion,
and these crowd and stunt each other, producing the matted bunch of
twigs which is called a “ Witches’ Broom.”
It is no surprise to learn that the relatives of the Ailanthus tree live
in the tropics. Its exuberance of growth proclaims its racial nativity.
It isthe sole American representative of a family that contains twenty-
seven genera and one hundred and forty-seven species. The bark of the
Ailanthus is smooth and fibrous, light brown, showing paler beneath,
where it breaks into furrows. In the towns, staminate trees should be
cut down, as the odor of the flowers is unpleasant to all, and even distress-
ing to people who have catarrh. Pistillate flowers have no such odor.
The tree spreads freely by suckers, and the abundant seeds are winged
for long flights through the air. A very popular use of the tree is to
start afew and cut them back to the ground each year. Under this
systematic abuse, they send up leafy shoots of great size, which form
a beautiful screen of shrubbery —like a fern bed, but more lusty and so
more tropical-looking.
34
APPLES ON WILLOW TREES
When the heart-leaved willow buds cast their leathery poke bonnets
in spring, and begin to undo their bundles of young leaves, a four-winged
creature wriggles itself free from its pupa case in a dead leaf at the
foot of the tree, and tries its powers of flight. In the warm sunshine
others of its kind are flashing their iridescent wings, and enjoying the
delicious smell of budding willows. They must all agree that there is
nothing that quite equals it.‘ A short life and a merry”’—
this is their motto. The days of their revelry are soon over.
Just before she dies, the female lays her eggs. Selecting a
specially promising leaf on a willow twig, the insect settles
down upon it. To look at her in this attitude you would
think she had merely stopped to rest. Not unless you
knew her by name would you suspect her of another motive,
least of all of carrying concealed weapons. If some one
were there to tell you just in the nick of time that this is
a saw-fly, you might see that a pair of slender saws were
thrust back and forth out of a socket on the under side
of the abdomen, and that a slit was being cut in the leaf. “Like a red cheeked
”
Into the slit the insect deftly slips an egg, and away she apyle
goes. Two or three hundred times does the saw-fly repeat this operation
before her strength fails and death finally overtakes her. Her numerous
progeny show many peculiarities, not the least of which is increase in
the size of the egg before it hatches. The tender leaf swells and forms
a gall around the young larva. By June the lump is as big as a cherry.
It looks much like a red-cheeked apple. I was tempted to taste the
first one I ever saw, and in so doing I found out two important things :
first, that the soft white flesh of the “willow apple gall” tastes rather
insipid; second, that it surrounds a central cavity which is almost filled
by the body of the fat larva—white except for a pair of black eyes set
in the pale brown head.
In the late summer I found the ‘ apples” still fresh and rosy on
willow leaves. Inside was the same little habitant, only older and larger
grown. When his appetite is sated, and the faded leaf has fallen the
saw-fly larva transforms into a pupa, and lies upon the ground all winter,
35
exposed in its helplessness to all manner of dangers. Oh, well! There
were three hundred of them. If two survive there will be no shortage
of saw-flies next year, will there? Fancy the result if each of the three
hundred eggs hatched and the young ones all grew up!
Nature seems most kindly disposed toward these little willow saw-
flies. To live in a house whose walls yield abundant food and drink is
the acme of luxury, truly. But life even in such a house is fraught with
dangers. Birds mistake these galls for cherries, and many a robin, dis-
appointed in the taste of the red berry, is pleasantly surprised and quite
compensated by the juicy little grub that he finds inside of it.
There is a little snout beetle that prospects in the late spring for a
place to lay her eggs. Finding a small fleshy lump on the willow leat,
she wants nothing better. She probes it with her beak, pokes in an egg,
and goes her way well satisfied. Out of this egg hatches a grub that
soon destroys the rightful occupant of the gall, usurps its privileges, and
assumes control. The Sycophant Curculio is its name. Often, instead
of a beetle, a saw-fly plays the same trick. A poor relation is this
larva which stays and stays, and taking the best of everything, starves
his host. This insect has been called the Beggar Saw-fly.
Our sympathies are strongly enlisted in behalf of the helpless archi-
tect and inmate of the Willow Apple Gall, who, by no fault of his own,
falls into the hands of his enemies—and his relations. It is a relief to be
told that all of his persecutors have enemies of their own that come
into the gall after them. Nature seems to have no favorites among her
creatures. The willow may prefer to have its leaves let alone by the
saw-flies. The saw-fly mother knows not of the Sycophant Curculio, nor
the Beggar Saw-fly. And perhaps neither of these two know until too
late that there are insects whose larve thirst for their blood. But
each kind keeps down the numbers of the others. It is one of Nature's
ways of maintaining the insect equilibrium. It calls to mind the familiar
quatrain, consoling alike to men and insects:
“Bio fleas have little fleas
Upon their backs to bite ’em,
And these in turn have lesser fleas —
And so ad infinitum.”
36
*
bl i
.
RGN
WHITE WILLOW
Salix alba
PINE CONES ON WILLOW TREES
“Do men gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles?”’ I asked myself
incredulously, —* or pine cones of willow hedges?” I was walking along
a country road, on either side of which was a willow hedge. I was watch-
ing the play of the sunlight among the dancing
foliage, and wondering how the willow could ever
have come to be the symbol of grief. These roadside
trees invited me to be in love with life, and lifted
up into the air long withes to show that with fine
equanimity they could rise superior to the hedge
trimmer’s hatchet and shears.
It was among these lusty shoots that I found
a shorter one that ended abruptly im a green scaly
knob. I never had seen its like before. It was at
seeing this that I paused and asked myself the ques-
tion. The knob was made on the pattern of a pine
cone, with regular, closely overlapping scales. Pine
cones on willow trees? Pliny would have allowed it,
—would have set it down to illustrate the wonders
made possible through the art of graftmg. But I PERO ON Uses!
i = ie of a pine cone”
was not so easily satisfied as Pliny. I knew that the
willow bore a long cluster of pods. Cutting off the twig that bore this
unknown fruit, I made search for more, and got in all a dozen of them.
The same cone-like knobs occurred on some heart-leaved willows that
reached out to me as I crossed a bridge. They were smaller, but seemed
identical in kind. Sitting down on the back porch, I selected a fair speci-
men, and cut it open lengthwise. My knife dragged heavily toward the
tip, for the scales were tufted with a thick cottony substance. At the
base was a woody core, from which all the scales appeared to rise. In
the core was a hollow, and above the hollow —enclosed in the innermost
set of scales—lay something that excited my curiosity to the limit. It
was long and tapering and white and felt soft when I poked it with the
point of my knife blade. I lifted it out, cradle and all, and parting the
silk blanket, saw within a little fat white grub “with a dimple in its
chin.” It seemed unused to being wakened in this manner, and squirmed
37
a little, as a child will do in a troubled dream. But I was not consider-
ing its discomfort at that moment. ‘ Whose baby are you? How did
you get here?”’ I didn’t expect an answer direct, so set about looking
for evidence. There was no door leading into the secret chamber. The
scales were entire as I took them out one by one. I must have cut
through the hole in opening the cone.
Selecting a fresh specimen, I scanned the outside of twig and cone
with care. One by one I removed and examined the scales. They
were perfect, and in the very core lay another larva just like the first
one. I couldn't wait till these creatures grew up to have the answers
to my questions. They might die in infancy. And so I went to the
books. There I promptly found the picture of my pine cone, and the
complete story of its growth.
It would seem that the willow sap, bitter as it
is to us, suits the taste of a certain tiny midge - like
fly, which belongs to a family of insects known
as gall-onats. Before the young willow shoots are
well started these airy winged flies are out among
them. The female selects a thrifty and ambitious
terminal bud, and piercing its tender tissues, lays
an egg in its very center. Out of this egg hatches
the maggot which begins at once to eat the walls
The gall split lengthwise of the prison in which it is born. Knowing no other
shows the plump white
eee : life, it is happy, and utterly unconscious that it is
grub in ne center - “
thwarting the plans of the tree in the carrying out
of its own. But the twig ceases to lengthen. The leaves that were in
embryo in the bud, and predestined to unfold and adorn the twig as
summer comes on, are stunted and developed into broad curving scales
that crowd each other until further growth is impossible. The soft silky
covering of unfolding leaves is kept, a pathetic reminder of what they
were and what they might have become.
When autumn comes the willow leaves fall, but these scales remain.
The full-grown larva lies within its little cradle, and knows only that it
has had enough to eat,—that it wants to sleep. Thus the winter passes,
and the early spring brings the quiet transformation to a pupa. Out of
the chrysalis and out of the end of the dry and loosened cone emerges
the winged adult in the spring, to join its fellows from other cones,
and with them to dance away in the warm sunshine its brief span of
life. Before they die the females lay their eggs, and the story of
their life is repeated in their offspring.
The cones often remain on the tree for some time after their scales
38
are dead and their inmates have escaped. But there are no gnats in
last year’s nests. Wherewithal would they be fed?
I found a strange colony life existing in some of these pine cone
galls. Between the scales were many larve of a “ guest’ midge — close
relative of the proper inmate. As the latter kept always to her
place in the center, leaving ample and unused guest chambers between
the scales
should the intruders not occupy the space and feast on the soft, leafy
and these full of a delectable and nutritious sap— why
scales, praising Allah for both! So reasoned the mother of fifty or
sixty little pinky orange creatures which I found sleeping, each in
a silken web, and each lying in a socket eaten out by him while he
was yet a hungry larva.
I found in several cones the eggs, long, curved, and pencil -like,
of some green grasshopper, or katydid. They lay im fours and sixes
— parallel, tucked in between the scales, in no case interfering with
the comfort of the “guest” larvee, which certainly had no right
to rise up against the invaders even had there been a crowding.
“Squatter sovereignty”? was plainly the policy of each, and neither
could well complain. There seemed to be room for all, with no over-
lapping claims and no trouble, in this model tenement house.
THE. WITCH OF THE WOODS
In the greenhouse of the Botanical Garden a wondering crowd sur-
rounds the orange tree laden at the same time with flowers and ripening
fruit. It is a startling phenomenon, setting aside the rules that govern
the staid trees of
orchards and gar-
dens. Just once
do I recall among
familiar trees, a
lapse that reminds
me of the habit
of the orange tree.
A cluster of pale
apple blossoms
appeared one
autumn on a slen-
der shoot that
“The Witch Hazel scattering its shiny seeds” came out of the
thick trunk when
the rest of the tree was burdened with ripening apples. It ‘was a
nine days’ wonder in the neighborhood.
