It is already the second week in January, yet quite a few brown sycamore leaves remain stubbornly attached to branches. Don’t they know autumn is over?
It’s past time for the last lingering leathery, gutter-clogging leaves to let go. Detach. Release that grip and drift gently to the ground. All the other deciduous trees in our yard dropped foliage months ago. But not the sycamore tree. Sycamore trees are the ultimate hangers-on, steadfastly maintaining at least part of their leafy headdresses well into winter.
Still a few sycamore leaves remain even in the 2nd week of January
I don’t like sycamore trees, although I used to. I used to think these tall symmetrically-shaped shade trees were pretty. I suppose I still do as long as they’re in someone else’s front yard — just not in mine.
In addition to being delinquent leaf droppers, sycamore trees make messes in other ways too. The multi-colored bark I used to find so attractive doesn’t look nearly so nice when it peels off and falls to the ground. Neither are the copious amounts of brittle branches that break off more readily than those of any other tree I’ve ever encountered.
Brittle branches, peeling bark, thousands of seedpods and leaves that keep falling well into winter
And the seedpods! Oh, my goodness! For months, brown seedpods the size and shape of ping-pong balls fall to the ground only to become hidden beneath leaves. I wouldn’t mind these hard orbs so much if it didn’t hurt to step on them with bare feet, which I inevitably do whenever I’m outside in the yard.
Sycamore seedpods and the moon
I realize there are far more serious problems to concern myself with than the misplacement of a single tree in the landscape. But this is a problem for which I am completely responsible.
For years, I lobbied my husband Ralph to plant a sycamore tree in our yard. I told him how much I loved the tree’s symmetric shape, its towering height, multi-colored bark and dangling seed pods. I was so pleased when he finally agreed to plant one about 20 feet away from our house.
I knew if my green-thumbed spouse planted the tree, it would grow — and it did. One of a sycamore tree’s most appealing characteristics is its rapid growth rate, and the tree my sweet partner planted for me was no exception. It grew and grew and grew some more. Since its planting many years ago, the once-tiny sapling has become a mighty tree towering over the second story of our house and just about as wide as it is tall.
The sycamore tree by our house
For the first few years, I was pleased. In springtime, flocks of cedar waxwings use the tree as a way station between gluttonous feasts at a nearby stand of mulberries.
Too many cedar waxwings to count!
During daytime, songbirds scour its leaves for insects while at night, collared doves fall asleep on its slender branches.
Male bluebird in sycamore tree
Dove perched on a sycamore branch
As the tree’s girth increased, the sycamore attracted yellow-bellied sapsuckers, birds that methodically encircle the tree’s trunk with small holes to sip its syrupy insect-rich fluid.
These positive attributes made me happy.
But then leaves began to fall. Lots and lots of leaves.
Leaves on the walkways. Leaves in the garage. Leaves on the flowerbeds. Leaves on the yard. And most annoyingly, leaves in the gutters. The bigger the tree became, the more leaves it dropped. It soon became obvious that cleaning out the gutters was useless because more leaves keep falling well after other deciduous trees were bare.
Leaves, leaves and more leaves!
Of all the landscape mistakes I’ve made over the years — I’ve made many — planting a sycamore tree close to a house with gutters is near the top of the list. But my husband disagrees.
“I like it. It’s pretty,” he repeated again this morning as I, once again, tried to convince him to cut the tree down.
When you are married for a long time, you figure out which battles to pursue and which ones to let slide. My husband, who usually doesn’t express deep feelings for any plants other than those growing in his beloved vegetable garden, favors that sycamore with unwavering affection, and while I don’t have to agree with him, I do have to respect his opinion.
Ralph in his beloved vegetable garden
Life is all about compromise and finding the good in the bad. For now, I’ll try to make more of an effort to focus on the tree’s positive attributes and ignore its unpleasant ones. I may be responsible for the sycamore’s existence in our yard, but that doesn’t mean I have to be like the tree and let my mistake linger on long after others have been let go.
Nor do I have to clog up my mental gutter with frustration or annoyance. It’s time to get out the rake and clean up my act. Love it or hate it, the sycamore tree in our yard is here to stay.
After being away for five days, we returned to our Groveland home to find the ground concealed beneath a blanket of leaves. Maple and sycamore leaves covered the grass along with culm covers from our many bamboos.
