Red or White?

Photo by Msact at English Wikipedia licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Who doesn't love a nice oak tree? One cannot overstate their importance both ecologically and culturally. Although picking an oak tree out of a lineup is something many of us are capable of doing, identifying oaks to species can be a bit more challenging. This is further complicated by the fact that oaks often hybridize. Still, it is likely you have come across some useful tips and tricks for narrowing down your oak choices. One such trick is distinguishing between the red oaks and the white oaks. If you're anything like me, this is something you took for granted for a while. Is there anything biologically or ecologically meaningful to such a split?

In short, yes. However, a true appreciation of these groups requires a deeper look. To start with, oaks are members of the genus Quercus, which belongs in the family Fagaceae. Globally there are approximately 400 species of oak and each falls into one of three categories - the red oaks (section Lobatae), the white oaks (section Quercus), and the so-called "intermediate" oaks (section Protoblanus). For the sake of this article, I will only be focusing on the red and white groups as that is where most of the oak species reside. The intermediate oak group is made up of 5 species, all of which are native to the southwestern United States and northwestern Mexico.

As is common with oak identification, reliable techniques for distinguishing between the two groups can be tricky. Probably the most reliable feature is located on the inner surface of the acorn cap. In white oaks, it is hairless or nearly so, whereas in red oaks, it is covered in tiny hairs. Another useful acorn feature is the length of time it takes them to germinate. White oak acorns mature in one season and germinate in the fall. As such, they contain lower levels of tannins. Red oak acorns (as well as those of the intermediate group) generally take at least two seasons to mature and therefore germinate the following spring. Because of this, red oak acorns have a much higher tannin content. For more information on why this is the case, read this article.

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Tyloses in white oak xylem. Photo by Dr. Michael Rosenthal, Technische Universität Dresden via Rosenthal, M.; Bäucker, E. (2013): Zur Anatomie des Holzes der Weiß-Eichen. Rasterelektronenmikroskopische Bildtafeln zu den drei holzanatomischen Schnittrichtungen. licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Less apparent than acorns is the difference in the wood of red and white oaks. The wood of white oaks contains tiny structures in their xylem tissues called tyloses. These are absent from the wood of red oaks. The function of tyloses are quite interesting. During extreme drought or in the case of some sort of infection, they cut off regions of the xylem to stop the spread of an embolism or whatever may be infecting the tree. As such, white oaks tend to be more rot and drought resistant. Fun fact, tyloses are the main reason why white oak is used for making wine and bourbon barrels as it keeps them from leaking their contents.

More apparent to the casual observer, however, is leaf shape. In general, the white oaks produce leaves that have rounded lobes, whereas the red oaks generally exhibit pointed lobes with a tiny bristle on their tips. At this point you may be asking where an unlobed species like shingle oak (Quercus imbricaria) fits in. Look at the tip of its leaf and you will see a small bristle, which means its a member of the red oak group. Similarly, the buds of these two groups often differ in their overall shape. White oak buds tend to be smaller and often have blunted tips whereas the buds of red oaks are generally larger and often pointed.

Tricky leaves of the shingle oak (Quercus imbricaria). Note the bristle tip! Photo by Greg Blick licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Despite this broad generalizations, exceptions abound. This is further complicated by the fact that many species will readily hybridize. Quercus is, after all, a massive genus. Regardless, oaks are wonderful species chock full of ecological and cultural value. Still, oak appreciation is something we all need more of in our lives. I encourage you to try some oak identification of your own. Get outside and see if you can use any of these tricks to help you identify some of the oaks in your neighborhood.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3]

The White Walnut

Photo by Dan Mullen licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

I must admit, I am not very savvy when it comes to trees. I love and appreciate them all the same, however, my attention is often paid to the species growing beneath their canopy. last summer changed a lot of that. I was very lucky to be surrounded by people that know trees quite well. Needless to say I picked up a lot of great skills from them. Despite all of this new information knocking around in my brain, there was one tree that seemed to stand out from the rest and that species is Juglans cinerea.

Afternoons and evenings at the research station were a time for sharing. We would all come out of the field each day tired but excited. The days finds were recounted to eager ears. Often these stories segued into our goals for the coming days. That is how I first heard of the elusive "white walnut." I had to admit, it sounded made up. Its as if I was being told a folktale of a tree that lived in the imagination of anyone who spent too much time in the forest. 