Among forest trees, as conventional as orchard trees in their obsery-
ance of calendar days, there is one little tree that is utterly erratic. It
is the Witch Hazel’s practice to bloom in the fall while it is scattering its
ripened seeds. We may lose our faith in the Witch Hazel twig as a
divining rod. We may scorn to rub Pond’s Extract on our bruises. But
we cannot deny that, stripped of all the virtues with which tradition has
invested it, the tree still has an eerie way with it; and we can never quite
get out from under the spell it casts upon us. In the late winter, the
Witch Hazel stands leaning against the sturdy trunks of other trees, its
limbs bare or shivering in a scant covering of faded yellow leaves. The
empty capsules open their yawning mouths and one would scarcely notice
the tiny cup and ball and its four shriveled ribbons with which the
twigs are thickly set. One does not botanize in the woods in winter.
It must be dull for the Witch Hazel in the spring. All about it the
40
trees hang out their blossoms, and it is not one of them. It stands aside
while the great flower pageant passes, from the aspens which lead, their
furry tassels flushing red against the sky of March, till the last white
petals of the hawthorn shake down upon the ground. Only green leaves
clothe the barrenness of the little Witch Hazel tree and its empty pods
fall, one by one. But if it feels the least bit lonesome it gives no out-
ward sign. Its broad leaves spread in the sun, and its shoots lengthen
apace. Under the foliage is a secret that is not to be revealed to the
careless nor to the
indifferent. The
tree has larger and
dearer interests
than the making of
leaves. Green buds
as round as marbles
cluster on the bases
of leafy side spurs.
The cup and balls so
small in winter now
assert themselves as
gray green buttons,
among the tiny buds.
On some fine
autumn morning
when the frost is in
the air and leaves
are fl uttering to “ Eltin blossoms of the Witch Hazel”
their final rest, the
red squirrel, hiding chestnuts at the root of a tree, is startled by a sharp
twinge on the ear, and a skipping near him on the leafy forest carpet that
is dangerously suggestive of squirrel shot. He need not hurry away so
fast. It is only the Witch Hazel bombarding him with its shiny black
seeds. The frost and the sun are behind the guns. They have at last
sprung the trigger that long held captive the tiny projectiles. Snap! and
the capsule flies wide open. By the parting of the lips the seeds are
broken loose from their attachment and thrown out with surprising force.
The lining of the cells is believed to shorten and contribute to the force
that throws the seed out. A friend of mine interested herself in finding
out how far these seeds went. She chose an isolated tree and spread white
muslin under it for some yards in four directions. The most remote of
the many seeds she caught were eighteen feet from the base of the tree!
41
If there were witches in these days I could be sure I saw them here
in their own proper places in the Witch Hazel tree, laughing in glee at
the squirrel’s discomfiture, tossing their yellow cap-strings, cackling and
showing their toothless gums without reserve in a grin both wide and
deep. Come back, Mr. Bushy-tail, and take up your task without fear.
It is only the Witch Hazel’s little scheme to replenish the earth by
colonizing new territory,—a mode of seed dispersal that ever widens
the circle of the tree’s distribution.
The most cheerful things in the late autumn woods are the elfin
blossoms of the Witch Hazel. On those cold days when rains come
down and wash the color out of the October landscape, when the leaves
fall shivering from the trees, and Nature seems at last to have lost
heart and given up the game,—then it is that we humans find it
hardest to be cheerful. One look at the Witch Hazel works like a
charm upon us. The rain seems only to brighten the yellow of its
petals. Frost comes. They are turned into crepe, and curl up into
ringlets that dance in the winds. They are satisfied with just any
sort of weather. The pods are older. They seem to take life more
seriously. They close their lips tightly when it rams. But let the sun
come out and dry them, and they fly open one after another. It is as
if they burst into laughter, in which the onlooker joins in spite of
himself.
A SUGGESTION
Why don’t you bring in a Witch Hazel and plant it in your shrub-
bery border? Look among the following facts and see if you can find
a good reason why you neglect this little tree.
|. It may easily be transplanted from the wilds to the garden.
2. It grows the second year from seed, or is propagated by layers.
It does best in somewhat moist, peaty or sandy soil.
3. It has handsome foliage which turns yellow in the fall.
4. Its flowering is prolonged for weeks through the season when all
other shrubs are out of bloom.
5. Its flowers and fruits are beautiful and exceptionally interesting.
6. At all seasons of the year the shrub is a delightful botanical
study as well as an ornament to any shrubbery border.
PART I
THE LIFE OF TREES
THE PHYSIOLOGICAL SIDE
THE SLEEP OF THE TREES
Trees are, after all, very much like folks! They sleep o’ nights,
they feed and drink, and thereby grow. They breathe through a kind
of lugs the same life-giving oxygen, and throw off carbon dioxid.
They tear their clothes, and have to mend them. In a crowd, they
jostle each other, like rude boys, and the big fellows usually conquer
the weaker ones. They get cuts and bruises and broken limbs; and
there is a long catalogue of tree diseases, most of them catching, like
the measles and the whooping-cough.
In winter, trees put on their warmest coats—a fashion set by the
woodchuck and the bear—and just sleep and wait for sprmg! In
warm weather a tree goes to sleep at sundown, and wakes up in the
morning. If the sky is overcast, the tree is drowsy; if rain sets in,
it goes right off to sleep. The only days that really count in a tree’s
calendar are the clear ones.
Have you ever seen a tree asleep?
Near my house are a number of young locusts growing. Their
fern-like leaves are held in sweeping, graceful clusters up into the
sunshine. But on wet days, and all through the night, those leafy
twigs droop down listlessly; the leaflets fold their palms together; the
whole tree is the picture of limp helplessness. It is the locust’s way.
The closing of the leaflets reduces evaporation (which is a cooling
process), and enables the tree to save much of its bodily heat. For
a similar reason a kitten tucks its feet snugly under its body, and
curls its tail around, before it takes a nap. All young and tender
foliage tends thus to * cuddle down” when it is sleepy. But older and
stiffer leaves can sleep sitting erect, as grown-up folks will often do.
Let me suggest that you select an elm or a maple near by, or any
other tree, and watch it. Compare the night and day positions of the
leaves when just opening. As they become full grown, continue your
observations and comparisons. Better confine yourself to one special
twig of each tree. Take up a thrifty young plant of white clover
from the lawn. Get it well started in a pot. Then watch it as its
leaves change at night and in the morning. It is one of the most
interesting things you can have about you. Set it in a dark closet
45
for a while in the middle of the day. Let others enjoy these little
experiments with you.
Day and night, rain or shine, trees keep breathing as steadily as
you do. Should you stop you would smother and die. Just as soon
and just as truly would the trees. No creature lives but needs to
breathe; that is the process that keeps the living tissues in working
order. The constant tearmg down and building up of cells is the one
condition upon which life exists. In
Por
order that there may always be nutri-
tion at hand to rebuild the cells, and
that the tree may grow in stature and
strength from year to year, food must
be taken in, elaborated, and stored
away. It is to serve this end that
the tree wakes from its winter sleep.
It is for this that it rests by night
and wakes so early in the morning.
Every leaf that spreads its broad,
green blade into the sunshine is a
laboratory devoted to the manufacture
of starch. The raw materials are
obtamed from the air, and from the
soil. The machinery is the soft green
leaf-pulp. The sun furnishes the
power. When the sun is gone, the
starch factory shuts down. After dark
there is clearmg up to be done, and
putting of things away. It is not an
eight-hour day: work stretches from
sun to sun. But there is no “night
shift in the starch works” of a tree or of any other plant.
It is a surprise to many people to learn how short is the tree’s grow-
“Poplar buds bursting with secrets they
are soon to reveal”
ing season. By midsummer the twigs are usually as long as they are
going to be. The ring of new wood is formed around the trunk.
The tree begins to get ready for winter. Now this long winter vaca-
tion is not indicative of an inborn tendency toward idleness in any
species of trees. It is rather a habit acquired by nearly all of them,
a concession to the demands of our rigorous climate. The problem
is more essentially one of water supply than of temperature.
Before July is gone the amount of water taken up by the roots
has perceptibly diminished. The food supply is proportionately lessened.
46
The whole leaf system must be re-adjusted to the cutting off of supplies.
The leaves cautiously begin to close the doors through which water
was wont freely to escape. As the sap-flow from the roots grows
gradually weaker, the making of starch dwindles. Cooler weather
warns the tree that the tender shoots need thickened bark, and that
the buds must be sealed up warm and tight. To save the leaves is
out of the question, for their walls are thin. So the tree makes
preparations to abandon them. It is quite worth our while to pick up
a leaf now and then as it flutters to our feet during the autumn. Each
one tells a most interesting bit of personal history, to any one who will
carefully examine and question it. No two are alike, but all tell the
saine story of the withdrawal of the “leaf pulp” into the twig—a story
of the thriftiness of the tree. The monotony of green gives place to
patches of vivid, contrasting colors, or to dead russets. The last traces
of leaf green are likely to be seen along the veins, which are the
channels that drained the leaf dry of its soft living matter.
We can well understand the browns of dead leaves. They are dead
colors. But why should other leaves “die like the dolphin,” painting
our autumn landscapes with the changeful splendor of sunset skies?
Once we said, “It is the frost.” But now we know better. The
dying leaf still holds some patches of leaf green. The waxy granules
gradually change to a yellow liquid which shows through the transparent
leaf walls as plainly as when its elements were still green. During the
summer the leaves accumulated a considerable burden of mineral sub-
stances that came up to them in the crude sap, and, being in the way,
it was lodged in leaf cells, to their great disadvantage. As the leaf
suffers the withdrawal of its livmg substance, these useless mineral
deposits chemically decompose. The gradual breaking down of all the
residual substances in the leaf is the true cause of the brilliant and
wonderful variations of color we see in the foliage of our woods in
autumn. Because these changes occur at the season when warm days
and frosty nights are common, we have erroneously put the two phenom-
ena together as cause and effect.
As the leaf “ripens,” a layer of healing tissue forms between leaf
and twig, and when they part, we have no reason to think that the
separation is cause for regret on either side. Now the tree is ready
to sleep. As the cold increases, much of the water which is within the
cells of the living layer, filters through the cell walls and forms into ice
crystals in the spaces outside. There is room here for the expansion
due to freezing, and no danger of rupturing the delicate cell walls.
The cold may for a season be severe enough to stiffen the mucilaginous
47
substance still left in the cells. Then the tree is in a death-like trance.