Maple, sycamore and bamboo leaves and culm covers
Prior to our getaway, I’d been watching swamp maples put on a flashy show. Although they hadn’t yet begun to fall in earnest, many leaves on deciduous trees had turned bright red, a darker scarlet, rusty orange and even yellow.
Swamp maple tree putting on a show
Sycamore trees, which hold onto their leaves the longest, released their leafy headdress en masse while we were gone. As we drove in the driveway, the car’s tires crunched over a crusty coating of large, brown leathery leaves. The yard and walkways were covered. The gutters, too. And when we opened the garage doors to drive inside, a frenzy of sycamore leaves followed us.
Although autumn in Central Florida is not as obvious as it is in other parts of the country, assorted deciduous trees still manage to put on an impressive performance. During a month when Northerners tend to shovel snow, Floridians are busy raking leaves. That is, if they rake leaves at all, which I don’t normally do. The only time I pick up a rake is when my grandchildren visit. Then I try to create as big a pile as I can so my baby grands can jump, hide and throw leaves in the air. They love doing that.
Baby grands having a grand ol' time playing in the leaves
Coming home to a such an obvious seasonal shift reminds me how different the reality of living in Central Florida is from the way most non-residents imagine our state to be. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard non-residents say they couldn’t live in Florida because they’d miss the seasons.
Miss the seasons? But we have so many!
Right now, Central Floridians are experiencing autumn. It’s also the start of strawberry season, and the time of year when oranges begin to ripen. My tangerine tree is heavy with fruit, and a lady down the road who has a small backyard citrus grove is already displaying bags of navels at her front yard farm stand.
Tangerines a'ripening
In another couple months, it will be loquat season, and I can already smell the beige blossoms’ subtle scent when I walk by a loquat tree. Mulberry season begins in February, followed shortly after by the beginning of the blackberry and blueberry time of year.
Loquat blossoms a'flowering
And then there are all the flowering plants and grasses.
Have you noticed all the muhly grass currently blooming? The University of Florida Garden Solutions website calls muhly grass a ‘gardening superstar’ that puts on a fabulous show every fall without needing special attention. Muhly’s soft, feathery pinkish-purple plumes add pizzazz to even the most ordinary landscape. This Florida native grows in small dividable clumps that reach a height of about five feet. A white-plumed variety is also available.
While I haven’t added muhly grass to my landscape yet, it’s on my wish list for the future. Until then, I’m content with other ornamentals that add color and fragrance to the yard. During Confederate jasmine season — early summer — the clay wall by our driveway is transformed into a sweet, scented spectacle. Jasmine’s small white flowers pack a powerful punch, igniting the atmosphere with an intoxicating aroma. Brunfelsia, better known as yesterday-today-and-tomorrow plant because of the way its blooms change colors from white to dark pink, is another favorite aromatic plant. Brunfelsia season begins just after the New Year and continues for several months.
White, pink and purple - the three colors of Yesterday-today-and-tomorrow flowers
In addition to all the flowers that grow in the Sunshine State, vegetable gardeners like my husband Ralph have multiple planting seasons. Gardeners can begin to sow seeds in August for autumn harvests, and edibles can continue being sown and grown throughout the winter. Although the heat of summer hampers many vegetables, certain varieties tolerate it to provide garden fanatics like my spouse to continue planting and harvesting.
Ralph working in his raised-container vegetable garden
Here in Central Florida, seasons may not be as dramatic in the same way they are in other parts of the country, but they have their own special flavor, distinction and beauty. There’s no shortage of seasonal changes. Quite the opposite.
There are so many changes, it’s hard to keep track of them all. I’d list more, but right now there’s raking to do. Our grandchildren are coming over to visit and it looks like a perfect autumn day to jump in a big pile of leaves.
Nobody could mistake my husband for a clotheshorse.
On a scale of 1 to 10, Ralph’s interest in fashion is a minus 4. His wardrobe consists of about a half-dozen ratty tees and an equal number of ripped, frayed or stained pairs of shorts. He calls these items “work clothes” and doesn’t mind that they look a mess. I call them unacceptable for anything but work and insist he set aside at least one unstained shirt and intact pair of shorts to wear when we go together to town.
