Susan's Polyandry

I was an idiot and left my gas can (the one I use for my lawn mower gas) out in front of my house for a long time.  I came home one day to find it gone.  In its place was a scrawled note that read, "Hi, my name is Suzi.  I borrowed your gas can and I'll bring it right back."  That was about a month ago- and I haven't seen my gas can.

That actually has nothing to do with this post.  I'm just bitching about my own foolishness, and the weirdly justified stealing by some woman named Suzi.

I did, however, find a broom that I named Susan's Polyandry.  I don't know anyone who is polyandrous- it is just a random name.

I ended up climbing the tree a couple of years ago to take several scions for grafting.  Not a single graft took, which seems to be typical of my experience with this species.  This is a lodgepole pine-  Pinus contorta var latifolia.  I did, however, collect numerous cones from the broom, and I was able to start a number of seedlings.  Of course, the slugs ate half of the seedlings.  Probably the plant of a century was in with the ones that were eaten, knowing my luck.  Ah well.  I hope the slug enjoyed it.  It died shortly thereafter.

Roughly half of the resulting seedlings are showing dwarfism, so I am very interested in watching them mature.  It will be interesting to see if there is much diversity in terms of morphology- we shall see.

The Mother of All Brooms

 This weekend, my friend Janet and I went to a plant sale at the fairgrounds in Canby, OR.  We bought a few plants, and visited with nursery owners that we knew.  On the way out, we found the mother of all Douglas fir brooms.  It has to be about 50 feet across.

Here's a view from underneath.  The trunk of the broom is probably 18 inches in diameter where it comes out of the main stem of the tree.

As I've said before, Doug fir brooms are a dime a dozen.  This one is kind of handsome, though.  I will have to ask around and see if someone has already propagated it.  If they haven't, I'm not sure how I'm going to get to it.  I would have to get permission to climb it, most likely.

As always- the moral of the story is that mutations are all around us.  You just have to remember to keep your eyes open!

A Contortion in Waiting

I'm supposed to be grading math tests right now.

Sometimes, the idea of looking at 6th graders' forays into the world of coordinate planes is just not all that compelling, however.

Last week, I visited my dad for spring break.  We spent the week planting seedlings of Douglas fir, grand fir, western larch, and western white pine on our property.  The place had been burned by a catastrophic fire in 1915, and we've been speeding up the recovery process by planting in the open areas.  Even without our help, the forest seems to be reclaiming the mountain on an exponential curve...  It won't be long before it is once again covered in conifers.

The cool thing about planting seedlings is that I get the chance to look at thousands of young plants one by one.  Last year, Dad found an Engelmann spruce that I'm still evaluating- so I was hoping that something cool would show up in the batch of 2300 trees that we bought.

This doug fir may turn out to be nothing special- it is hard to say.  It was obviously different from the other ones in its plastic bag.  I noticed the slightly curled needles first as I planted 20 or 30 other seedlings in my bucket.  Finally, I got curious and pulled it out.  It looks to me like it may be contorted.  The needles are all hooked, and the stem and twigs look like they have a little bit of a squiggle to them.

As with so many things in life...  the true nature of this tree will only be revealed in time.  I'm not always a patient person, I guess.  I think that maybe this is one of the great lessons I get from these plants.  I may have just discovered something exquisite- a treasure that will grow into a thing of rare beauty- but I won't know for some time.

I guess the thing I like about trees is that they silently do their thing, giving you no option but to wait.  At least my garden is a pretty nice place in which to do the waiting :)

Urban Pagoda

Last year I spent a lot of time in this neighborhood after my job was destroyed.  I tutored a number of students who lived there, so it didn't take me long to notice this rather spectacular spire-like tree.  At first, I had thought it was a Colorado Blue Spruce- Picea pungens.

I mentioned it to a conifer friend of mine, Don Howse.  He was aware of the tree and has been watching it for a number of years.  It turns out that this is actually a Picea omorika- the Serbian Spruce. Perhaps 15-20 years ago, a storm broke the top off the tree.  What remains is the skirt-like base.  It has grown a new spire since then.

 Don says that the species often has narrow forms, so this may or may not be worth naming.  It is certainly worth propagating, though- I'd love to have one like this in my yard :)  It is in front of a doctor's office, so I'll have to stop in and ask permission to take a few scions one of these years.

I'm tempted to make a cheesy comparison to this tree's history and my career.  Even now, when I drive through this neighborhood, I remember how hurt I was last year over what happened to my job.  I spent countless evenings driving from one student's house to the next, working my ass off.  I was putting in all way more hours than I had in my old job, with no benefits and lower pay.  It was frustrating and demoralizing to be working so many hours and still have to borrow money from my dad to pay my bills.

It doesn't bother me as much this year- I'm still working lots of hours, but my substitute jobs are paying better and I don't have to borrow money to stay afloat.  Maybe (and I'm sorry for a slightly-cheesy metaphor) I will start to grow a new top after being broken so badly by that storm.  I can only hope that my comeback will be as good as this tree's.