But with the milder weather, the protoplasm thaws, and life stirs once
more. With this explanation, one can understand how it is that trees
freeze solid in winter without injury. There is an important difference
between freezing and freezing to death.
Look out at the trees in these warm, showery days of early April!
The frost is out of the ground, and every little root is happy. The
buds are shining and swelling and bursting with secrets they are soon
to reveal. The twigs are green with the rising tide of sap. The very
bark, rough and dead, seems to “feel in its barrenness some touch
of spring.” Out-of-the-way cells give up stores of starchy, sugary
substance that they have been saving all winter against this day. There
is food enough and to spare for every hungry cell.
Yesterday the great buds of the poplars were sound asleep. They
roused themselves and threw off their shiny scales. To-day the little
gray-green leaves are trembling on every twig. To-morrow the tree
will be in full leaf, bold and self-sufficient, as if it had never been
bare and shivering.
The botanist dissects and analyzes and experiments. So does the
chemist and the physicist. Nature has told them how some of her
wonders are performed. But outside the laboratory, in the April sun-
shine, the sum of human knowledge seems very small. The miracle
of the creation is repeating itself on every hand.
The unfathomable mystery of the coming of spring!
BITTERNUT HICKORY
Hicoria minima
ine
HOW TREES REPRODUCE THEIR KIND
Trees seem to share with all other living things an apprehension that
their race may perish from the earth. It is to prevent this calamity that
they feed and breathe and grow. As soon as they are old enough they
produce flowers, mature seeds, and fling them forth. Their seed-sowing
is a prodigal business. Every year a thousand of their offspring die
for every one that lives. But that one is quite enough.’ One tree is
sufficient to save the race.
The forms of these seeds are a constant marvel to the intelligent
observer. The wonder grows when we study the uses they serve in dis-
tributing the species. Berries and other fleshy fruits tempt birds in
whose crops the seeds lodge and they are afterwards dropped in regions
far remote from the parent trees. The wind transports the winged
seeds. Water carries the light ones. Squirrels and other animals store
nuts and acorns in pockets here. There along their runways in the
fall. Many of these seeds are left to germinate wherever they chance
to be dropped.
The fur of animals may carry little burs like those of the beech nut.
The spiny bur of the chestnut keeps animals from getting the seed. The
husk and thick, rough shell protect walnuts and butternuts from being
eaten. These are some of the methods; for details, read the account
of “The Flight of Seeds.”
But the tree that depends entirely upon seeds as a means of reproduc-
tion is seriously handicapped in the race. It has long been known that
willows and some other trees could be reproduced by putting into soil a
fresh piece of a branch or twig. The power to throw out leafy shoots
and roots seems to be especially active in the cambium of these trees.
The discovery of this fact came by observing that twigs broken off and
drifted down stream took root where they lodged. Willow stakes set into
the ground grow, and hedges are soon produced. Green willow fence-
posts soon grow into roadside trees.
Another way of expressing the same exuberance of vitality is seen
when willows are pollarded. A branch is cut off, and the cambium forms
a number of buds below the wound from which strong watersprouts or
suckers grow out. Bruising the stem has the same effect. The loss of
49
a twig often sets the branch to pushing out dormant buds. Thus the
crack willow and certain poplars cast off their catkins and push out just
below them leafy side shoots to take their places. It is a common
practice to cut back to stubs the long weak limbs of soft maples. A
thicket of lusty shoots springs up, which in a few years, with judicious
thinning, forms a strong, close, symmetrical head.
A twig drooping along the ground may strike root at a jomt and form
an independent plant when its connection with the main plant is sev-
ered. Raspberry canes bend over and root at the tips. So do viburnums.
Roots of many trees may be cut mto pieces and each produce a plant.
Normally, roots have no buds, but the cutting of them may produce buds
from which spring leafy shoots above ground. Many plants grow from
root cuttings. The horse radish plant is so propagated. The hickory is
multiplied in this way. The roots of many trees produce buds, and send
up shoots, apparently without provocation. The failing of the tree’s
vitality seems to intensify this habit. It is a sort of life-insurance
scheme. With many species of trees a fringe of suckers comes up at the
junction between root and stem after the tree is cut down. A common
sight is the rotting stump of a giant chestnut, around and out of which
a half dozen sprouts have grown into good sized trees.
In short, many plants increase their kind by devices not at all con-
nected with flower or fruit. Man takes advantage of these suggestions
of nature Theoretically, every plant or tree may be propagated by the
nurseryman from a mere slip or cutting. It is necessary only to provide
the conditions favorable for growth. Some practical suggestions con-
cerning the propagation of trees will be found in the chapter, ‘* How
Nursery Trees are Made.”
WHY TREES GROW ERECT
The most casual observer must have been struck by the constancy
with which the trunks of trees aim toward the zenith, never minding
the slope on which they may be growing. In tapering trees like the
Lombardy poplar, this is most noticeable, and in all trees whose trunks
continue to the top, as do the firs, spruces and tamaracks. Less notice-
ably, but not less constantly, does this rule hold among the broad-crowned,
diffuse trees, like the oaks and the maples. Only accident or the urgent
necessity for light will cause a tree to lean in growing.
Among the most interesting phenomena of tree growth are the mani-
fest efforts made by crippled trees to get back to the erect position.
Every branch seems to have inherent in it loyalty to old traditions, estab-
lished perhaps when the progenitors of all tree families, growing on the
margins of old Paleozoic seas, stood up, manwise, and formally assumed
dominion over the forms of plant life that groveled at their feet or
looked up at them from lower levels. A tree thrown down may die of
its wounds, but if it does not die it seeks to assume an erect position.
As long as there is life there is aspiration!
One of these courageous trees which I know is a young one that was
erippled by the fall of a neighbor. It was partially uprooted, and its top
was pinned to the earth, and smothered under the shaggy crown of the
larger tree. When the few roots still in the ground recovered from the
shock, they took fresh hold upon the soil, and a vigorous young shoot
grew out of the prostrate stem. The tree’s resources seem to have been
withdrawn from the doomed top and thrown into this erect branch
that forms a right angle with the old trunk. It is a most remarkable
sight, this prone trunk with its roots in the air and its head in the dust,
and out of its trunk growing this little tree as pretty and symmetrical
and vigorous to all appearances as was the original tree before dire
calamity overtook it. There is something almost sublime in the patience
and the courage of plants!
On a steep bank which has suffered many a land-slide grows a poplar.
Once it had a station far up, but its foundations were shaken while yet
its roots were shallow, and it fell headlong down the slope. Catching
upon a snag, the tree stopped half-way down the wall of the gorge, and a
51
mass of earth accumulated upon its upturned roots. The tree was thus
re-planted, head downward. Three years it has been growing. Its large
branches still point down the bank, but the younger ones have turned
and gone the other way. Through the framework of larger branches
they have forced their way to liberty and light.
Set a basswood or a willow branch in the ground upside down, and
the tree which grows from it will be perfectly normal. The buds along
the sides will open and the shoots bend upward as they lengthen. The
terminal bud of a young larch has been killed. A lateral branch has bent
up and become the leader. Gradually the “kink” is disappearing, and
the stem will soon be as straight as ever. The picture shows a lower
branch on a cottonwood tree. It is a record of struggles, disappoint-
ments and final triumph. Can you read it?
Some interesting observations have been recorded on the actions of
crippled trees. A storm that some years ago swept the grounds of the
Iowa Agricultural Experiment Station, partially uprooted several trees.
A balsam fir which was bent over by the storm was later observed by
Professor Bessey to be gradually bringing its tip to the vertical position.
The tender new growth was first noticed to be curving up. By slow
degrees the curve moved downward to wood that was two or three years
old when the storm took place. The report of these observations set other
scientists to experimenting. Thomas Meehan, a prominent nurseryman
and horticulturist of Philadelphia, took up a straight-stemmed, well-
grown arbor vite, and reset it with the stem at an angle of 45° with
the horizon. Soon the tip began to bend toward the vertical. In three
weeks the curve had extended down to the five-year-old wood, involving
three feet of the top of the tree. The tip which first became erect was
thrown past the vertical by the bending below it. Gradually this
tendency was corrected, and the tip was brought back into line. At the
end of the season the top of the tree, seven years’ growth, stood upright!
An interesting phase of the erecting habit is seen im weeping trees.
The young twigs are flexible and droop helplessly at first, but they
stiffen and lift themselves when they grow older. Thus the youngest
growth is constantly lifted higher and held farther out from the trunk,
and the crown of the tree enlarged.
The force that makes a tree grow erect must be strong enough
to overcome the force of gravitation. Weare likely to forget that every
moment the latter force is tryimg to pull trees to the ground. Careful
observation will see the effects of the struggle between the two con-
tending forces. An excellent illustration is seen in the gradual bend-
ing of old branches away from the trunk. This is supposed to be
52
due to their weight, and to accompany the loss of vigor in the tree.
Young oaks have acute angles between branch and stem. Observations
show these same branches grown old to stand horizontal to the trunk
and sometimes to droop. Horse chestnut trees have ascending branches
when young. An old tree shows the branches curving first out, then
down, then up, supporting the last few years of growth and the ter-
minal leaves in an upright position.
The upper limbs of spruce and pine
trees are lifted up. Lower down
the branches are horizontal. The
oldest, heaviest ones, droop in decrepit
attitudes, and often lie passive upon
the ground.
The only ones of our common
trees that do not pass through these
modifications of shape and position
of limbs are the fastigiate trees,
those of the Lombardy poplar type. |
It will be observed that the branches |
|
|
\
.—V~ ee
of these trees never grow large nor
long. There is another influence
besides gravitation which acts against ' |
the tree’s aspiring tendencies. It is |
the wind. A careful observer has }
only to look at the trees of a region
to learn the direction and strength
“A record of struggles, disappointments
and final triumph.”
of prevailing winds. It is a fascinat-
ing study from car windows, relieving
many a tedious journey. It is the solitary trees which are chiefly affected.
Trees in groves or forests defend each other against the winds. The
reader will do well to pause here and look at the full-page plates
of White Pine, Tamarack, Silver-leaved Poplar, and American Beech.
They tell some interesting stories about prevailmg winds. Compare
the Horse Chestnut, and the White Oak, and others. These trees have
grown in protected situations.
In the northern woods the forester’s compass is the tree top— the
soft tapering terminal shoot of hemlock and other conifers bent over
by the winds. There are hundreds of them always in sight. In regions
where he is acquainted he needs no better guide-posts than these. They
are not all alike, and so they chart the forest for him, as familiar
objects guide us on our way through the city.