Only a handful of people knew what it was. I listened intently for a bit, hoping to pick up some sort of clue as to what exactly this tree was. Finally I couldn't take it any longer so I chimed in and asked. As it turns out, the white walnut is a tree I was already familiar with, though not personally. Another common name for this mysterious tree is the butternut. Ah, common names. 

I instantly recalled a memory from a few years back. A friend of mine was quite excited about finding a handful of these trees. He was very hesitant to reveal the location but as proof of his discovery he produced a handful of nuts that sort of resembled those of a black walnut. These nuts were more egg shaped and not nearly as large. Refocusing on the conversation at hand, I now had a new set of questions. Why was this tree so special? Moreover, why was it so hard to find?

The white walnut has quite a large distribution in relation to all the excitement. Preferring to grow along stream banks in well-drained soils, this tree is native from New Brunswick to northern Arkansas. Its leaflets are downy, its bark is light gray to almost silver, and it has a band of fuzzy hairs along the upper margins of the leaf scars. Its a stunning tree to say the least. 

Sadly, it is a species in decline. As it turns out, the excitement surrounding this tree is due to the fact that finding large, robust adults has become a somewhat rare occurrence. Yet another casualty of the global movement of species from continent to continent, the white walnut is falling victim to an invasive species of fungus known scientifically as Sirococcus clavigignenti-juglandacearum. 

The fungus enters the tree through wounds in the bark and, through a complex life cycle, causes cankers to form. These cankers open the tree up to subsequent infections and eventually girdle it. The fungus was first discovered in Wisconsin but has now spread throughout the entire range of the tree. The losses in Wisconsin alone are staggering with an estimated 90% infection rate. Farther south in the white walnuts range, it is even worse. Some believe it is only a matter of time before white walnut becomes functionally extinct in areas such as the Carolinas. No one knows for sure where this fungus came from but Asia is a likely candidate.

A sad and all too common story to say the least. It was starting to look like I was not going to get a chance to meet this tree in person... ever. My luck changed a few weeks later. My friend Mark took us on a walk near a creek and forced us to keep our eyes on the canopy. We walked under a tree and he made sure to point out some compound leaves. With sunlight pouring through the canopy we were able to make out a set of leaves with a subtle haze around the leaf margins. We followed the leaves to the branches and down to the trunk. It was silvery. There we were standing under a large, healthy white walnut. The next day we stumbled across a few young saplings in some of our vegetation plots. All is not lost. I can't speak for the future of this species but I feel very lucky to have seen some healthy individuals. With a little bit of luck there may be hope of resistance to this deadly fungus. Only time will tell. 

Photo Credit: Dan Mullen (http://bit.ly/2br2F0Z)

Further Reading:
http://bit.ly/2b8GiMV

http://bit.ly/2aLUdMD

Meet the Catalpas

Photo by Dietmut Teijgeman-Hansen licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

A romp through the North American countryside this time of year is quite enjoyable. So many plants are coming into bloom and life abounds everywhere you look. One particularly lovely sight to see is a large stand of catalpa trees in full bloom. With their stunning display of large flowers all clustered onto spikes, it is no wonder why this genus has become such a popular landscaping choice. 

The genus name Catalpa is actually a derivation of the Muscogee word "kutuhlpa," which translates to "winged head". This is probably in reference to the winged seeds that emerge from the long, bean-like pods. Either way, these trees have an interesting story to be told that goes far beyond their horticultural use. 

The larvae of the catalpa sphinx moth (Ceratomia catalpae). Photo by Katja Schulz licensed under CC BY 2.0

North America has two native species of catalpa, Catalpa bignonioides and C. speciosa. When described by European botanists, the former was growing in a narrow swath of the southeast and the latter in an even narrower range near the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. As many of you realize, these trees do really well when planted outside of these areas. This fact is not lost on botanists and ecologists and indeed many have speculated that the genus was undergoing a range contraction long before Europeans made it to the continent. An archaeological dig in West Virginia added some credence to this theory when evidence of C. speciosa was found far from where this tree was originally thought to grow. 

