Seeds: Encased in Fruit

In contrast to the seeds born to fly on the wind, some plants prefer other methods.

"Future offspring need to survive the gastric juices of animals to be expelled and dropped  anywhere but here.   Only then they'll be worthy of germination and call themselves  rose hips." 

Wacky nature.

Here's some seeds with more complicated journeys (or quests) to grow into the plants we love:

Seeds:  The Soft and Fluffy

Science explains that seeds have diverse means to ensure dissemination and germination.

I'd like to throw in some whimsy.  What if...common milkweed wanted its future offspring to be elegantly carried on the wind by a silky soft tuft of hairs?  As opposed to having its seeds digested and extruded on a windshield?

Tree Hugger Synonyms

Tree Lovers, I just learned it isn't especially good to be called a tree hugger.  Okay.  

I don't know if I prefer nemophilist, lentil weaver, yogurt knitter, Green Panther or prairie fairy over tree hugger.  But at least there are choices for how you'd like to be insulted if you love trees.  I must say, prairie fairy confuses me.

Here are some lovely native North American trees.  I think they'll appreciate a hug.

Autumn Foliage

Hated plants give good leaves.  I'm talking about callery pear.  I don't believe the other trees in this carousel are hated; I wouldn't be surprised if I'm wrong.

Trash Trees

Trees take center stage in autumn.  A good time to ponder "trash trees."

Years ago, I was watching a gardening show (when American gardening shows emphasized planting over paving) and a lavish gardener introduced the concept of "trash trees" to me.  She said, "If you want a shade garden then plant some trash trees for quick shade."  Okay.  

But trash trees is a harsh description. I mean, you're insulting them in return for doing something for you. 

My definition of trash trees:  Trees that suffer the indignity of assorted trash at the base of their trunks and/or branches that look as if they're fruiting plastic bags.

Unexpected trees made this list.  Gingko, weeping willow, black walnut and quaking aspen to name a few.  Needless to say, most lists disregarded the functions and original habitat of the trees. I'd respect the lists more if they offered better alternatives rather than disparaging trees.

Silver Leaf Maple, A Loveless Native

When I moved into a house, a silver leaf maple grew in the backyard.  I don't know if it was intentionally planted or if an aerodynamic seed flew in from somewhere and planted itself.  Neighbors thought I should cut it down; there were things I thought they should do, too.  The tree wasn't cut down.

Generations of squirrels lived in this tree (and ate the "weedy" seeds), orioles raised young in its branches and woodpeckers used it as a food source.  In short, it didn't thrill me aesthetically, but it was home and larder to other species.  

Trash tree, huh?  Why?  Because fast growth leads to weak structure.  It doesn't age well as photos show.

Mulberry: A Trash Tree with Butter Yellow Autumn Foliage

Mulberries rapidly dissolve in your hands as soon as they're picked.  They don't want to be stored; they want to be eaten.  

Birds will gladly eat them for you...which creates a different kind of mess.  Hence, trash tree.

Another Native Trash Tree: Smooth Sumac (Rhus Glabra)

I'm surprised I manage to be shocked by anything at my age.  But here I am, shocked (and confused) to discover another native tree is a "trash tree." 

Smooth sumac (Rhus Glabra) has stunning autumn foliage.  People concede to that.  But how unthoughtful of sumac to spread over open, bare ground.

Maybe... it likes providing nectar to bees.  

Official State Insects

Last week,  someone on Instagram posted a photo of a European praying mantis.  It's apparently the state insect of South Carolina.  In disbelief, I asked if  the poster was joking.  It was confirmed that praying mantis is South Carolina's state insect.  Official state insects is a thing.

Being the nerd that I am, I needed to know the state insects of the District of Columbia, Maryland and Virginia aka the DMV.  Well.  The list of official state insects was...underwhelming.  

Iowa, Michigan and the District of Columbia couldn't be bothered. You may insist that the District of Columbia is not a state.  Whatever.  D.C. has an official dinosaur though. CAPITALSAURUS.  This is not a dad joke.  It's true.  Sigh.

Anyhow, most of the list are showy butterflies and the European honeybee.  A few states chose lady beetles or less photogenic species. I expected more diversity.  I mean, I've seen more from not even looking for insects.

In case you're wondering, Virginia's state insect is the tiger swallowtail butterfly.  Maryland's is the Baltimore checkerspot butterfly which I've spotted more than once in D.C.

September:  Foliage and Grasses

Farewell, September.  See you next year.

September:  Wildflowers

September: Wild Berries and Seeds 

When I say I'm a botanical zealot, I mean I'm intrigued with not just the flowers and foliage but also flower buds, seed heads, seeds, berries, bracts, stems, roots, bark, et cetera, et cetera.  The botanical shebang.

Here's what caught my eye on my strolls.

September: Garden Flowers

Chrysanthemums are the flower of September and one my top ten favorite flowers.  That's been the case since wearing mum corsages to homecoming (American) football games in high school.  Just one of the clichés associated with these lovely flowers.

 I'm fond of all the flowers in this carousel.  When I had them, I never had enough.  Now that I don't, I'm grateful that one clematis bud bloomed.  Life lessons in gardening.

September: Veg

I planned to post so much more on Instagram in September.  But plans are so easily derailed.  Since September is my favorite month, I'm going to dedicate this last week to it.

This Eastern Redbud Tree: A Profile in Resilience

Planted in an unsuitable location (western sun, edge of parking lot), split asunder by lightning then cut back with a chainsaw whenever new growth appears from the stump.  This tree has been through it.

I was lucky enough to record this video at the beginning of its Prometheus-like life cycle.

Eastern redbud (Cercis Canadensis) is native to eastern North America.  In zone 7a, I'd recommend giving it morning sun and afternoon shade.

The dope song:  Patterns of Love   Artist: Nienvox   Album: Sphere EP