53
Winds and the force of gravitation, however, but set off the stronger
force. What is the nature of this force that makes the branch or the
tree grow erect? In plain English, it is the craving for light. However,
if you wish technical terms you may use “ heliotropism”’ for this ten-
dency to seek the light, and “ geotropism” for the tendency of plants
to obey the force of gravitation. It is the desire for light that makes
trees grow tall in the forest. It is the struggle for light that makes
branches lengthen, that gives the leaves farthest away from the trunk
the best chance to live and make a living for the tree,— that makes the
inner recesses of the tree dark and leafless.
WHY TREES DIE
“The days of our years are three score years and ten.” What
a trifle seems the span of human life when we compare it with the
age of trees! We have seen in the east remnants of our primeval
forests —trees that measure one hundred feet and more in height,
with a circumference to correspond. Several species of oak, the tulip
tree and the sycamore reach a hundred and fifty feet. But when we
have seen the “ Big Trees” of California towering to a height of three
hundred feet and more, we get a larger conception of what trees may
attain to in size and age. Stumps of these giant trees record from
two to four thousand years of growth, and the estimated age of some
living specimens is five thousand years. On the slopes of the Sierras
the Douglas spruce and Lambert pine often reach a height of three
hundred feet. The highest known tree is an Australian species of Euca-
lyptus, which occasionally comes close to five hundred feet high.
In the old world there stands to-day many a tree of gigantic stature
whose age probably exceeds two thousand years—cedars of Lebanon,
and giant plane trees, and oaks, and yews, and chestnuts. Imagine
a tree whose trunk is thick enough to touch the curbstone on either
side, if it were planted in an average city street. Then you will have
some idea of the size which trees may attain to. The rings of growth,
counted when one of these patriarchs dies, prove that its age has
not been over estimated.
Why, indeed, should a tree die at all? Each successive year renews
the organs by which life is maintained. The division of each cambium
cell renews the youth of that cell. Each year multiplies the number of
new feeding roots and extends new shoots, which are clothed with fresh
leaves. Why, then, should not a tree live forever?
“A tree never dies of old age!” This declaration of Professor
B. E. Fernow, formerly Chief of the Division of Forestry, U.S. Depart-
ment of Agriculture, authoritatively answers our question. Theoretically,
a tree may taste immortality. Practically, it accumulates infirmities
with years, and death sooner or later overtakes it. A tree is a depend-
ent creature. It may starve or die of thirst if the soil is hard or
dry or impoverished under it. Caterpillars may eat its foliage. Plant
a)
lice and scale bugs may suck its juices. Beetles may tunnel under
the bark and into the wood. Under these attacks the tree is helpless.
Moreover, the air is laden with the germs of tree diseases. Their
name is legion,—scab, rot, blight, rust, mildew,—these are some
each
part has a host of such enemies which lodge wherever the tree pre-
of them. The leaves, fruit, branches, roots and wood itself
sents a vulnerable pomt. These germs of fungous diseases grow, and
their rapid development means the destruction of the tissues of the tree.
The wind, too, is an enemy of the tree because every broken limb
offers a lodging place for spores of fungi which may work down into
the main stem and by slow degrees reduce it to a hollow shell. Many
a large tree shattered by a storm and strewn a wreck upon the ground
owes its death to the development of a wood-destroymg fungus whose
germ entered by way of a broken branch. It behooves us, therefore,
to keep the insects and fungi from getting mto our favorite trees.
A few practical suggestions will be found in the chapter entitled,
“Tnsects, Diseases and Spraying.”
If one wishes to kill a large tree, the easiest way is to “ girdle” it.
A belt of the bark a foot wide or more is usually stripped from the
base of the trunk all around. This exposes the living layer, whose
cells lose their moisture through evaporation, and very soon die. The
ascending sap is not necessarily disturbed, as its course hes through
the newest wood. But the returning current, which habitually descends
through the inner bark and cambium, is unable to bridge the girdled
place. The roots, which depend upon this food sent them by the leaves,
soon die of starvation. The leaves die and fall, because the disabled roots
cease to send up sap from below.
Trees differ widely in tenacity of life. Some promptly die if the bark
is but badly bruised. Others live, though girdled, if the imner bark
adheres in places. I{ a tree by any such chance survives girdling,
it thickens its trunk above the wound. This thickening is caused
by the excess of food that accumulates from above while the wound
is healing, and the means of conveying it below are yet inadequate.
This fact is turned to practical account, especially im fancy fruit
culture. The spurs of grapes, for instance, are girdled when fruit is well
grown to hasten and to make perfect the ripening of the cluster.
56
TAMARACK
Larix Americana
j
i
eee
vi
HOW TREES BREATHE
When we say a tree feels thus and so, or it thinks this or that, we
are indulging in fancy. But when we say a tree breathes, we state an
accepted scientific truth. There is no make-believe about it. ) Brown pennyroyal stems standing like sentinels knee
deep in snow on the edge of the woods.
86
FRUIT TREES AT HOME
PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS FOR CULTIVATING FRUIT TREES
IN SMALL YARDS IN CITY OR VILLAGE
There is a vision wondrous fair which fills the eye of the man
who sets out fruit trees in his back yard. As he tends and watches
them, the vision comes ever nearer, and at last it becomes a delight-
ful reality, —there are ruddy apples ripening among the green leaves.
Other trees bear fruit after their kind. The promises of earlier years are
redeemed. But the harvest is not the only reward. There is pure enjoy-
ment in the care of young trees. Each year reveals new phases of
their life stories. Each year challenges us with new problems. As if
they possessed intelligence the trees respond to every change of treat-
ment. There is no dullness in the waiting years before they bear fruit.
Have you ever planned and planted such a little garden orchard?
If not, then try it. Now is a good time to begin. How much of your
land is behind the house? Is there a plot fifty feet square to plant?
Then you have room for a dozen fruit trees, with ample space for
small fruits and vegetables among them.
Choosing the trees. What fruits are you specially fond of? You
will try to get those, of course. Make out your list from the cata-
logue of the nearest reliable nurseryman. This is one of the best
parts of the whole enterprise. There are fine flavored varieties that
you particularly dote upon. Get these if they have been tried and
found hardy in your locality. Let somebody with more ground test
new varieties. First-class trees are a few cents higher in price than
the second class. The latter are inferior, —crooked perhaps, or rough
or undersized. They may outgrow these defects,—and they may not.
To save the difference between the prices of first and second-class trees
on a small order would be very poor economy. You cannot. aftord
to do it. The nurseryman calls first-class all trees that are well-
grown, free from blemishes, and bear the characteristics of their variety.
For example, a Northern Spy should be tall and straight with a long
tap root; but a Greening of the same age should be shorter, with
shallow, spreading roots and angular limbs.
87
The proper age. People often make mistakes about the ages of the
trees they plant. Peach trees should be one year old when set in
their final places. Apples, pears, plums, and cherries should be two,
or better, three years old. The age of a tree is reckoned from the
time that the seedling stock is budded with the desired variety. The
ages given above are standard ones for commercial orchards. A four-
year-old apple tree is worth less than a three-year-old, and a three-
year-old peach tree is not worth settmg out. Many people pay fancy
prices for trees older than the standard ages, expecting them to come
into bearing earlier, but much of their money is wasted.
A sample order. The following list of trees was chosen and set
out on a lot in central New York. The trees occupy a plot about
fifty by sixty feet. In this garden there will be a good variety and
a good succession of fruits from summer to winter when the trees
come into bearing.
Apple. 1 Yellow Transparent . . . Summer $0.25
fe ih (Gamage 5 6 s ¢ = < Jel 25
G: 1 Hubbardson Nonesuch . . Winter 7)
« i Thy Cie) 6 5 5 5 5 leh 25
Pear. 1 Bartlet (Dwarf) . . . . Summer 25
& 1 Seckel a ace Caeereall 25
Peach. 1 Mountain Rose . = = =» summer 20
€ iE bertasees Gant) 2 eeennnemeb rn yaelien 20
cs i! Crawtord’s Late << . = - Late Fall .20
Cherry. 1 Barly Richmond >> =. Summer =] = > Rod
Black shacle eens Summer . so sat)
Plum. i Burbanike 7s °.)) Gus aie te Goes alll eee
we Cys ies 5 5 6 5 o Jel s9 5 5s Se
13 . $3.55
Dwarf trees. These have many advantages over standards. They
occupy less room and are easier to care for in every way. If they
receive good cultivation they produce larger and finer fruits, although
not so many as trees of standard size. Dwarf apple and pear trees
of some of the leading varieties can be procured in America from
nurserymen. Dwarf trees are easy to spray, and the work of pruning
and harvesting is greatly simplified because no ladder is necessary
Planting the trees. You may have your trees sent to you in the
fall or in the early spring. Peach trees are better set out in the
spring, as they do not ripen their wood as early in the fall as many
other fruit trees. Fall planting should be done early enough for the
88
roots to establish themselves before winter sets in. Trees thus planted
get an early growing start m the spring.
“ Heeling in.’ Trees may be heeled in at any time, 7.e., laid
down with their roots in a trench and covered with earth. This
should always be done if the trees arrive from the nursery before the
soil is in good condition, or if the owner is pressed for time.
Distances apart. Wow far apart shall the trees be set? Ordinary
apple trees at least twenty-five feet in the home garden. Thirty-five
or forty feet is the orchard rule. Peaches should stand sixteen feet
apart each way. Dwarf apple or pears may be as close as eight feet.
Often peaches are set between apples. They are shorter-lived and
are gone before the apple trees begin to shade them. To get a dozen
trees on a space fifty by sixty feet you will have to set some of them
near the boundary lines. This is legitimate, for your neighbors will
take enough of the fruit that hangs over the fences to ease your con-
science as to the fertility your trees steal from their soil.
Planting day. It is a critical time, —this day of the planting, when
your stakes are set, the holes dug, and the little trees assigned to their
places for better or for worse. The best way to plant a tree, with
the why of each step is given in another chapter. It need not be
repeated here. Every extra care bestowed on this planting is paid
for by the extra vigor of the tree during its first growig season.
Cutting back. You may not count the tree properly planted until
you have cut back its top. This is really best done betore the plant-
ing. It seems a pity to “sacrifice” any of the top,—it is so thrifty
looking, but heavy top pruning is the price of success in this first
year of the tree’s orchard life. The roots have been severely pruned
in the digging. Unless the top is cut back correspondingly, the maimed
roots will be overtaxed, and the life of the tree be endangered. Three
or four short thick branches should be left at the top, above the
single trunk. They are to be the large limbs.