Catalpas are the sole host for the larvae of the catalpa sphinx moth (Ceratomia catalpae). Large infestations of these caterpillars can even defoliate the trees. Because of this, catalpas have evolved an interesting defense mechanism. The leaves of catalpa have what are called extrafloral nectaries. These are glands that excrete sugary nectar. The nectar attracts ants. When the leaves sense damage from the catalpa sphinx moth caterpillars, production of nectar increases dramatically. This focuses the ants attention towards leaves that are in need of defense. Because ants are so apt to defend a reliable food source, they quickly go to work on driving away the caterpillars. 

Photo Credit: [1] [2]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Meet the Redbuds

I look forward to the blooming of the redbuds (Cercis spp.) every spring. They paint entire swaths of forest and roadside with a gentle pink haze. It’s this beauty that has led to their popularity as an ornamental tree in many temperate landscapes. Aside from their appeal as a specimen tree, their evolutionary history and ecology is quite fascinating. What follows is a brief introduction to this wonderful genus.

The redbuds belong to the genus Cercis, which resides in the legume family (Fabaceae). In total, there are about 10 species disjunctly distributed between eastern and western North America, southern Europe, and eastern Asia. The present day distribution of this genus is the result of vicariance or the geographic separation of a once continuous distribution. At one point in Earth’s history, the genus Cercis ranged from Eurasia to North America thanks to land bridges that once connected these continents. At some point during the Miocene, this continuous distribution began to break apart. As the climate changed, various Cercis began to diverge from one another, resulting in the range of species we know and love today.

All of them are relatively small trees with beautiful pink flowers. Interestingly enough, unlike the vast majority of leguminous species, redbuds are not known to form root nodules and therefore do not form symbiotic relationships with nitrogen-fixing bacteria called rhizobia. This might have something to do with their preference for rich, forest soils. With plenty of nitrogen available, why waste energy growing nodules? Until more work is done on the subject, its hard to say for sure why they don’t bother with nitrogen fixers.

One of the most interesting aspects of the redbuds are their flowers. We have already established that they are very beautiful but their development makes them even more interesting. You have probably noticed that they are not borne on the tips of branches as is the case in many flowering tree species. Instead, they arise directly from the trunks and branches. This is called "cauliflory," which literally translates to "stem-flower." In older specimens, the trunks and branches become riddled with bumps from years of flower and seed production.

It's difficult to make generalizations about this flowering strategy. What we do know is that it is most common in dense tropical forests. Some have suggests that producing flowers on trunks and stems makes them more available to small insects or other pollinators that are more common in forest understories. Others have suggested that it may have more to do with seed dispersal than pollination. Regardless of any potential fitness advantages cauliflory may incur, the appearance of a redbud covered in clusters of bright pink flowers is truly a sight to behold.

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

The Devil's Walking Stick

The name "Devil's walking stick" just sounds cool. You can imagine my excitement then when I first laid eyes on the species it refers to. Aralia spinosa is no ordinary tree. It is a hardy species ready to take advantage of disturbance. Armed with spikes and a canopy that looks like it belongs in some far off tropical jungle, the Devil's walking stick is a tree species worth knowing. 

I used to think that spikenard (Aralia racemosa) was the most robust member of the aralia family found in North America. Not so. The Devil's walking stick is a medium sized tree capable of reaching heights of over 30 feet (10 m). Most interesting of all, its triply compound leaves are the largest leaves of any temperate tree in the continental United States.

The Devil's walking stick can be found growing in disturbed areas and along forest edges throughout a large swath of eastern North America. When young it is a rather spiny lot. These are not true spines, which are modified parts of leaves, but rather prickles, which arise from extensions of the cortex or epidermis. 

As it grows, however, it loses a lot of its prickliness. Such armaments are costly to produce after all. It is believed that younger plants develop these structures while they are still at convenient nibbling height, only to lose them once they grow big enough to avoid hungry herbivores. Research has shown that most herbivorous mammals alive today do not bother much with the Devil's walking stick, which has led some to suggest that these defenses evolved back when this side of the continent was brimming with much larger herbivores such as elk and bison. 

As if the giant compound leaves of this tree were not stunning enough, the surprisingly large inflorescence is sure to blow you away. Typical of the family, it consists of hundreds of tiny green flowers. Despite their size, they are a boon for pollinators. A tree in full bloom comes alive with bees and butterflies alike. Flowers soon give way to clusters of berries, which are a favorite food among birds. All in all this is one cool tree.

