In All the Wrong Places…
If you know, you know.
To cheer myself up, I’m going to do a photo dump of my plant children. There are a couple of surprises this spring.
©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved.
Wookin’ Pa Nub
Tag: I love trees
William in Spring
I wrote about William last fall. He has been doing his thing all winter, and he withstood a tornado. Although he did shed a few limbs, he seems unscathed overall.
This week William has decided to participate in the pollination of the entire neighborhood. The winds are a bit gusty, so William is trying to populate everything, basically. My next-door neighbor asked me today what kind of tree he is. I could tell she was annoyed by all of his spring activities – i.e. dropping seed pods. I told her he is a Willow Oak and many years ago, my mother thought her beloved Birch trees were dropping these pods, so she had them all cut down. It turns out, William was dropping the pods. My mother was upset about that for many years. She didn’t like William. William is a big boy, it would take a crane and many thousands of dollars to remove him. So William stays, and the bigger he gets, the more seeds drop. Everywhere. You can’t go outside without getting rained on by seed pods these days. They clog rain gutters, they form piles of tumbleweed looking things, and they get under your wiper blades. I think birds use them for their nests, though. But they can’t take a bath in the birdbath because it’s filled with William’s pods.
I was out front fussing with the clematis this morning when two (other) neighbors walked past and talked amongst themselves about these pods being everywhere. I didn’t say a word, except a good morning when the greeting was offered to me. I kept my eyes down and focused on my task. When I was done, I walked in my house and shook my hair. Twelve seed pods fell out. Thanks, William.
Oh – one more thing: for the past several years, there has been a toad living in my backyard. When I had all the English ivy eradicated last fall, I was worried that the toad might have been adversely affected. I am happy to report that Toady McToaderson is back and apparently in fine health. Today is the first day I have heard him singing his dulcet sounds to the lady toads. Welcome back, Toady.
©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved
ER, Jr. And His Buds
You met William last fall.
Now meet ERJ. First I should tell you about ER. ER was my beloved first Eastern Redbud. Eastern Redbuds are my favorite tree because the flowers emerge from the bark. They come in shades of purple and pink, and also white. They bloom in mid April. They are a native species to the United States, and if you pay attention, you’ll see them everywhere. 
ER was just a wee babe in 2013-ish, when he arrived to my yard. I estimate he was about four years old, because he was flowering, and it takes about four years for the tree to become old enough to flower. ER was planted out front for all to see. Each spring I would wait for the buds to appear, then the flowers to emerge, followed shortly – or simultaneously if the weather is especially warm – by the heart-shaped leaves.
ER did well for a few years, but then he took a turn for the worse. He wasn’t very old, but he started to develop problems in his bark. His location in the yard was facing southeast, and he didn’t have much protection from southern storms and brutal Nor’easters. It turns out Eastern Redbuds are a little bit of a delicate tree and probably should have more shelter than was provided to ER. ER suffered mortal wounds shortly after his diagnosis and was cut down. I was devastated to lose this tree, but when I noticed the tree was sick, I gathered the pods that formed on the tree, which happens in autumn. Inside the pods are little seeds that disperse as the pods fall on the ground. These pods contain many seeds and there are many, many pods. When the pod breaks open, the seeds are naturally sown, and if the conditions are right, a new tree forms. This is why you’ll see groups of Eastern Redbuds growing in areas where there is not much development and trees can be left to be, well, trees.
Back to when I was gathering the pods. I read up on how to gather the pods, prepare the seeds and sow them. I had little pots with soil, and after I prepared the seeds by scraping off the outer hard layer and doing something with hot water (I can’t remember right now), I planted them. I covered them with plastic wrap and put them in a sunny window. I waited.
And waited.
I kept waiting.
And nothing happened.
It turns out it is difficult to cultivate Eastern Redbuds. I didn’t get any trees from my attempts. ER was cut down and I assumed that in a few years I would buy another tree and plant it elsewhere, where it was safer.
In late spring of 2020, there were some weeds growing in the front flower bed and grass was growing where ER used to be. One day, I happened to be looking around in the weeds and grass and noticed a tiny heart-shaped plant. I immediately pulled all the grass away from this little guy and studied it further. Sure enough, it was an Eastern Redbud baby. Excited, I went in the house to gather supplies so that I could MacGyver a little cage for the baby. While I was doing that, I noticed another one very close to the first baby. I prepared a little nursery for that one as well. And then I decided I’d better check the whole yard even though the pods don’t disperse that far. To my surprise, there was a larger baby very close to the porch, which is about 10 to 12 feet away from where the original tree had been. This was the largest tree out of the three I found. I prepared the nurseries for all of them and tried to mark them very well so the landscaper wouldn’t weed-whack them. Unfortunately, what I was trying to protect from happening did happen – the baby near the porch got weed-whacked. I was devastated. Did he not see the entire contraption around the tree? The pink tape? Nothing?! With hands on hips, I stomped immediately over to the departing landscaping guy and told him what he did to my tree. This was still Covid lockdown time, and one of the positive distractions I had during this time was this baby tree. He was apologetic, but I was still upset. My beloved ER had come back in the form of ER Junior, II and III. And now the largest of them gets weed-whacked. Fast-forward a couple months. I have finally calmed down, and they’re all still growing well – although one of them was missing a limb.
A few months later, the sewer line collapsed. None of the trees were affected, thank goodness, but the ground had to be dug up to replace the sewer line and once that happened, rain water did not drain properly and pooled in the front yard.
In the spring of 2021, I needed to have the front yard graded due to the water pooling issue. I had to move two of the babies in order to save their lives. My electrician was recruited for the job. He arrived in the pouring rain, and I stood beside him with an umbrella, as foreman of the project, showing him each tree and telling him where to plant them in the backyard. After much mud, II and III were successfully moved. ERJ was not in danger, so I left him where he was.