Feeding the trees. The soil contains much plant food which the
rootlets can find if only the earth remains mellow and moist. They
cannot work their way into dry, hard clods. Trees can take their
food from the soil only when it is dissolved in water. What won-
der that they languish when the soil is cracked and hardened! We
cannot dig down and crumble those hard clods around the roots, but
we can break up those at the surface. Then rains will soak down and
soften the under soil. By keeping the surface soil fine and by raking
it frequently, the evaporation of moisture from below may be checked,
and the roots will then go on feeding without interruption.
89
But there imevitably comes a time when growth is checked because
the food supply runs low. The soil may be rich, but its fertility is not
inexhaustible. If the trees do not do well even when you keep the
soil loose and fine under them, it is probable that they are in need
of plant foods: nitrogen, phosphoric acid or potash.
Commercial fertilizers. Here is a chance to test commercial fer-
tilizers. Nitrogen will start a languishing tree into lusty growth. In
the form of nitrate of soda it gives the quickest results. Phosphoric
acid and potash restore the mineral elements to depleted soils.
Cover crops. A second way is less expensive than buying chemical
fertilizers, but. slower. It is to sow “cover crops” of rye, or clover,
or beans, and to turn them under while yet green. ‘This returns to the
soil much that the plants took from it while growing, and much that they
gathered from the air. The pod-bearing plants, as peas, beans, clover,
and vetch, have the power to gather nitrogen from the air and to store
it away in little swellings called tubercles along their roots as well
as in the parts above ground. When these plants are turned under
and decay, they give their nitrogen to the soil, along with their
other constituents. The cover crop not only enriches the soil but
it also holds it from washing, and improves its physical condition.
Vegetable fibre added to the sand and clay that constitute the soil
enables it to hold moisture like a sponge. Cowpeas and crimson clover
are much lauded as cover crops, especially in the south. They are not
hardy in the northern tier of states,—there rye and other grains are
sown instead. They contribute less of nitrogen but more of phosphoric
acid and potash, the two important mineral plant foods. Rye is par-
ticularly valuable on soddy lands where it is often at first impossible to
get a stand of clover.
Pruning. Each year the tree tries to support too many branches.
Its energies are dissipated. Every winter the tree top should be shaped
and thinned to suit the taste of the owner.
eet ce
3y,
Su. :
DW.gy9.y3DDL > >
.
SHAGBARK HICKORY
Hicoria ovata
Pee we
ee ee ere ae FY
very sweet indeed, but so small that it does not pay for the trouble of
getting it out. The tree is commonest in the Mississippi valley, though
it is found sparingly to the Atlantic coast.
The Pignut, Hicoria glabra, has all the traits of a fine lawn and park
tree, and by any other name might come into the popularity it deserves.
But who, by taking thought, would wish a “ Pignut” tree to be planted
in the midst of his lawn? It seems incongruous to the average person.
We must lay the blame on the early settlers, who named the tree when
they saw their pigs fall upon the nuts with avidity when turned out to
forage in the woods. The botanists might have renamed the tree
the “Smooth Hickory” — glabra meaning smooth—for the twigs and
leaves are usually free from pubes-
cence. The bark is close and gray,
and cut with shallow fissures. The
branches are strong and slender, and
end in delicate drooping twigs. The
winter buds are small and brown.
The nut is borne in a thin four-
ridged husk that opens half-way to
the base. The nutshell is very
thick and hard. To human taste
the kernel is insipid or bitter, but
to the creatures of the woods it is
altogether delectable. Few nuts are
spared to grow except in years of
unusual plenty. The Pignut has a
very extensive range, and exhibits a
marked tendency to vary. Occasion-
ally a tree shows the bark-shedding
peculiarity of the shagbark, and has
smooth leaves of but five leaflets.
Some botanists call this form Hicoria
glabra, var. microcarpa. Others
think it is a distinct species, and
they call it Hicoria microcarpa. It
seems like a hybrid between the
Pignut and the shagbark.
The Bitternut, or Swamp Hick-
ory, Hicoria minima, the most rap-
idly growing tree in the genus,
reaches its finest proportions in
157 Trunk of Bitternut Hickory
swampy land, though it grows into a
goodly tree even on dry sandy soil.
It is one of the handsomest of the
hickories. Its bark is gray and
rough on the trunk, but dark and
smooth on the branches. A distin-
guishing mark of the tree is its
tapering, flat yellow buds. The
specific name, niinima, meaning least
or smallest, refers to the extreme
slenderness of the leaflets, buds, and
twigs of this species when compared
with other hickories. No animal
eats the thin-shelled bitter nut. It
is inclosed in a thin husk, which
is winged along its four unequal
sutures. The Bitternut is widely
distributed, but is most abundant in
the Mississippi valley.
The Pecan, Hicoria Pecan, is the
most important fruit tree among the
hickories. Its nut is a staple article
of commerce. The tree grows in
the southwest, where it is highly
esteemed as a shade and ornamental
tree. It is graceful and slender of
Leaf of Bitternut Hickory habit, and in rich soil often attains
a height of one hundred and sixty
feet. Its wood has little value. Horticulturists are gradually improy-
ing this species, reducing the reddish, astringent lining of the shell,
increasing the size of the nut, and producing “ paper-shell”
varieties. The Pecan grows sparingly as far north as Lowa,
though it scarcely can be called hardy there.
The wood of all our northern hickories is hard, heavy
and extremely tough. It is very slow of growth. It is not
used as an ornamental wood, but where strength and supple-
ness are called for, hickory is found to be exactly the thing.
It has the strength of wrought iron, as tests have clearly
shown. The handles of pitch forks and axes, and parts of nS
many other agricultural implements, are best made of hickory @
C i Opening of Shag-
timber. bark Hickory bud
158
The characteristics of the wood are suggested by
the tough, close bark of hickory trees. The sway of
its twigs, even, express their strength, as the soft
maple’s twigs in their motion confess their weakness.
One needs but to try to break off a hickory twig to
find that even the young fibers are like threads of steel.
The annual supply of shellbark hickory nuts has
heretofore come to market from the wilds. The
demand increases and the supply diminishes as forest
areas are cut. Nurserymen and others interested in
plant-breeding have been earnestly studying methods
of improving and propagating these trees. Several
hybrids have shown marked improvement over parent
sorts. One variety of pignut with a sweet, edible nut
has been obtamed by careful selection, and promises
to improve rapidly. Hickory trees are raised from
Shagbark Hickory bud—
a later stage
seed planted where the tree is to grow, or in nursery
rows from which they are transplanted to their perma-
nent places. Transplanting is very hard to do success-
fully. The cutting off of side roots is a new and
successful method of getting young plants. The roots
are left im place, and the cut end is uncovered. On
this exposed surface a leafy top grows. When it is
well started the whole tree is transplanted.
At present the grafting of hickories is successfully
done only by experts, but as the study of the subject
yroceeds, new and better success is coming. It is only Shagbark nut
2 in husk
a matter of time when nurserymen will offer in their
catalogues hickory nut trees of many varieties, aud orchards of these
trees will be commonly planted and carefully tended. Even now, some
nut orchards are as remunerative to their owners as are apple and peach
orchards.
159
THE ASHES
An ash tree is well worth knowing, though it is not always respon-
sive to friendly overtures. If you would really know a tree, you must
learn to give it brief sympathetic glances as you pass it day by day. You
need not often stop to parley, but without breaking step or losing a word in
conversation you may take notice as
you pass it, and register in your sub-
consciousness the progress the tree is
making. “The last seeds will soon
be shed,” “These leaves have grown
one-half their size since yesterday,”
or “Another day and we shall see
those flowers shedding their pollen.” 7
When the changing phases of the
tree’s life have been observed from
the bleakness of winter through the e
glory of summer, from spring around
to spring again, our acquaintance
comes to have in it elements of a per-
sonal friendship, and it is not will-
ingly given up.
The winter aspect of an ash is
rather forbidding. The tree then
wears a reserved, indifferent air, in
its snug garment of close-fitting bark.
The top seems too heavy for the
slender trunk. There is little liveli-
ness of color, little promise of life to
come, in the warty buds that sit face
Cod te eee =
to face upon the stocky twigs. The
spiny brown fruit stems that bristle
on many trees speak only of things
past.
March comes. Willows and pop-
lars brighten, eagerly believing the
Trunk of White Ash 160
rumors of returning spring. Impet-
uous maples dare all things, and
flag open their blossom clusters.
The ash takes no notice. It seems
to feel in its sluggish veins no stir of
rising sap. Not until spring is well
under way, and the woods are
clothed in green, does this conserva-
tive jom the majority, wake up, and
put forth its leaves and flowers. On
certain trees purple knobs swell out
on the sides of twigs. They are
the staminate flowers. In due season
they mature and shake out a cloud
of yellow dust. On other trees are |
sprays of delicate green pistillate
flowers. They are destined to pro-
duce the seeds. All through the
summer they twinkle and gleam
among the dancing leaflets — these
little green seeds, each flattened and
pointed and feathered like a dart.
Under the broad canopy of an ash in
July we forget that we ever thought
the tree had any shortcomings. As
the summer wanes the green leaves
of ash trees take on sober tones of Leaf of White Ash
lilac which deepen into purple. Or
in gayer mood they may change to showy masses of pale or golden
yellow. Inno case is there in the foliage the least suggestion of red.
This color seems to be tabooed by the whole ash tribe. The leaves fall,
and the brown seed clusters survive them, often hanging late into the
winter, giving up their seeds one by one.
Sometimes the stamens of ash are attacked by insects, which distort
the flowers into gall-like growths, and cause them to remain on the trees,
instead of falling when their duty is done. The tufted leaves conceal
them durmg the summer, but in the autumn these abnormal stamen
clusters are conspicuous on the bare twigs. They are sometimes gathered
and planted on the assumption that they are the seeds of the tree.
Among other legends —and they are many in folk lore— is the story
|
that ash trees have the power to ward off pestilence. This is true, but
161
it is by deep drainage, not by any supernatural charm, that the marvel
is accomplished. The roots of ash are fibrous and thirsty. They go
long distances in search of water which they take up and exhale through
their leaves. Great swamps are
drained by simply allowing these
trees to spread over them.
Ash trees belong to the genus
Fraxinus, and are members of the
Olive family. There are forty species
known. Six of the twelve Ameri-
can species are found east of the
Sie
Rocky Mountains.
The White Ash, Fraxinus Amer-
icand, is one of our large forest trees.