Further Reading: [1] [2]

Meet the Chinkapin Chestnut

I made a new acquaintance this week. While surveying a dry ridge top I began noticing a strange, musty odor in the air. At about the same time I began seeing what looked like spiny chestnut burs littering the ground. I looked above me and there stood the branches of a chestnut in full bloom! 

It didn't make much sense to me that I would be seeing a Chinese chestnut in such a remote high-elevation area. As it turns out, this was indeed a native species of chestnut, though one I have never encountered before. What I was looking at was a healthy stand of Allegheny chinkapin (Castanea pumila). 

The Allegheny chinkapin is a small tree compared to its cousins. It is native to the southeastern United States where it seems to prefer xeric sites. Now I am a child of the post-chestnut era and therefore I am not used to seeing a native chestnut at reproductive age. As it turns out, the Allegheny chinkapin varies in its susceptibility to the chestnut blight that devastated its relatives. 

Reports from Kentucky as well as the Ozark Mountains show that these populations have suffered severely from the blight. Here in North Carolina, however, the situation seems to be a bit better. Trees don't seem to show the signs of heavy infestation (blighted cankers and cracking of the bark), though some trees do show some scarring. Regardless of their susceptibility, it would seem that they are able to reproduce at a smaller size. On top of that, they readily sucker and it doesn't take long for the suckers to mature. 

All in all this is a lovely tree. It is refreshing to know that there is hope for our native Castanea. Its small stature makes for ample opportunity to appreciate this species when you find it. 

Further Reading:

http://bit.ly/29l3XLP

http://bit.ly/29kdSUn

In Search of Stewartia

Up until a little over a week ago, I had no idea there were native representatives of the family Theaceae other than Franklinia alatamaha in North America. Dr. Mark Whitten was looking for a tree in order to obtain some genetic samples. He showed me a picture and my jaw just about hit the ground.

Fast forward a few days. A friend sent me an email regarding a hike to see Stewartia in the wild. This was an opportunity I was not about to miss. We took the day off and headed into the mountains. We met up with a small group of people whose goal that day was to bask in the glory of the mountain camellia (Stewartia ovata). We were led by local Stewartia expert, Jack Johnston (http://bit.ly/2908lSY).

It wasn't long before we had our first sighting. Just off the trail leading to a campsite was a spindly looking tree that stood roughly 15 feet in height. Without flowers I don't know if I could pick it out of a lineup. Lucky for us, this small tree was covered in large white blossoms. For the second time that week my jaw had to be pulled up off the ground.

The blossoms were absolutely stunning. About the diameter of a softball and with bright white petals, they are impossible to miss. At the center of each flower is a dense cluster of filaments supporting bright yellow anthers. The filaments themselves are quite attractive. They range in color from pure white to deep purple. What's more, any given tree can sport multiple flowers of with different filament colors.

The color did not seem to influence pollination whatsoever. Each flower we saw was crawling with solitary bees. To be fair though, very little research has been done on this species. Aside from some genetic work, the ecology of the mountain camellia remains a bit of a mystery. What we do know about this tree is that it has its roots in Asia. North America is lucky to have two of the 18 - 20 species of Stewartia. The rest are spread around the Asian continent. North America's Stewartia serve as a reminder of an ancient geologic connection North America and Asia once shared.

By the end of our hike we had lost count of the amount of trees we encountered. Despite their abundance, they are by no means common. Though not technically endangered, their limited distribution and low germination rates make it a sensitive component of the Appalachian flora. With tentative introductions into the horticultural trade, the best way to see this species is in the wild. Look for it growing in cool, shaded edge habitats, most often near mountain streams and rivers. It is a sight you will never forget.

Further Reading:

http://bit.ly/28ZrctJ

http://bit.ly/28ZtA4g

Why Trees Have Rings (and why they are so useful)

Dendrochronology is a field of study that focuses on tree rings. Though it may not be obvious, the amount of information we gain from looking at these rings is astounding. This research goes far deeper than simply finding out how old a tree was when it died. Dendrochronological data can be used to investigate paleoclimates, paleoecologies, and the archaeological dating of buildings and artwork. It is amazing how a practiced eye can look back in time. To date, we have an unbroken dendrochronological record for the northern hemisphere dating back some 12,000+ years!