My husband owns one pair of pants — ‘Why would I need any more?’ he asks — worn only when he’s pruning trees. For chilly weather, he has a couple of old sweatshirts, a fleece vest and a knitted hat.
My practical spouse dons appropriate attire to prune trees
Although he’s about as far from a fashionista as one can get, that doesn’t preclude him from having specific preferences. Consider his work boots.
A few weeks ago, I walked outside, only to stumble upon a jumble of footwear prominently parked on the concrete pathway.
“What’s going on, Ralph?” I asked. “Are your boots having a party?”
The footwear in question — six pairs of steel-toed, ankle-high, lace-up boots in various stages of disrepair — are made by a company my husband discovered about 12 years ago. He loves those boots. They provide just the right support and comfort he needs in a work boot. Unfortunately, they’re no longer being made. The manufacturer went out of business a few years ago, and my shopping-adverse spouse has been unable to find a suitable replacement.
I couldn't help myself...had to arrange Ralph's haphazard display into a circle on the walkway
However, practical guy that he is, Ralph stocked up before the company bottomed out. Over the last decade, when one set of boots became too worn out to wear, he’d go up to the attic, open a new box and break in another pair. But even the most pragmatic planner eventually works through his stockpile, and that’s what happened the day I chanced upon his stash of worn-out footwear outside on the walkway.
“I’m letting them dry,” Ralph said. “I just caulked them, but they need to sit in the sun for a while to dry.”
Now I’m no carpenter — that’s my husband’s bailiwick — but I thought caulking was to smooth gaps in wood, fill cracks and seal seams. I mentioned this bit of insight to Ralph, and he simply smiled. “That’s right,” he said. “It works on shoes too.”
I suppose it makes sense that a fellow whose wardrobe consists mainly of raggedy items wouldn’t have a problem covering his feet with heavily-caulked boots. As long as it works, what does it matter?
And it did work.
After a few hours in the sun, the caulk hardened, and his boots were functional again. I won’t go so far as to say that they were as good as new — that would be overstating. But they’re usable, and for now, that’ll do.
Maybe some day in the not so distant future, I’ll make Ralph put on that one unstained shirt and untorn pair of shorts and insist he go into town to shop for new boots. If he’s lucky, my picky spouse might even find another pair he likes almost as much as the ones he has now. If that happens, I expect he’ll buy more than one pair because when you find something you like, you stick with it. And I’m sticking with him. I married a man of many talents. He may not be the sharpest dresser on the runway, but he’s a sharp thinker, not to mention the least clothes-minded person I know.
It's mulberry season and our trees are loaded with fruit.
Granddaughter Trillian takes a break from picking black mulberries to taste
The humble mulberry was one of the first fruit trees we planted on our Groveland property after moving here in 1992. While my husband Ralph and I have appreciated these fruitful bearers for all of our adult life, there are many who don’t share our enthusiasm.
The main complaint about these mid-sized, broad-growing deciduous trees is that mulberries are messy. That’s true. While these fruit-bearing trees have many attributes, neatness is not among them.
The most common varieties produce prolific quantities of sweet, sticky, dark-purple berries that fall to the ground when ripe. Ripe mulberries squash easily, which enables the pinkie-sized fruit to spread a purple splat onto fingers, faces, bare feet and the bottom of shoes. They stain cars and rooftops with impunity and leave their mark on driveways and clothing.
Messy? You betcha!
Because of the mess they make, mature trees are often cut down. Long ago when we lived on Cape Cod, Ralph and I sought out mulberry trees in our town and asked for permission to pick them. No one ever refused. Unfortunately, as the years went by, fewer and fewer trees remained. They didn’t die off – mulberry trees are hardy and rarely suffer from diseases. Instead, homeowners had them removed. People who were tired of purple-staining berries all over the ground, hired tree surgeons to cut them down.
It made us sad but it probably made wildlife sadder.
As messy as mulberries are, they more than make up for that negative trait by being a wildlife magnet, especially to birds.
Plant a mulberry tree in your yard and wildlife will come. Cedar waxwings will arrive by the hundreds to fill their rotund bellies with sweetness.
Red-bellied woodpecker with white mulberry in its beak
Red-bellied woodpeckers, crows, cardinals and even sandhill cranes are among the many birds that take advantage of mulberry season.