When young it is slim and grace-
ful, but it stiffens and broadens with
added years. It grows in rich, moist
woods from the Atlantic coast to
Minnesota and Texas. Its leaves are
downy when they unfold, becoming
bright and shiny above and _ paler
beneath. The ordinary number of
leaflets is seven, each one on a short
stalk. The winter buds are rusty
yellow, set on greenish gray twigs
that are marked with paler dots.
The keys of the White Ash are borne
in branching clusters. Each seed
has a slender round body one-half as
long as the pointed blade which is
attached at one end of it.
The Black Ash, Fraxinus nigra, is
a lover of the marshes, and is found
Trunk of Black Ash from Newfoundland to Manitoba, and
from Virginia to Arkansas. It is
a handsome slender tree, which does not grow as large as the white
ash. Its blue-black winter buds distinguish it from all its kin. Added
to them, the somber green of its foliage and the dark hues of its
bark and wood have strengthened the claims of this tree to bear the
name ‘* Black Ash.” The leaflets, all but the terminal ones, are without
stalks. The main leaf stalk is hairy beneath. The samara is oblong, not
162
a
cea
{
BLACK ASH
Fraxinus nigra
slender, its broad notched wing attached all around the body of
the seed.
The Red Ash, Fravinus Pennsylvanica, is a large timber tree
that grows with the white ash throughout its wide range. It
bears the slenderest, longest key of them all. The bark of this
tree is reddish on the branches. The distinguishing mark of the
ei Ash Red Ash is the velvety coat-
ey
ing of leaves and twigs, a
sure guide to the observer in winter
or summer.
The Green Ash, Fraxinus Penn-
sylvanica, var. lanceolata, is so called
from the bright green color of its
foliage, which is smooth, in contrast
with that of the red ash, to which it
is closely related. As far west as
Utah this tree flourishes, enduring
drought as no other of the genus can
do. Its luxuriant fohage makes it
a favorite shade tree, particularly in
the West.
The Blue Ash, Fraxinus quad-
rangulata, is a graceful tree of ample
proportions that grows sparingly in
the Mississippi valley. Its flowers,
contrary to the rule among ashes, are
perfect, having both stamens and
pistils. The broad samaras are
much like those of the black ash.
The foliage is smooth and yellowish Leaf of Black Ash
green. The bark contains a sub-
stance which gives a blue tinge to water. This peculiarity has given the
tree its name. The distinguishing mark of the Blue Ash is its four-
angled, often winged, twigs.
The wood of ash trees is tough, straight grained, and springy. It is
especially desirable for the making of frames for farm implements and
other machinery. It takes a good polish, and is much used in the manu-
facture of furniture. Black ash lumber parts readily into its annual lay-
ers, and is used for all kinds of splint basket work, and various other
articles made by coopers. Ash trees do not form pure forests, but grow
scattered among other trees.
163
THE
BIRCHES, HORNBEAM, AND IRON-
WooD
“ Tatterdemalion birches!”
This exclamatory phrase by Mrs. Anna Botsford Comstock gives the
clue to the character of these most interesting trees. Their threadbare,
ragged apparel proclaims the members of this family, whether we meet
Winter twig
of birch
pistillate
them in the far north or below the Tropic of Cancer. Shock-
ingly untidy are many of them, if we judge them by ordinary
tree standards. But birches are far from ordinary. From the
vagabond tree that skulks in the swamps to the stately con-
ventional tree in the park they carry themselves with an air
so graceful, so nonchalant that we find in them charms that are
altogether irresistible. Whether their end be conversion into
the ignoble shoe peg, or into furniture that shall pass for
mahogany, the birches live their lives with cheerfulness. The
beauty and individuality of each tree, young or old, is its own
sufficient excuse for beng.
The genus Betula has thirty-five species, widely distributed
over the northern hemisphere. As far north as seventy degrees
the birches are still trees in Europe, and as shrubs they reach
four degrees higher latitude. Of the nme American species of
birch six occur east of the Rocky Mountains. They are gener-
ally quick-growing, short-lived trees, a few having considerable
timber value. As a rule, the trunks of birches form a central
shaft from which the branches rise, and end in supple, drooping
twigs. The foliage is light and graceful, the simple leaves
being thin and dainty. Horizontal lines called Jlenticels are
conspicuous on the bark. They are organs of respiration.
The flowers of the birch are of two sorts, both borne on the
same tree. The stamimate catkins are terminal and _ lateral.
and hang in plain view on the bare twigs all winter. The
catkins are lateral, and are protected by bud scales. They are
formed in autumn, but do not elongate until spring. Two or three ovaries
are borne on each scale of the eatkin, which becomes a small cone. The
fruit is a flat heart-shaped samara, winged on the edge like the elm fruit.
164
The White Birch, Betula populifolia, has a twist in the stem of its little
pointed leaf, which sets the tree top all of a tremble whenever the lightest
breeze comes by. For this reason the name “ Poplar-leaved Birch” is
given it. Its chalky, thin outer bark is dingy white, and so “ Gray
Birch” is another of its names. In New England it is
often called “Oldfield Birch,’ because it grows in fields
abandoned by the farmer. The bark of this tree has a
frayed-out look, but does not peel horizontally. The dis-
tinguishing marks are the dark furrowed base of the trunk
from which the delicate, white outer layer is entirely gone,
and the rough, dark, triangular patches, one under each
branch, which grow with the tree’s growth, even after the
branch is dead and gone. In the northeastern states the
White Birch is met with along streams and highways,
always where the soil is unproductive. It is the gypsy of
the birch family, stunted by generations of scanty living,
but lithe and graceful, always flaunting its tawdry ribbons
among the somber evergreens, and the staid and conven- A birch cone
tional broad-leaved trees.
“ Like a fair lady in a far country” is the elegant European White
Birch, Betula alba, varieties of which stand with high-bred poise, the
central figure on many a lawn. In supple grace, in symmetry and in
daintiness of twig and leaf it is unsurpassed among ornamental trees.
In its native country it grows wild as far as the North Cape. The
numerous varieties in cultivation may be grouped under two sub-species:
pubescens, embracing varieties with downy leaves; and pendula, including
varieties with drooping branches. If one wishes to plant a purple-leaved
weeping birch, let him order Betula alba pendula atropurpurea; or write
laciniata instead of atropurpurea if he prefers the
dainty cut-leaved weeping birch. One cultivated
variety of this species has the spiry habit and form
of the Lombardy poplar.
The Canoe or Paper Birch, Betula papyrifera, is a
majestic forest tree when full grown. Its distinguish-
ing characteristic is the habit of shedding its tough
bark in curling horizontal plates, thus revealing layers of orange yellow
under the white exterior. This birch bark made the canoes and wig-
wams of the northern Indians, and lends itself still to many uses both
practical and esthetic, notably letter-writing. A small strip of bark
will furnish an incredible number of thin sheets. Summer tourists often
Scale and winged seed
of a birch
girdle the trunks for souvenir letter paper. Unfortunately the process is
165
generally fatal to the tree. The birches in our lawns are often defaced
and ruined by thoughtless persons. The white birch is very sensitive to
girdling. It takes only a few minutes with a pen knife to destroy the
beauty of a fine birch tree. Yet such a specimen may have been the
growth of twenty or thirty years,
and the joy of passers by all that
time. The leaves of the Canoe
Birch much resemble those of the
American white birch, but the bark
easily identifies each tree. The
Canoe Birch ranges widely through
the northern states and Canada.
The Sweet Birch, Betula lenta, is
ealled Black Birch and Cherry Birch,
because its bark is dark colored, and
looks much like that of cultivated
cherry trees. The name “Sweet
Birch” calls attention to the pleas-
ant, aromatic flavor of its leaves,
twigs and inner bark. The most
distinctive characteristic of the bark
of this birch is its habit of checking
and splitting off in thick plates, but
never curling back and shedding in
horizontal strips. The tree rarely
grows above medium height. It
ranges from Nova Scotia to Florida,
and west to Minnesota and Kansas.
Its wood when polished is a close
imitation of mahogany, and is much
used in the manufacture of the
cheaper grades of furniture.
The Yellow Birch, Betula lutea, is
closely allied to the preceding species.
Canoe Birch trunks However, its coarse deep cleft bark
easily sets it apart from all its kin.
It has a characteristic way of cracking at any angle and curling out its
thick edges. The thin outer bark is yellowish or gray, and peels off in filmy
layers, as often vertically as horizontally. The name “Gray Birch”
is often applied to this tree because of the lusterless gray which shows
under the shiny golden epidermis. The leaves and catkins are rather
166
-
Te ok
AMERICAN WHITE BIRCH
Betula populifolia
Da ie
coarser than those of the cherry birch, and the aromatic taste in the bark
and twigs is much less pronounced. The tree grows to medium height
and ranges from Newfoundland to Minnesota and Tennessee.
The Red or River Birch, Betula nigra, is a large tree which loves to
stand knee-deep in water. It frequents the marshy shores of lakes and
streams. In the sogey bayou country of the lower Mississippi it finds a
favorable environment, and there attains its greatest size. The sturdy
trunk tends to break soon into slender ascending arms, which are clothed
to their extremities with loose shaggy friges. From the membranous
flakes that peel from the twigs to the coarse furrows of the lower trunk
the bark of the tree is red—clear bright red above, dark brownish red
below. The tree is beautiful, winter or summer. No
other birch shows such rich coloring. When the foliage
is gone, the tree is adorned rather than defaced by the
flying tatters of bark which it wears all winter.
There are two little trees in the same family with
the birches which grow here and there in the shadows
of the larger forest trees. Each is the only child of
its genus native to this country, although a European
species of each has been imtroduced. The first one
is the Hornbeam, Carpinus Caroliniana, called also the
Blue or Water Beech. It rarely grows above twenty-
five feet high, and adapts its shape to its environment.
I have seen it flat-topped because it grew under an
oak, and oval in outlme when growmg in an open
field. In winter the delicate brown twigs taper out Fruit cluster of
into the threadlike stems of the fruit clusters. The eee
bark of the trunk and limbs is hard and very smooth. Swollen lines
course irregularly up the trunk and out into the limbs. They look
like veins on the arms of an athlete.
Through the summer the dark foliage is lightened by the feathery
racemes of fruit. The nutlets are in pairs, and each one is provided with
a pale green halberd-shaped wing. Long after the leaves have fallen,
the fruit clusters still remain, each seed being anchored by a tough
thread. When it does get free the little nut has a fine long sail through
the air on its russet shield before it settles to earth. The wood of
Hornbeam is very slow of growth, and is exceptionally tough and hard.