All of this would not be possible if it were not for tree rings. But what exactly are they and how do they form? The answer is physiological. Essentially tree rings result from patterns in vascular tissues. Early in the spring, before the leaves start to grow, a layer of tissue just under the bark called the cambium begins to divide. In this cool, water-laden time of the growing season the vessels that are produced are large and less dense. This is the beginning of the spring or early wood. Although they are not as strong as vessels that are produced later in the season, they sure can move a lot of water. Things are a bit different for conifers. Because they do not produce vessel elements in their wood, this large cell growth is initiated instead by large amounts of a growth hormone called auxin that is produced by the new buds. This causes the cells of the early wood in conifers to grow large in a similar way to that of the hardwoods. 

As summer heats up, things start to change. The cambium starts producing smaller, thicker cells. The vessels that result from this are much stronger than those of the early wood. This late wood as it is called gives trees much of their rigidity and strength. Late wood is also resistant to what is called cavitation, a process in which water within the tree can literally vaporize, causing a damaging embolism during the hottest months of summer. In conifers, bud growth stops by mid to late summer and with it much of the production of auxin. This results in smaller vessels as well. 

In temperate regions, this cycle of growth occurs over the course of a growing season. As such, each ring demarcates a year in that trees life. Because so much of a trees growth is determined by environmental conditions, the size and shape of the rings can tell a lot about the conditions in which that tree was growing. That is why dendrochronology is such a useful tool. By looking at tree rings from all over the world, researchers can tell what was going on at that point in time. And, though it was long thought that this was a phenomenon restricted to seasonal forests, we are finding that even some tropical trees produce annual growth rings. This is especially true in regions that have a measurable dry season. It just goes to show you that data comes in many shapes, sizes, and forms.

LEARN MORE ABOUT DENDROCHRONOLOGY IN EPISODE 247 OF THE IN DEFENSE OF PLANTS PODCAST

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3]

My oh my, What a Beautiful Magnolia

Magnolia fraseri is, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful trees in our eastern forests. To see this species, one must travel to the Southern Appalachian Mountains where it is endemic. With its whorls of massive leaves, large, cream colored flowers, and smooth gray bark, it is an unmistakeable component of the Appalachian cove forests.

M. fraseri needs canopy gaps to persist. Anywhere that disturbance opens up the canopy and allows light in, M. fraseri is soon to follow. This tree has surely benefitted from the mass die off of eastern hemlock due to the invasive hemlock wooly adelgid. This species flowers in the spring. Magnolias as a whole are an ancient lineage of flowering plants, arising before bees evolved. For that reason, their flowers are pollinated by beetles instead of bees. The large, showy flowers soon give way to your typical magnolia seed pod. As the seeds mature, they are pushed out of their pod and their bright red coloration helps to attract their main seed disperser, birds.

Aside from seed production, the most common form of reproduction for M. fraseri is via stump sprouts. In fact, it is believed that many of the oldest M. fraseri in the Appalachian forest region are stump sprouts that harken back to a time in which forest clearing was more rampant.

The overall appearance of this tree feels tropical. The large leaves are are arranged like an umbrella and these whorls stack themselves all the way up the trunk. Why this species is not cultivated as a native landscape tree is beyond me and I think the following excerpt by Richard E. Weaver Jr. sums it up quite nicely:

Photo by Jim Dollar licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0

"Many of our fine native plants remain rare in cultivation in our own
country for a variety of reasons. Over-familiarity with them as wild
plants; lack of commercial availability; ignorance as to culture and
propagation; or plain snobbishness. Many are far better appreciated abroad."

Magnolia fraseri was one of the first plants that greeted me upon entering North Carolina. It was growing alongside a pawpaw at a scenic overlook that showcased the hardwood forests that coat these mountains. I never pass up an opportunity to appreciate this tree and indeed I will carry the image of it in my mind wherever I go.

