Book Recommendation

I am quickly making my way through a pretty diverting read, Common to This Country: Botanical Discoveries of Lewis and Clark.


It is a fast, easy read that tracks Meriwether Lewis and William Clark's expedition west, commissioned with the task to find the northwest passage.

While Clark was primarily responsible for creating maps that documented their travels (beginning in St. Louis, heading west through the Dakotas, then past the Continental Divide, finally reaching the Pacific Coast via the Columbia River, near modern-day Oregon), Lewis clearly was the one who had an eye and passion for plants.

Each chapter is about a plant they discovered and features information on their expedition, hardships and survival skills. Finally, there is a coda about the plant's modern-day use.

This is not a book for one to necessarily learn new plants - it is scant on identifying characteristics - and the illustrations, though beautiful, are not technically detailed. However, I'm finding it a good addition to my plant library. Like one of my favorite out-of-print books, The Folklore of Trees and Shrubs, this is a great resource for some anecdotal information on plant species.

Chicory

Here's a shot of wild chicory, Cichorium intybus, growing in upstate New York:


It may not surprise you that chicory has been used as a coffee substitute. More specifically, the root is dried and ground, then used as coffee, historically when times are tough. Of course, if you go to New Orleans, you can buy coffee that is specially blended with chicory and favored by residents. It's not, however, recommended that you go around pulling roots up when you see this plant growing wild; the chicory that is cultivated for its roots is a variety called Cichorium intybus var. sativum.



Another species in the Cichorium genus is Cichorium endivia, or endive. Given the fact that with Chichorium you could not only fashion yourself a cup of coffee, but a tasty salad too, this plant truly merits some attention and appreciation.

American Hophornbeam

I was very excited to see an old friend, Ostrya virginiana, or American Hophornbeam, at a plant nursery last week:


I learned this plant in undergraduate school at Virginia Tech, but rarely see it this far north. The common name is due to obvious reasons -- the seed pods (technically the 'involucre') look a lot like hops (Humulus lupulus) flowers.

As you can see below, the habit is a bit scrubby, though fairly symmetrical. Ostrya belongs in that category of trees that are a bit small to be grouped in the shade tree category (maples and oaks, for example) but are too large to be categorized with smaller ornamental flowering trees.


Another shot of the involucre:


Perhaps what I most vividly remember noting when I was being taught this tree was its terrific, shaggy bark. It almost reminds me of the bark of a white oak (Quercus alba).


Finally, a direct shot of the leaves. Though large, the double serration makes the overall texture of this plant a bit softer. They don't get too showy in the fall -- the leaves take on a greenish-yellow hue, then drop.


Ostrya is in the Betulaceae family, which means it is related to Betula species , as well as Carpinus betulus. Like those species, this plant creates seeds with the use of male catkins.

Ostrya is derivative of the Greek word 'ostrua,' which means 'bone-like' (think of the related word, osteoporosis). This is definitely the case with American hophornbeam, whose wood is heavy and hard.

Student Post, White Birch

The Betula papyrifera from the Betulaceae family (also called White Birch or Canoe Birch)
was one of the few trees that really caught my eye when I was a young boy. Arriving in
Canada at the age of 7 from Tunisia, this tree, more than any other, was visually fascinating.
Its leaning trunk, peeling bark, and, most importantly its bright chalky whiteness, stood in stark
contrast to the predominant maples, oaks, pines, spruces and firs located on the north side of
the St. Lawrence River in Quebec.

In Quebec’s cultural folklore, there is the legend of the flying canoe, made of birch, that soars
over the mountains to reunite separated lovers. Interestingly, the Laurentian Mountains located
north of the St. Lawrence River are the oldest mountain range in the world, dating back 5
billion years. They were once high altitude mountains and are now for the most part less than
3000 feet in elevation and home to many birches.

I soon learned the story of the European colonists arriving in the New World more than 400
years ago with their big sail boats and needing to find a way to navigate the smaller rivers and
lakes so dominant in this post glacial landscape. The Native Americans of the Northeast
taught them how to build canoes made from white birch bark that were both light and fast. The
bark of the birch can be easily unwrapped in one large piece from the trunk of the tree and
then attached to the canoe structure.

The fall color of the Canoe Birch is stunning. It is considered to be the second best Betula –
after the Betula lenta – for its fall color. When the yellow leaves and the white bark are
standing in front of a dark green conifer, the effect is remarkable. In the winter, the tree is
susceptible to breakage under heavy snow or ice. One winter, I remember the White Birch in
front of my house being completely hunched and curved to the point that the top of the tree
was touching the ground. Amazingly, the tree recovered and stood straight up within a few
days after the ice had melted.

During the first few bitterly cold winters that the Europeans colonists spent in North America,
they suffered from scurvy caused by a deficiency in Vitamin C. They were not prepared for the
harsh climate and had no vegetables or fruit to eat during the long winter months. Again, the
Native Americans helped by sharing their knowledge of local resources. Their recipe for
healing scurvy was a concoction made from birch bark. Today, the sap of the birch is collected
and used for cleansing therapy.

--Pierrick Absolonne