An early writer says with feeling: “The Horne bound tree is a tough
kind of Wood that requires so much paines in the riving as is almost
incredible, being the best to make bolles and dishes, not being subject to
167
cracke and leake.” It was used for making rake teeth and the handles of
farm tools. In Europe the wood was early used for making the “ horn
beams’ of ox yokes, and by age and use it came to look like horn itself.
The names, Water, and Blue Beech, call attention to the blue gray
bark and the leaves which look like those of the beech, and to the
preference the tree shows for moist, deep soil.
The second of the little trees is the Hop Hornbeam or Ironwood,
Ostrya Virginiana. ts fruit is borne in a hop-like cluster, each shiny
seed enveloped in an inflated bag. These pale green fruits, hanging
among the dark leaves, fairly illuminate the tree where it stands in the
deep shadow, and give a feeling of refreshing coolness to one who comes
upon it suddenly out of the glare of an August day.
The Hop Hornbeam tree often twists in growing, and the bark shows
the spiral windings of the gram. Of all the rough-barked trees it has
the finest-textured bark. The quality of its wood is indicated by its
two popular names. It is also called Leverwood. He was a fortunate
farmer in pioneer days who had a few Ironwoods in his wood lot. They
were invaluable for making levers, sled stakes, rake teeth, and other
like implements. . It required great skill and infinite patience to work
the wood. but once made, the tools, if kept dry. lasted indefinitely.
Leaves of Canoe Birch
168
THE ELMS
There are four native species of the genus Ulmus in the eastern half
of the United States. They are valuable lumber and shade trees. All
have rough, furrowed bark, but they vary in size and shape. They have
one-sided leaves, which are ovate, straight-ribbed, saw-toothed, and borne
in two-ranked fashion on the twigs.
The flowers are small, and appear
before the leaves in clusters from
side buds. Each flower has a calyx
with scalloped edges, a fringe of
four to nine stamens hanging far
out, and a central ovary. The seed
is flat, and entirely surrounded by a
thin papery wing. It ripens and
falls in May before the leaves are
fully open.
The Wahoo or Winged Elm,
Ulmus alata, is a small tree which
grows from Virginia southward, and
west to Arkansas and Texas. Its
leaves are the smallest among the
elms. Its seeds are long and have
flaring tips. The distinguishing
marks of this tree are the corky,
winged ridges on its twigs and
branches.
The Cork Elm, U/mus racemosa,
is a large, coarse tree with rough,
corky ridges on most of the branches.
Its buds, twigs and fruits are hairy.
The flowers are borne in racemes.
The fruits are oval, and have in-
curving tips. This tree grows
from Quebee west to Minnesota
and Nebraska, and south as far as
169 Trunk of American Elm
Tennessee. It is also known as Cliff Elm, Rock Elm, and Swamp Ehn.
Its wood is heavy, and brownish red in color.
The Slippery Elm, U/imus fulva, is also called Red Elm and Moose Elm,
because its wood is red, and moose are fond of browsing its young
shoots. The bark is rough, gray and fragrant. The leaves are large,
harsh and doubly serrate. The winter buds have rusty hairs. The tree
is best known by its sweet mucilaginous inner bark, which is much
sought by the small boy in spring. The Slippery Elm has a wayward
habit of growth. It has generally an unsymmetrical form when growing
where it has plenty of room. There seems to be no co-ordinating influ-
ence at work to shape the head. Each branch starts out on its own
account. The tree becomes more shapely when close tree neighbors,
by crowding it, take a hand in its bringing up. The Slippery Elm is very
generally distributed as far west as the Dakotas and Texas.
Our common Elm, known also as American,
, White, and Water Elm, U/mus Americana, excels
Piet all other species in height and beauty. The
vate
largest specimens reach one hundred and twenty
feet, with a trunk diameter of eleven feet. The
bark of this tree is gray and flaky. The twigs
are round and smooth and brown. The branches
are smooth, and the little twigs turn back imstead
of forward along the sides of the terminal shoots.
The fat brown buds are set a little askew above
the leaf scars which alternate along the sides of
the twigs. The plumpest of these buds open in
early spring, and the leafless twigs are decked with delicate reddish green
Opening shoot of Slippery
Elm
blossoms, which speedily change to pale green pendants. These are the
seeds. They ripen and fall while the leafy shoots are unfolding from the
slenderer buds. The leaves are alternate, two-ranked, and have a fashion
of arranging themselves so as to present almost a continuous leat area to
the sun. Leaves of varying sizes fill in every little corner to which the
sunlight comes. This “leaf mosaic” is not confined to the elms. It
may be seen in almost any broad-leaved tree or shrub. It is especially
noticeable on the south edge of a dense wood.
There are several distinct types of our common Elm. (1) The * vase
form.” In this the branches spread gradually at first, but at a consid-
erable height sweep out boldly, forming a broad and flattish head. The
tips of the branches droop more or less. This is the commonest and
most beautiful form, and is best realized by old trees which have had
plenty of room. (2) The “plume form.” In this the two or three
170
main limbs rise to a great height betore branching, and then break into
afeathery spray. (3) The “oak tree form.” Here is a horizontal habit
of branching. (4) The “ weeping willow form.” This has a short trunk,
from which the branches curve rapidly outwards until they end in long,
“dripping” branchlets. (5) The “ feathered elm.” This is marked by a
fringe of short twigs which outline the trunk and limbs. This feathering
is caused by the development of latent buds. It may occur in any of the
previous types, but is most noticeable in the plumy els.
The American Elm has a wide range. It is hardy and cheerful among
new surroundings. It reflects the
indomitable spirit of the pioneer
whom it accompanied in his going
from the eastern states into the
untried treeless territories of the
west. With him, the tree seized
the land and made it yield a
living. It has grown up with the
country. People go back * down
east,’ and marvel at the size of
the elms there compared with
those in the west. Give them a
century more to grow, and there
will be patriarchal elms in the
Missouri valley as there are now
in the valleys of the Connecticut
and the Merrimac.
The English Elm, U/imus cam-
pestris, is a large and handsome
tree, which usually forms a pyra-
Twig of American Elm shedding ripe seeds
midal or oblong head. It is often
planted in parks with the American elm, and the two trees present
marked contrasts. The English tree looks stocky; the American, airily
eraceful. One stands heavily “upon its heels”; the other on tiptoe. One
has a compact crown; the other a loose, open one. In October the English
Elms on Boston Common are still bright and green, while their American
cousins are in “the sere and yellow leat.”
The Scotch or Wych Ehn, Ulmus montana, is planted freely in our
parks and private grounds. It is a medium-sized tree of rather more
Strict habit of growth than the American elm. Before the leaves open
the tree often looks bright green from a distance. This appearance is due
to the winged seeds, which are exceptionally large. and are crowded upon
171
the twigs in great rosettes. This tree has many horticultural varieties.
One of them is the Camperdown Elm, a weeping form, which arches its
limbs downward on all sides, formme when full grown a natural arbor.
American Elm leaves
It is named in honor of the Earl
of Camperdown who admired the
variety, and planted it extensively
on his English estates.
Centuries of cultivation have
developed a great number of horti-
cultural varieties of each of the old
world species of elms. The Amer-
ican elm has already a few named
varieties. The native species have
shown tendencies to vary, and will
doubtless yield their full quota of
varieties, beautiful and grotesque, as
they come more under the observa-
tion and care of nurserymen.
The Hackberry, or Sugarberry,
Celtis occidentalis, which is closely
allied to the elms, is a tree of medium
or small size. The absence of ter-
minal buds mduces a forking habit
which makes the branches gnarled
and crooked. The pith of young
branches is white and chambered, a
character that at once distinguishes
the tree from the elms, which it
resembles in leaf and bud. The
Hackberry flowers are borne singly
in the axils of the leaves. The fruit
is a solitary one-seeded berry, very
sweet, and dark purple in color. It
dries and hangs on the tree all
winter, to the great satisfaction of
birds. The hackberry loves the river banks and moist, deep woods.
It ranges from Maine to Minnesota and southward.
Another species, Celtis Mississippiensis, a small tree with entire and
very tapering thin leaves and small fruit, is found from Illinois south.
The wood of this species is paler and not so coarse-grained as is that of
the common hackberry.
172
AMERICAN ELM
Ulmus Americana
THE ELMS OF NEW ENGLAND
I wish every one could visit New England. It is a necessary part of
the education of an American. To the historical student each rood of land
is holy ground. I wish you all could see the little villages in that
goodly country, each with its wide street shaded by majestic, overarch-
ing elms and buttonwoods. To the people who see them year after year
these trees may become commonplace. But to the prairie-born, they
are simply overwhelming when first seen, and the wonder of them
deepens as time goes on.
Especially impressive to me was the little village whose main street
forms the frontispiece of this volume. It is hardly what you would eall a
populous village. There is just this one long avenue, with a few little
feints at cross streets; no railroad, no factory, no noise, no bustle—just
the quiet industries of a village whose commerce is with the thrifty farmer
folk round about. It is not a village you could duplicate in the west, for
the houses are century old, solidly built, and mostly innocent of paint.
There are lilacs, purple and white, leaning up against the houses, and
quaint, old-fashioned gardens shut in behind low picket fences.
The glory of the old place is its double row of superb American
elms, which arch above the long street, intermingling their tops, and mak-
ing of it a shadowy aisle with vaulted arches, like some vast cathedral.
Long ago the villagers dug little trees im the neighboring woods and
lined the road on both sides with them. Then they let them alone!
Violets and ferns came with them from the woods, and spread undis-
turbed in their new environment. To-day they may still be seen among
the gnarled roots of the patriarchal trees, springing out here and there as
they have been doing for a hundred years. Like the trees, the houses
that front upon this street have a distmguished air. They, too, are old,
but they wear their years with gracious dignity. Among the New Eng-
land villagers one finds a pride that is not vanity, and a self-respect that
vaunteth not itself. Could the most heedless person, going in and out
from day to day under those venerable trees, miss the influence of those
mighty arms spread above as if in perpetual benediction ?
The elms of New England are passing. Many have been patriarchs
through three generations of men. For them perhaps it is time to be
old! Drought, diseases, and insect ravages, singly and together, have
attacked the trees in late years. Let us hope that New England people
will plant more freely, and will succeed in controllmge the enemies of the
elm, that their venerable trees may be spared until they are replaced
by worthy successors.
173
THE BEECH
*T can always tell when I am
coming to a piece of beech woods
just by the smell of the trees,” said
the man who loves to explore new
regions on his bicycle.
“How do they smell?” I asked.
“Oh, as the beech nuts taste, I
guess, When you get the first ones in
October.”