Photo Credit: Jim Dollar (http://bit.ly/1R2Qpjy)

Further Reading:
http://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/BF00346412

http://arnoldia.arboretum.harvard.edu/…/1981-41-2-magnolia-…

http://www.na.fs.fed.us/…/si…/volume_2/magnolia/fraseri.html

Cashews

Photo by Peter Nijenhuis licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

I love cashews. I can't seem to get enough of them. Did you know that when you eat a cashew, you are only experiencing part of the fruit? Indeed, cashews are kind of weird and many of us in temperate climates never get a chance to fully appreciate what the cashew has to offer. You may also be surprised to learn that cashews and poison ivy are cousins.

Cashews or Anacardium occidentale as they are known scientifically are large trees belonging to the family Anacardiaceae. This makes them cousins of plants like poison ivy, sumac, pistachio, and mango (just to name a few). Like other members of this family, cashews produce chemicals that can cause severe skin allergies in humans. For cashews, this chemical is known as anacardic acid and is similar in its chemical makeup to urushiol. Because of this, cashews must be roasted before they can be sold. 

As I stated above, the cashew "nut" is only part of the reproductive effort of this species. They are not nuts in the true sense but rather a drupe similar to the pit of a cherry or peach. The drupes themselves hang from the bottom of a much larger accessory fruit called a cashew apple. This pear-shaped pseudocarp is quite juicy and does not ship well. Though it is a delicacy in tropical climates where these trees are cultivated, it rarely makes it to more temperate climates.

Cashews are currently native only to Brazil but fossils found in Eocene deposits from Germany hint at a much wider distribution. It is now believed that the group that gave rise to cashews originated in Africa and subsequently migrated outwards while South America was still attached. Today, the cashew is regaining some of its lost ground thanks to its agricultural importance. 

Speaking of agriculture, cashews are offering an interesting model for more sustainable farming practices. Cashews, like most other crops, are grown in large-scale monocultures. Thousands of gallons of pesticides are used on these crops to stave off pests. However, the pesticides kill more than just unwanted insects. What is interesting about cashews is that they naturally produce extrafloral nectaries (glands that secrete nectar) on their leaves. In the wild these glands attract ants looking for a high energy meal. The ants in turn guard these nectar sources from anything that may interfere with their feeding. As such, many potential pests are driven off by the ants. Research is being done to compare the rates of insect pests between cashew plantations that use pesticides and those that don't. It could be possible that by allowing ants to guard these nectar sources, farmers could avoid the use of pesticides to control insect damage. More work is needed but cashews are certainly a great model for developing such a system. 

Photo Credit: Peter Nijenhuis (http://bit.ly/1A0MmLI)

Further Reading:

http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/520728

http://www.amjbot.org/content/85/6/835.full.pdf

Cannonball!

Photo by Joel Abroad licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

There are some trees out there that you probably shouldn't hug. Couroupita guianensis is one such example. You certainly wouldn't want to risk standing at the base of one for any length of time. What looks like a vine covering the trunk of each tree is actually the reproductive structures of this species. Beautiful flowers give way to hefty seed pods, earning this tree its common name, the cannonball tree. 

A native to Central and South America as well as parts of the Caribbean, the distinctive flowers of this tree are born on long stalks that emerge right out of the trunk. This is known as "cauliflory." Trees like this can cause you to do a double take. Indeed, it is strange seeing flowers on a trunk instead of at the tips of branches. It is likely that this type of flowering has evolved as a form of resource partitioning. Instead of vying for pollinators or seed dispersers way up in the canopy, trees like C. guianensis may opt for them at lower levels in the forest where competition may be lower. 

In the case of C. guianensis, the main pollinators are carpenter bees. The peculiar flowers don't produce any nectar, however, they make up for this by offering copious amounts of pollen. The strangest aspect of this is that two different type of pollen are produced. Each flower has two sets of anthers, one set forms a ring around the center of the flower and the other set is located at the tip of the petal that is bent inward forming a hood. What's more, the pollen grains produced by each set differs in appearance with the ring pollen being white and smaller and the hood pollen being yellow and larger. As it turns out, the hood pollen is mostly sterile whereas the ring pollen is fertile. When a bee lands on the hood of the flower looking for pollen, it is attracted to the larger grains. As it harvests pollen from the hood its body is pushed up against the ring pollen, which is carried to the next flower, where the process is repeated and the flower fertilized.