Crow trying to decide which berry to eat
Sandhill crane plucking a mulberry from the ground
Squirrels like them too and last night Ralph and I even saw a sounder of feral hogs gobble up the fallen fruit that covered the ground beneath the trees.
A gray squirrel likes to hang upside down while munching on mulberries
A sounder of feral hogs feed on dropped mulberries at dusk
One solution to the purple mess mulberries make is to plant a variety that produces white berries instead of dark colored ones. On our property, we grow many different kinds of mulberry trees but I like the white mulberries best.
Cedar waxwing with white mulberry
When ripe, white mulberries turn slightly beige and taste even sweeter than the purple-berried varieties. While the white-fruiting trees are the ones I go to when I head out to pick, two of my children prefer the purple fruit. I suppose it’s all a matter of individual taste.
Among life's tough choices...
Black or white mulberries? Which will Trillian choose?
My grandkids are less particular. To them, all mulberry trees are special. They like them because they can pick them easily. The trees do not have thorns or briars. What they do have are wonderful low spreading limbs that make them one of the best climbing trees around for children.
Even when there's no fruit yet, mulberry trees are fun to climb
as grandchildren Maya and Ella discover
While adults may dislike all the berries on the ground, it would be hard not to appreciate the pleasant shade a mulberry tree provides on a hot summer day. In Florida, berry season only lasts for a few weeks in April. After that, the tree’s broad-branching leafy cover offers respite from the heat while adding a lush and verdant feel to the landscape.
Even in winter when they've lost all their leaves, the dense branching of mulberry trees provide shade and beauty
I wish more people added mulberry trees to their yards. Even if people don’t eat the fruit – something I find hard to imagine not doing – a mulberry tree gives back far more than so many other trees do. It’s provides shade and attracts wildlife. Birds nest in its branches and feed on the berries. Kids like to climb its strong, broad limbs and it has the right kind of branches to support swings and hammocks. Cold weather doesn’t bother a mulberry tree. It grows quickly and doesn’t get diseases.
There’s no denying that mulberry trees are messy but what’s a little mess compared to so many other admirable attributes?
If you’re looking to add a tree to your landscape, consider a mulberry but be sure to plan carefully. To avoid future problems, consider a white berry variety or, if you decide to go with a traditional dark-fruited tree, don’t plant it too close to the driveway, walkway or house. Give your mulberry tree space to grow broad and bear fruit prolifically and you’ll be happy. So will your kids, grandkids, birds and other wildlife. When chosen and placed correctly, a mulberry tree can be a sweet and fruitful addition to any landscape that will last for generations.
Belated addition
Since first writing this piece I discovered one more animal taking advantage of mulberry season - a female coyote who spent considerable time eating mulberries that had fallen to the ground beneath the black mulberry trees closest to the woods. What a treat it was to watch this beautiful animal - nursing female - gobble up the berries.
When it comes to orchid trees, It's all about soil.
Plant an orchid tree, Bauhinia spp., in nutrient-poor soil such as hard clay, and this deciduous ornamental will struggle to survive. It might even die. On the other hand, watch the same tree thrive when the hole it's placed into contains well-drained dirt enriched with manure, peat or composted materials.
So much of a tree's development above ground depends on its underground environment. Rich, light soil encourages root expansion, and the more expansive a root system, the more energy available to produce branches, lush foliage, flowers and seedpods.
Thoughts such as these drifted through my mind while I rowed by a pink orchid tree growing a few feet back from our lake's northeastern shore. That tree has been growing — struggling to survive would be a more accurate description — for about 20 years. Yet, it has only recently begun bearing fragrant pink flowers, something most orchid trees do within a single growth season. The floral display is not as full or vibrant as it could be, but after 20 years of waiting, I'll take whatever it offers.
However, it didn't have to take this long.
If only my husband Ralph and I knew 20 years ago what we have since learned, the orchid tree could have looked very different. Before installing the tree, we should have dug a much larger, deeper hole. We should have removed the existing soil — a white clay called kaolin devoid of essential nutrients — and replaced it with a lighter, nutrient-rich mixture of manure, decomposed woodchips and peat.