The beech commends itself to us
through all of our five senses. To
the sight first, for it is a noble tree,
with ample round dome, and broad,
horizontal spread when it stands
apart from other trees; lofty and
slender when crowded in forests.
A lusty young beech is the most
genteel-looking, the best groomed of
all the trees in the winter woods.
There is a quiet elegance of color
and texture in the smooth, close-knit
gray bark that covers the trunk.
No less elegant are the polished
dark branches, and the slender
twigs, and the brown satiny ‘* bird’s-
claw” buds. There is an exquisite-
ness in the weave and the fit of its
garments throughout that is a model
for trees and people. I suspect the
Trunk of a Beech tree beech tree of being fastidious as to
its roots as well.
When the buds swell in April, and the tender green tips of the
leaves appear, set off by the rich brown of the lengthening bud scales, a
new and beautiful phase of the tree’s life is revealed. The little leaves
174
are plaited like palm leaves, the parallel veins being crowded close to
one another on the lower side. A comb of silky hairs is borne on each
fold above, and on each rib below. These combs overlap each other,
giving the unfolding leaves a silvery
look, and furnishing them protection
from cold and heat until the blades
have spread and become acclimated.
After a few hours the danger point
is passed, the leaf walls thicken, the
protective hairs begin to shrivel
away, and the full grown leaves
assume their duties as foliage.
With the opening leaves the
beech hangs out on flexible stems
its head-like clusters of stamens.
They rise from the bases of the new
shoots. In the axils of the leaves
the pistillate flowers appear erect in
twos on the ends of short stems.
Each flower is mm a scaly cup.
Through the long summer there
is no tree more beautifully clad than
the beech. The leaves are thin and
soft as silk, and throughout the
season exceptionally free from
blemishes made by insects or by
fungi. In the fall the four-valved
prickly bur opens early to
release the two triangular
leaves until the followme spring.
The beech nut is small, thin-shelled, and very sweet.
Beech leaves —‘“ thin and soft as silk”
nuts that lie mside. But the beech gives up its folage with
vreater reluctance. The leaves turn to a clear vellow, and cling
to the twigs long after all others but the oak leaves have fallen.
Young beech trees in sheltered situations generally retain their
Staminate
flower cluster
a high nutritive value. European beech nuts have been used
from the dawn of history as human food; the English named
them ‘ buckmast,” because deer eat them. Exceptionally delicate
is the flavor of pork when the swine are fattened by turning
them out to forage in beech woods. The ancients loved the beech
and extolled it im song and story. Ll luck. they believed, would
175
overtake the man who used its wood as fuel. The tree
was to the old Greeks the symbol of prosperity.
Beech wood is hard and heavy, straight-grained,
and close of texture. In contact with the soil it is
not durable. Furniture, coopers’ wares, and household
utensils are made of it. Wooden bowls made of
beech never leak. Pure forests of beech are common
in Europe and in America. It is the important hard
wood of Germany. The seeds are vigcrous, the sap-
lings strong and shade-enduring. It is easy to see that
a colony soon springs up about a single tree, and that a
few trees scattered through the woods often, in a few years, make con-
quest of the surrounding territory. A mixed forest may gradually
become a tract of beech woods.
Fruit-bearing
twig of Beech
The genus Fagus belongs to the Cupuliferee, the cup-bearers, and is
related to the chestnut and the oak. The cup it bears is the prickly
husk in which the two nuts are borne.
The common Beech, Fagus Americana, is our one native species. It
ranges all over the eastern half of the continent, its western limit being
Wisconsin and Texas.
The European Beech, Fagus sylvatica, is much planted in parks in
this country. Its head is more oval than our native tree and its bark
is darker gray. Its leaf is glossy and dark green above, paler beneath,
and is smaller than the leaf of the American species. There are in
cultivation many ornamental varieties which have been derived from
the European Beech. The Purple or Copper Beech has glossy dark red
leaves. A handsome form of it is the Weeping Purple Beech. Another
variety has its leaves deeply cleft; another is a contorted and dwarfed
form, grotesque rather than beautiful.
The roots of the beech have no power to feed the tree. This pecu-
liarity is not exclusively confined to this tree. The oaks, the locusts,
and many of the conifers share it. The gathering of food from the
soil is done by the filaments of a colorless fungus whose delicate meshes
form a web over each root tip of the tree. This fungus gathers food
from the porous soil about the roots. The fungus has no green color-
ing matter, and it never sees the sun; hence it is unable to make
starch, and would die if dependent upon its own exertions for food.
A treaty of reciprocity exists between the tree and the fungus. The
latter gathers plant food from the soil, and transmits it to the roots
of the tree. It mounts as crude sap to the leaves, when sunlight,
acting upon the green leaves, converts raw food-stuffs into starchy
176
AMERICAN BEECH
Fagus Americana
compounds.
black - -
crippled - -
downy -
Lombardy -
necklace-bearing
silver-leaved -
value of wood
white = -
Poplars - -
Populus alba -
balsamifera -
balsamifera var. candicans
deltoidea
dilatata - -
grandidentata
heterophylla -
monilifera -
nigra - :
tremuloides -
Potash - =
Preparation for winter -
Prickles 2 -
Propolis -
Protoplasm, freezing
Pruning, annual
man’s - -
nature’s -
principles -
universal rule
Pruning-book, Bailey
Quercitron -
Quercus acuminata
alba - -
coccinea - -
imbricaria
macrocarpa -
Marilandica
minor - -
palustris
Phellos -
platanoides -
prinoides -
Prinus
pumila - -
rubra
velutina -
Virginiana -
Rays, pith = - - -
Redbud - - -
Reproduction by cuttings -
Reserves, forest - -
Resin - - -
“Reversion to type” = -
Ring, cambium - -
Rings, yearly - -
Robinia hispida — - -
Pseudacacia -
viscosa - - -
Root and top, interaction
Roots, annual growth =
breathing - -
choking - - -
crowding - -
drowning - -
pruning - -
smothering - -
thirst - -
Rosin - - -
Rule, orchardist’s E
Rust - > - -
Rye - - -
Salix alba - - -
amygdaloides =
Babylonica - -
discolor - -
fluviatilis - -
fragilis - -
glancophylla — - -
lucida - -
nigra - - -
sericea - -
viminalis - -
vitellina - -
Salisburia adiantifolia — -
San José scale - =
Sap, loss - - -
Savin - - =
Saw fly, beggar - =
gall on willow -
willow, life history -
Seale insects - -
School grounds - -
Scions, collecting -
cutting - - -
packing - .
Seedling - = =
Seedlings, growth -
Seed trees” - - -
Seeds, distribution -
flight -
modes of distribution
Selection, natural - -
Shade trees, insects affecting
200
- 101
77
8-62-124-163
179
- 178
179
- 100
62
- 58
58
- 74
58
- 49
1l7
ee ae
Shade trees, pruning
spraying -
Shaving, pine -
Shelf fungi -
Shoots, lengthening
Sleep of the trees -
Soap, solutions -
Soil, depletion -
earth worms in -
regeneration
‘surface - -
virgin -
Specialization -
Spines, origin -
Splinter, oak =
Spores” - -
Spray, proper time -
Spray pump, evolution -
Spraying, development
importance -
information -
literature -
origin - -
park trees) -
principles -
success in -
Spring, mystery of
Spruce, black -
Norway - -
red - -
“skunk” - -
white -
Squirrels - -
“Standards” =
Starch, making =
Stomates -
Stovewood studies -
“Strains” in varieties
Struggle for existence
Succession, fruit
Suckers - :
Sugarberry -
Sugar bush - -
Sumac, staghorn
Surgery, corrective -
Survival of fittest
Symbiosis
Sycamore =
Tamarack - -
Tar - -
Taxodium distichum
Tacus minor
Thorns, origin -
and prickles -
Thuja occidentalis
Tilia Americana
- - 118
- 113
- - 113
- 111
- = hit
- 119
- = dlital
- 111
- - 18
- 111
- = “ahi
- 48
- - 185
- 186
- - 185
- 186
- - 186
- 14
100
- 46-61
- - 57
- 18
- - 102
6-9-15-16-36-125-182
- 88
1
1
B
“TN wake
a9 ON oO
. 16-17-36
- 61-177
- 11-12-14-29
= 188
- - 184
- 188
= - 190
- 25
- 24-180
- 189
- - 138
i
201
Tilia Europea
heterophylla
pubescens -
Tillage - -
Tissues, healing — -
Top-working = -
Tracheids
Training, espalier
Transpiration -
Transplanting -
expert - -
from wild -
rules - -
Tree, planting -
stored food
thriftiness — -
yearly growth
Trees as “hosts”
early-blooming habit
age limit
autograph -
bacterial diseases
bark-bound
breathing — -
choosing - -
crippled -
dependence -
distance apart
enemies - -
erect habit -
feeding -
gigantic -
growing season -
heeling-in -
hollow
infirmities -
late-blooming habit
lengthening -
love for -
making over -
planting -
pruning
seed
showy
signatures -
sleep - -
specimen -
structure
top-working -
training
trimming Ss
waking
weeping -
Trunk, growth
Tsuga Canadensis
Caroliniana
Tubercles of pod-bearers
- 63-64
186
186
90
Turpentine
Tussock-moths
Twig, age
Twigs, battle among
double growth
Ulmus alata
Americana
campestris
Sulva -
montana
TACECMOSA
Unsightly objects, screening
Variety, changing
Virgilia
Walks - =
Walnut, black -
English -
Japanese - -
Persian -
Walnuts and hickories
chambered pith
drawbacks
hybrids
propagation -
Watersprouts
Whip-graft
Why trees die
trees grow erect -
Willow, black
broad-leayed
crack -
glaucous -
Kilmarnock -
peach-leaved
propagation -
osier -
purple -
sandbar - -
seeds -
shining
silky -
white - -
winter buds
weeping - -
Wisconsin weeping -
Willows, adaptability
and poplars -
arctic
hybrids
little -
pollarding -
species - -
Winds, effect on trees
Winter buds, contents
protection
Witch hazel -
charm -
in home grounds
seed distribution
yearly round
Witches’ brooms
Wood, ash_ -
average growth
beech - -
cross-grained
formation -
green -
hickory - -
hornbeam -
ironwood -
oak - -
pine - -
poplar -
rings - -
rotten
sound
spring
summer - .
Woodlands, our dependence upon
Wood lot, care =
cost -
farmer's -
products
seeding
Woods, porous
non-porous
special kinds
Wounds, healing -
Yellow-wood :
Yew, American =
European -
Trailing
202
190
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UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO
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