Photo by Mauricio Mercadante licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

After fertilization, large capsules are produced that sort of resemble coconuts or canon balls. Being a member of the Brazil nut family, these capsules can measure upwards of 8 inches in diameter and are chock full of pulp and seeds. Each capsule eventually falls from the tree, cracking open as it smashes into the ground. The capsules can be so large and heavy that anyone unfortunate enough to be standing under one when it fell is likely to be killed by the impact. The pulp inside is said to smell quite awful, which is a attractive to various seed dispersers around the forest.  Peccaries as well as large rodents like the paca eat the seeds, which germinate quite well after passing through their gut. 

Couroupita guianensis has been planted far outside of its natural range for a variety of reasons. It is likely that anyone visiting a botanical garden in the tropics will come across one of these odd trees. Any gardener worth their weight would do well to keep this tree away from footpaths. This is a species best admired from a distance. Aside from avoiding a head crushing blow from one of those seed capsules, this is a tree that must be seen in its entirety to truly appreciate. 

Photo Credits: [1] [2]

Further Reading: [1] [2]

I've Got the Colorado Blues

Dave Powell, USDA Forest Service (retired), Bugwood.org licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.

You would be hard pressed to find a resident of temperate North America who has never seen a Colorado blue spruce. These iconic trees are a staple of every sapling give-away and can be found in countless landscape plans all over the continent. There is no denying the fact that the blue hues of Picea pungens have managed to tap into the human psyche and in doing so has managed to spread far beyond its relatively limited range. However, despite its popularity, few people ever really get to know this species. Even fewer will ever encounter it in the wild. Today I would like to introduce you to a brief natural history of Picea pungens. 

Despite its common name, P. pungens is not solely a denizen of Colorado. It can be found in narrow swaths of the Rocky Mountains of Wyoming, Idaho, south to Utah, northern and eastern Arizona, southern New Mexico, and of course, central Colorado. There are also some rumored populations in Montana as well. It has a very narrow range compared to its more common relative, the Engelmann spruce (Picea engelmannii). Whereas some authors consider the Colorado blue spruce to be a subspecies of the Engelmann spruce, the paucity of natural hybrids where these two species overlap suggests otherwise. It is likely that Colorado blue spruce split off from this lineage at some point in the past and has been following its own evolutionary trajectory ever since.

Female cones are quite attractive when they emerge. Photo by JJ Harrison (https://www.jjharrison.com.au) licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

One of the reasons P. pungens has become such a popular landscape tree is due to its extreme hardiness. Indeed, this is one sturdy tree species. Not only can it handle drought, P. pungens is also capable of surviving temperatures as low as -40 degrees Celsius with minimal foliar damage. Little stands in the way of a well established Colorado blue. In the wild it can be found growing on gentle mountain slopes at elevations of 6,000 to 10,000 feet (1,800 to 3000 m). It is also a long lived and highly fecund tree. The most highly productive seed years for P. pungens begin at age 50 and last until it reaches roughly 150 years of age. Seeds germinate best on bare soils, which probably keeps this species limited to these mountainous areas in the wild.

The typical female cone of the Colorado blue spruce. Photo by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Public Domain

Another component of its landscape popularity is its characteristic blue color. In reality, not all trees exhibit this coloration. Its blue hue is the result of epicuticular wax deposits on the leaves as they are produced in the spring. Individual trees rpduce varying amounts and consistencies of wax and therefore may not appear blue. Wax production seems to be controlled by a genetic factor and therefore is often a shared trait among isolated populations. The wax functions as sun screen, reflecting harmful UV rays away from sensitive developing foliage. This is why it is most prominent in new growth. The wax can and often does degrade over the span of a growing season, resulting in duller trees come fall. 

Despite how interesting this spruce is, Picea pungens, in my opinion, represents the epitome of lazy landscaping. Like Norway spruce (Picea abies) and Norway maples (Acer platanoides), P. pungens seems to be an all-too-easy choice for those looking to save a quick buck. As a result, countless numbers of these trees line streets and demarcate property boundaries. Though P. pungens is native to North America, its narrow home range makes its ecological function elsewhere quite minimal. Sure, one could certainly do worse than planting this conifer, but it nonetheless overshadows more ecologically friendly tree choices. If you are looking to add a new tree to your landscape, take a few minutes to search for more ecologically friendly species that are native to your region.

Photo Credit: [1] [2] [3]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4]