I'd be interested in hearing from people who are very familiar with this species- particularly you Eastern Europeans who may have have seen it growing in the wild :)  Is this form unusual?

Twilight in the Ponderosa Pine

In November, when Dad and I almost got stuck in the mountains of North Idaho, I found a broom on the way out.  It was almost dark, so I'm not sure how I saw it.  It was a huge, round mass in a Pinus ponderosa.
As the name would suggest, ponderosa pines are very large trees.  The needles are very long- up to maybe 10 or 12 inches.  They are a highly fire-resistant species when they are older.  Though very old trees aren't very common these days, you can see them occasionally.  They tend to have no limbs on the lower part of the tree, so fires can burn under them without climbing into the canopy.  Their bark is thick, so they are well-protected from ground fires after they are mature.

This tree was a medium-sized tree, perhaps two to three feet in diameter at the base.  The broom was at the base of the canopy, perhaps 60 feet from the ground.  Since it was nearly dark, I couldn't tell if it would be safe to shoot pieces out of it.  I also don't have any Pinus ponderosa root stocks ready, so I'll have to wait until next year.

If this broom turns out to be a good one for propagation, the resulting plants will only be appropriate for very large gardens.  Who knows how fast it will grow, however.  This will definitely be one to observe over a couple of decades :)

Giant Broccoli Broom

Last summer, I was able to spend a few days in the mountains of eastern Washington.  My searches were generally disappointing- no spectacular variegations, gold boughs or dramatically weeping forms were to be seen.  My only comfort was the bounty of delicious wild fruit.  The genus Vaccinium is one of my very favorite groups of plants.  

Here in the Western US, we have a dozen or so species of Vaccinium.  The one in the picture below is Vaccinium membranaceum- though I personally think that this species forms a confusing complex with Vaccinium globulare.  Both are supposed to be common in the region- and they both look (and taste!) very similar to me.  I suspect that many of the plants we see are probably hybrids between the two.  If you've never tried them, they have a much more tart and intense flavor than blueberries (Vaccinium sp from eastern North America).  Locally, you can find them in ice cream, syrups and baked goods.  As a kid, many of my early childhood memories are trips up into the mountains to pick in the summer months.

After a long day of searching, I was heading back to Dad's house when I spotted a mass in a Douglas fir tree.  I got out and climbed up the bank to get a closer look at it. I thought it looked like a giant piece of broccoli.

As I've said before, brooms seem to occur much more frequently in this species than they do in other conifers.  I've seen a number of brooms that all look very similar.  This one is a bit more upright and robust than the others, so I think it is worth propagating and observing.  Fortunately, it is pretty close to a paved, plowed road.  I should be able to try grafting it this March.

How to Get Yourself Killed in the Woods

This is going to be an embarrassing post to write.  Normally, I go out into the woods reasonably prepared.  I have an excellent sense of direction, I pay attention to the weather, and I keep my cool in stressful situations.

I didn't do any of those this past weekend.  

I was up at Dad's, visiting for Thanksgiving.  On Friday, I talked Dad into driving up into North Idaho to see if we could get to the Pinus monticola sapling that I'd found back in September with my brother.  I had no idea if the snow would be too deep or not.  

When we left Dad's house, my intention had been to drive until there was enough snow to make me nervous, and then turn around.  I failed to take into account the lull of plant lust.  It can cloud my judgement, and get me into situations that aren't good.  There have been a number of times that I've run head-long into stupid situations without thinking...  one time I clambered up a really steep rock face in the Wallowa Mountains in eastern Oregon in pursuit of some carnivorous plants- only to discover that I wasn't able to get back down so easily.  

Anyhow, there was no snow on the ground when we left Dad's house.  We drove into the mountains for an hour before we encountered the beginnings of snow.  Once we got there, it got steadily deeper by the mile.  I started to think we wouldn't make it to the tree, which was a mild bummer.  There was a single pair of tire tracks that went through the snow.  The trouble with tracks like this (I've been in this situation a few times) is that the snow gets packed under the tires, forming a reasonably firm surface to drive on- provided that the temperature stays below freezing.  If you wander off those tracks, you immediately sink into the softer snow- and it can be a challenge to get back onto the firmly-packed tracks.  

Dad started saying that he didn't think we were going to make it.  Mind you- Dad worries a lot more than I do, and I'm used to hearing him worry aloud about situations that don't bother me.  I wanted to go a bit further, since we were only about five miles from the tree.  About that time, another pickup came down the road toward us.  Since both trucks were pretty much stuck on the same wheel tracks, I had to back up about a quarter of a mile to a place where we could pass each other.  A young man was in the other truck with a couple of young kids.  I asked him how far in he was able to go.  He told us that he had come around the road from the other end.  He said that the road was good the whole way- and that it was actually bare gravel after a few miles.  

We thanked him and continued driving in.  We got stuck once, and we had to shovel a path to get the pickup back up onto the wheel tracks.  "I really don't think it is wise to continue," Dad said.   I told him that we should keep going for just a bit to see.  Later, I regretted the hell out of not listening to him.

