Leaves

Day 309: Here's a quick lesson in basic botany, presented in the form of a visual quiz. Don't worry, you won't be graded on your response.

We talk about leaves in many ways, throwing around words like "serrulate" and "runcinate" to describe their margins, referring to their tips as "cirrose," "aristate" and so on, "obelliptic" and "flabellate" for their shapes, but in the most elementary terms, leaves can be placed in one of two categories: simple or compound. A simple leaf is just that: it has a central vein and if it is lobed (think of an oak leaf), the most deeply cut portion of the lobes do not reach the central vein. It is generally attached to the main stem of the plant by a petiole (stalk). Please note that I said "generally." Sessile (stalkless) forms do occur. A compound leaf is made up of multiple leaflets arising from a single petiole, and compound leaves can be palmate (shaped like a hand) or pinnate (resembling a feather).

I promised you a quick lesson, so I won't go any further down the rabbit hole than this. From left to right, top row: 1) Golden Chain Tree, 2) Red Alder, 3) Sitka Mountain-ash; bottom row: 4) Vine Maple, 5) Philadelphus, 6) Horse Chestnut. Categorize these six leaves as follows: simple, palmately compound, pinnately compound.

And there. You learned a couple of new words in a relatively painless manner.

Answers: elpmis, evif, ruof, owt; dnuopmoc yletamlap, xis dna eno; dnuopmoc yletannip, eerht.

Western Tiger Swallowtail, Papilio Rutulus

Day 263: Watching my Philadelphus (Mock Orange) be denuded of it blossoms over the last several days has given me a different perspective on butterflies. Perhaps the petals were ready to fall and only needed a slight nudge from a proboscis, but you'd think they were shredding them off one by one if you let observation guide you.

Picture this: Swallowtail lands on a flower, wings fluttering, legs waving as the insect attempts to gain a purchase. Once secured, the butterfly seems to burrow into the flower with some vehemence; jabbing, wriggling, flapping its wings vigorously. Suddenly, a shower of petals results, and Papilio rutulus dines with ease at the banquet of exposed stamens. Done, it moves on to the next flower and the process repeats, each time with a snowfall of Philadelphus petals.

While this wouldn't be particularly noticeable if one or two butterflies were at work, in the case of my 20' tall tree, thirty or more may be attacking flowers at the same time. Only a few petals drop from untouched blooms, as opposed to the hundreds dislodged by hungry flutterers. During the heat of the day, activity is somewhat limited, but when the first shadows touch the tree in the evening and its fragrance fills the neighbourhood, it seems to be abloom with yellow and black trembling flowers. Most have marked bird damage to their wings, but I was able to capture one perfect Papilio rutulus among the dozens ravaging the poor Philadelphus for breakfast.

Philadelphus

Day 279: A few days ago, I came home from an outing near the dinner hour and as I mounted the steps to the front door, I caught a sweetness in the air which at first I failed to identify. It always takes me by surprise. "Ah, Philadelphus!" I said aloud as I put the key in the lock. "It's that time of year again!"

Soon, the fragrant white blossoms will have a crowd of Swallowtail butterflies investigating their hearts. I've already seen a few flitting about, and bees as well. Oh, for honey flavoured with this pollen! But alas, I have only one tree and plenty of other attractors.

It's been fifteen years or more since I brutally uprooted a single sucker from property a friend was renting. We had no shovel or trowel, so the two of us grabbed hold and pulled and pulled, reminiscent of the crew of animals and the giant turnip in the Russian folk tale. When it popped free, we went spilling backwards just like they did, one stick of Philadelphus, two or three short roots at the end, held in our hands. After wrapping the roots in wet paper towels, I drove my prize home and some three hours later, put it in a pot of soil which I then sank in the ground just off my front porch. I left it there through two winters, and then stuck it in its present location at the corner of the garage. Today, its tallest branches reach above the roof peak, laden with the sweet white flowers which perfume every corner of the yard in the later hours of the day.