Doing so would have gone a long way toward giving the roots the headstart they deserved and the boost they needed. A well-developed root system would have been able to support a flush of above-ground growth. Even without irrigation, which wasn't available at the time, the tree would have grown bigger and fuller far sooner than it did.
Instead, it spent years struggling to put down roots in the hard, white clay and because it didn't have a solid root system, the tree was vulnerable. In its early years, the few sprigs of top growth died back completely during periods of severe cold, and while the tree rebounded during warm periods, repeated losses took their toll.
However, over the last three or four years, the orchid tree finally seemed to be gaining strength. In 2013, it actually produced a flower — the first one ever — and I was so excited. Every year since, a few more flowers bloomed. This year is the best yet. A light cover of aromatic, pale pink blossoms adorns the tree, which is still small for its age. Although no one could say it's lush, to my admiring eyes, it looks mighty fine indeed.
As much as I am enjoying this long-awaited gift, I can't help but wish we had known 20 years ago the importance of essential elements. That's something trees and people have in common. We grow better in places that fulfill our needs. My fragrant orchid tree does best when grown in a partially sunny spot with well-drained soil that's neither too acidic nor too alkaline.
For people, the essential element is love. Of course, food, shelter and financial support are crucial too, but love is paramount. It's the most vital element needed to assure an individual's strong, swift and secure development into a healthy, happy and beautiful being.
Humans, like the sad little orchid tree growing along the shore of our lake, are also resilient. If we hang in long enough, we, too, can bloom. For some, it's about soil. For others, it's love. For all of us, it's about overcoming impediments and conquering obstacles.
In the spirit of Earth Day, find a tree you like and plant it. Maybe plant two. But whatever you do, don't forget the soil. Give those trees a good start in life, and the entire planet will be rewarded far sooner, far longer, with fewer worries and cares. On April 22 — and every other day as well — nurture nature and let nature nurture you
While rowing along the shore of our lake, splashes of purple caught my eye.
During the month of March, pinecones are forming in Central Florida, and on our property, several thousand slash pines, Pinus elliottii, are presenting purple displays of what can brazenly be described as pine tree sex.
All conifers are monoecious, which means the plants contain separate male and female reproductive parts called gametes. A gamete is the male or female cell that contains half the genetic material of the organism.
In the case of slash pines, the female seed parts develop into the familiar brown conical structures known as pinecones. However, none of those woody brown cones would form if not for their male counterpart — the purple-colored pollen cones that recently have caught my attention.
Unlike plants with flowers, pine trees don’t rely on bees, wasps, butterflies or other insects for pollination. Instead, conifers depend upon the wind to do the job of transferring genetic material from one location to another. Male pollen cones grow on the lower limbs. When wind blows, it carries pollen from male gametes into the air. Each tree produces millions of pollen particles with the hope that some will land on the female gametes growing on the upper limbs.
Of course, not all pollen particles reach their intended target. Most land elsewhere. Much to the annoyance of car owners, pine pollen settles on vehicle roofs and windows. It blankets shallow lake water with a yellow film. In people with a propensity for allergies, the arrival of pine pollens floating through air makes breathing difficult and aggravates sinuses.
But none of those results are the intended purpose of a male gamete’s springtime journey. Its aim is to find female gametes on the upper limbs. Once male pollen settles on its female counterpart, the pollen grains sift among the scales of the female cone to land directly on the unfertilized seeds, and the process of developing new pine trees can begin.
Growing new pine trees takes time — lots of time. A slash pine is not ready to produce pollen until it is 10 to 15 years old. About half a year after wind deposits pollen on the female cone, seeds fall to the ground and are ready to germinate — if, that is, they land in an acceptable location and are not eaten first by squirrels or birds.
Not all soil is suitable for growth. Some soils don’t have an appropriate composition. They might be too dry or too wet. On our property, many seedlings fall into areas that are under water during wet seasons, and while slash pines can tolerate wet feet for short periods, they often die if they sit in water too long.
I wasn’t thinking of the many obstacles slash pines endure in their effort to reproduce when I was rowing by the purple splashes of color. I was merely struck by a familiar beauty I recalled from previous seasons. Springtime is, after all, the time of love. Valentine’s Day may have already come and gone but from a slash pine’s perspective, the season of purple passion has just begun.