After a few miles, the snow did, in fact lessen.  By the time we reached the tree, there was barely an inch on the ground, and driving was quite easy.  I collected scions, and we went on our way.  Of course, I didn't have a map, and I'd never been up that way before.  We should have just turned around then.  But the guy said that the road was clear from there on out.  Of course...  "the road is fine" is a bit of a subjective statement.  I won't take anyone's word on such a thing again.

We drove for a few miles, and came to an intersection.  There were signs that pointed to various trailheads and mountaintops- but not to towns.  We took off down a wrong turn.  A few miles later, we ran into some trappers on snow mobiles.  They told us which road we should have taken, and we turned around.  In retrospect, I think that they were staring at us like we were insane for being in there in a truck.  

We drove back to the intersection, and took the correct road.  Since we were now on the right road- which was bare gravel the whole way to town- I started watching for brooms.  There were pretty large larch, Douglas fir, grand fir, and Western Hemlock trees lining the road.  I really hoped to find a broom.  This time of year, I could shoot pieces out of it and graft it when I got home- instead of having to wait until winter like I did during summer expeditions.

We climbed in elevation until we started to see snow again.  Dad began to worry aloud again about the condition of the road.  We switched drivers, since I seemed to be a bit better about keeping the truck in the wheel tracks. 

The snow got deeper.  I began to get nervous as well, since the conditions were rapidly getting worse.  We got to the top of the mountain and headed down a very gradual slope on the other side.  I moved slowly, so that if I got off the wheel tracks I wouldn't go very far.  We got stuck and dug ourselves out again.

We went about a hundred yards and got stuck again.  I realized that we were pretty much fucked.  The road ahead didn't go down in elevation quickly, so there would be plenty more bad conditions ahead.  My back, which had been bothering me for the last few weeks, began to hurt enough that I couldn't do much in the way of shoveling.

Aside from mentioning his concern, Dad didn't show any sign of being as scared as I felt.  He just kept working on getting the truck unstuck.

We got out, and then got stuck again.  At this point, I was starting to get pretty freaked out.  I don't exactly panic when I get scared- I just kind of shut down.  I had to fight the urge to get back in the truck and just hide from the situation.  I got out our empty coffee cups and filled them with snow.  It was warm in the cab of the truck, so it would melt.  We weren't carrying any water, which was kind of bad.  I've read that eating snow when you are lost in the woods is a great way to bring on hypothermia. 

My clothes were warm enough, as were my boots.  The trouble was that my boots only came up a bit past my ankles.  Every time I had to get off the wheel tracks to get around the side of the truck or gather sticks, rocks and dirt to put under the tires, snow got into my boots.  My socks were starting to get wet.

I wondered how many toes I would lose to frostbite if we had to walk out.  It was at least 20 miles.

I felt ashamed and stupid at having insisted on continuing into the snow.  I apologized to Dad, and told him how upset I was getting. 

"Well, as your brother says, 'shit happens,'" he said.  Again, I was struck by how calm he was.  I asked him how he was able to keep so level-headed in such a bad situation.   His answer was a combination of just keeping focused on the task at hand, as well as having less life to lose than I did.  He's 78 and I'm 43, so I guess he had a point there.

I thought about the possibility of dying up in the woods.  Death seems much more real to me now than it did when I was a younger man.  I've always wondered how I would react when I had to look it in the face.  Even if we'd died on that mountain, death would have been many hours away, so I don't think I was actually looking it in the face.  I was just starting to realize that I might be looking it in the face that day.

I was scared.  I've watched a couple of older friends die over the last decade or so.  One was very scared, and one didn't seem to be. I've always wondered how I'd handle that situations.  At this point, I think I might be one of the people who is scared to die.  Then again, this was a situation that was brought on by my own bad decisions.  Guilt is an emotion that has always been close to the surface in  my mind (a trait that is easy to attribute to a conservative religious upbringing), and I think that much of my state of mind was mixed with it.  Perhaps someday, when it is time to die for real, I'll have an easier time of it- particularly if I manage to keep from making too many stupid choices.

I realize that it might sound as though I'm making a big deal of this.  Situations like this really do kill people, however- like the drug runners in a previous post on this blog.  In order to keep from losing my cool, I tried to think about the experience, and how it might provide some useful perspective to me in the future.

At any rate, after the third or fourth time we dug the truck out (over the course of a couple of hours), we managed to get moving again.  There were a number of very scary corners, but I managed to keep the truck on the tracks.  We descended into snow-free elevations again, and the road was once again bare gravel.

I hadn't thought to take any pictures before that point.  This interesting granite cliff made me remember to get out my camera.  The road that I've described was up on the top of the mountain behind the cliff.

That evening, when we finally got home, I was so thankful to be safe in the warm house.  Needless to say, I will not be going out unprepared like that again.  And when Dad says that he thinks it is unwise to continue into the snow, I will turn right around.

As for that pine... I sure hope that the grafts take.  Maybe I should consider 'Death on the Mountain' as a name for it.