The yard was graded and landscaped. ERJ could be seen properly, and it was obvious that he had been naturally “planted” (I had nothing to do with it) in a perfect spot. Not too close to the house, but not so far away that he would be in danger from the elements.
In 2022, we had a bout of very hot weather with no rain and ERJ started to lose his leaves. I watered him every day, but still the leaves fell off. I thought the tree was dying, but I watched him when he went dormant in the winter. I pushed on his branches to see if they would snap and they didn’t. That means the tree is not dead. In the spring of 2023, he started to grow leaves and I knew that he was OK, though he didn’t have any buds formed on his bark. Recall from above it takes years for Redbuds to mature enough to form the buds. ERJ grew very tall last year. I encouraged him by talking to him and letting him know that he was a very tall young man and I appreciated his heart-shaped leaves that were very healthy. I pruned the tree and shooed away birds who were too fat to perch on his skinny branches. I wondered if ERJ would develop buds for the spring of 2024. I kept checking him all winter, and I couldn’t tell, but I thought maybe…
By March, I could see little nubs growing from the bark. I know what leaves look like when they are starting to form, and this wasn’t that. I think I did a dance on the front yard. No, I’m sure that I did. Certain that flower buds were forming on ERJ, my miracle Eastern Redbud that appeared years after the parent tree died, I began to document via photographs the bud formation. Without further ado, let me introduce you first to ER, then ER Junior.
(And what about the other two trees, you ask? One of them was injured when a nearby tree branch fell on him, but he is slowly recovering and is growing tall. The other one is very small but still alive. They don’t like to be moved after one re-planting, so I’m going to leave him there and see if he might want to be an Eastern Redbud bush rather than a tree.)
©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved
Chasing Bumblebees
Once the cherry blossoms reach peak pollen stage, the humans suffer greatly with allergies, but the bumblebees party hardy. (I saw a few honeybees getting down, as well.)
As is my normal routine this time of year, I chased bumblebees around the tree. I’m sure my neighbors think I’m daft, but I don’t particularly care. I love to be amongst the pink canopy watching the creatures pollinate. Sometimes I even see butterflies, but not so much lately, and that gives me a lump in the pit of my stomach.
Back to the bumblebees. They are docile, and they seem quite clumsy, but they have a mission. That mission does not include me with my phone’s camera all up in their grills trying to achieve the perfect capture. They buzz and tolerate me, but they despise close-ups. Trying to get a close-up of a bumblebee is like trying to catch a toddler who just found out about running: good luck.
These are a few of the photos I captured on my chase.
©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved
William, the Majestic Oak
There’s something about me you should know: I love trees. I believe the science that states trees communicate with each other through lengthy and entwined root systems deep underground, as well as through their branches and leaf canopies. Dying trees are fed sugar through their roots from other trees that know of their suffering. The forest is friendship and family.
But William, the towering Willow Oak adjacent to my home, does not live in a forest. Perhaps he started out in one, a hundred years ago, when he was a sapling – and before that, an acorn. But there’s no way to prove it.
As he is now, overseer of my home and its relatively small parcel of land, William has a few local friends. None are larger than he, but they are seemingly not intimated.
Oak trees are formidable, and they live long lives. William is an example of this – and yes, that’s his name, we have conferred. He asked for my name, of course. “It’s Amy,” I said.
Given his proximity to my dining room, health and sturdiness are important factors to know about William. “Great tree.” “Over one hundred years old. I’d love a tree like that on my property.” “Perfectly healthy.” Several tree specialists have said these exact words about my William. I imagine Wills puffing up and shaking his leaves in a show of bravado, but his leaves are eighty feet up and I can’t see what he’s doing with them.
And yes, I’ve decided William is a male. I’ve heard trees can be either/or, and William gives towering male protective vibes. He is over one hundred years old, after all. He’s a galant gentleman.
His trunk must measure fifteen to twenty feet in diameter (see photo above for William compared to the size of my foot). His visible root system grows just touching my house’s foundation – but before you become nervous about that, it just touches. The roots follow the line of the home in a parallel fashion, abutting, but never crossing. His well-established, strong roots running along the foundation of my home appears to be giving it a gentle but Herculean hug. He offers roots for when I feel rootless and ungrounded.
His rough bark reminds me that he is rough on the outside, but alive and doing important tree stuff on the inside. His green leaves of spring are a canopy of hope external (remembering that hope springs eternal), his brown leaves of fall are a yearly consternation to my home’s gutters, and are my shoes’ main nemesis. My welcome mat ignores the leaves completely, unfortunately. His acorns drop from up high, clanking the glass patio table. The acorns are large this year, which my mother always predicted meant a cold, snowy winter. We shall see. The squirrels have already begun to bury the acorns, and, if they remember the locations of burial, they will be well fed this winter.
When the invasive pest English Ivy threatened William’s trunk, I cut it away, furious. When it grew back and multiplied, I had it professionally removed. William seems pleased. He can show off his trunk again.
“It would take two hundred mile per hour winds to take down that tree,” a landscaper recently told me, staring up at William in awe. (He was the person who freed William of the ivy.) Fingers and limbs crossed that never happens. William is well-protected by my home in a sort of symbiotic relationship.
I woke this morning to see William in his usual place, with the sound of acorns dropping now and again. He seems peaceful and ready to get on with the cooler fall weather. He’s already preparing for spring. After visiting William, my mind and then my feet trailed to my front yard, where my surprise Eastern Redbud grows. Her name is Clementine, and she has a magnificent story to tell.
©️2023, itsamyisaid.wordpress.com, All Rights Reserved
“It's Amy,” I said. 