Windfall

Day 39: As I've mentioned before, I repurpose the leaves of my deciduous trees as weed-barrier material, soil additives in the form of compost, and as mulch/insulation for frost-sensitive plants. My Desert King fig probably could withstand temperatures into the teens, but as my mother used to say, "Better safe than sorry." After spreading a thick layer of Japanese maple and dogwood windfall over a nasty patch of buttercups at the end of my carport, I had plenty left over to mound up around the fig. This morning, they were touched with frost and struck my eye as beautiful even in their deteriorated state. It is here where black-and-white photography comes into its full rights. When colour would be a distraction in the broad view, monochrome allows us to focus on details: grain, texture, light and shadow. A pile of brown, wet leaves is not a particularly pretty sight, but when reduced to shades of grey, leaf margins and veins pop to the forefront and demand that we recognize them as a major component of the work. Do not dismiss black-and-white photography as a relic of bygone days, but embrace it for what it is: an art unto itself.

Repurposing

Day 33: The "fall" has finally arrived, nearly six weeks past the customary point when the dogwood and Japanese maple drop their leaves, and that despite several nights in the low and mid-twenties. The contorted filbert's foliage has barely changed colour, and that silly fool begonia on my front step is hanging onto its leaves in an inexplicable act of defiance. I want to know why this year is different, why the abscission layer hasn't formed, why the leaves haven't dropped when they should have done so in mid-September. "Curiouser and curiouser," said Alice, and I would gladly follow her down any rabbit hole which might lead to an answer. But all this aside, you really didn't want to rake, did you? I'm here to give you reasons to justify your position.

It goes without saying that leaves were not meant to be raked. If they are to be moved at all, the process should come about at the whim of an autumn gale; a redistribution of resource, if you will. Decaying leaves contribute to a healthy soil base. Okay, they mat your grass, but lawns are an affectation, to say nothing of being a pain in the neck to mow. Leaf litter adds nutritional elements to the soil both directly and indirectly as frass excreted by insects which consume decaying vegetation. Fallen leaves also provide protection for small critters such as overwintering butterflies and moths. Other wildlife may insulate their nests and dens with shed foliage. If you simply must maintain a lawn because you're legally bound by a homeowner's association contract or other human ridiculousness, then repurpose the "fall" by using it as mulch. I spread mine over a particularly nasty patch of buttercups I'm trying to kill, and also bed a loose layer around my fig tree to prevent frost damage to its roots. If this is still not to your liking, compost leaves and till the result into your garden in the spring. You'll have happier vegs for the effort. The moral of this story is clear. In the words of Zeno of Citium, "The goal of life is living in agreement with Nature."

Botanical Art

Day 10: I'm not kidding myself. I know that I don't have an artistic bone in my body. I couldn't draw a square square if you paid me, and to try to get the proportions and perspective right on something as simple as an egg is as far beyond my skill as trying to recreate the work of one of the Old Masters. However, I do think I have a good eye for colour, which is probably the product of years of doing needlework. I never need to carry a fabric sample to the store to match thread. I simply commit it to memory before I go shopping. Lack of artistic talent aside, I have long desired to be able to do botanical illustrations in some medium or another, so when a friend began taking watercolour classes, I thought I'd give it a try. I bought a cheapo kit: several brushes, some paints in tubes and some in "tablet" form. The tubes struck me as likely to waste a lot of paint, so I haven't cracked them yet, but I seem to be doing okay with the hard sort. After my first few attempts turned out rather too light (the vine maple, for example), Patty advised me to allow the paint to dry and then add a second layer to make the colour stronger. While I don't think I'm there yet, I'm not unhappy with the results either. That said, I have to admit to a certain cheat: I know I can't draw, so I traced around real leaves and then laid in the colour. Hey, at least I stay within the lines.

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.

All Der Leaves

Day 23: All der leaves have fallen...cottonwood, maple, willow, cascara, an errant oak, and yes, alder leaves, all have fallen and lie on the old road/trail to the Nisqually-Ohop Creek confluence in a blanket of mottled brown. Unlike a normal Pacific Northwest autumn when they'd be wet, slick, gooey and a serious hazard to your health on several different levels, this year they are dry and crunchy and make a wonderfully satisfying sound as you shuffle through them. I needed to get out today without too much physical challenge, so I chose this easy trail in Nisqually State Park which runs something between a mile and a half to two miles from parking before it dead-ends at the water. The elevation loss is minimal, maybe a couple hundred feet, and on such a gentle slope that you don't really notice until you start climbing back up. There's not a lot to see along the way other than Usnea-covered branches and in season the occasional mushroom, but it's a pretty walk and can be taken as leisurely or as vigorously as one might wish. I loafed my way down today, ambled back in no particular rush, stopping to look at lichens, enjoying the sound of the river, searching for a woodpecker drumming on a tree somewhere out of sight, and surprising a coyote who went bounding off into the forest in a crackle and crunch of leaves, affronted by a human in his personal domain.

It's A Jungle Out There

Day 24: "Leaf" them lay! The fall and subsequent decay of healthy leaves provides nutrition and shelter for a wide variety of small ground-living organisms, and if left to decompose naturally, serves as a mulch against weeds. The coarser materials add texture to soil. If you don't like the appearance of a blanket of leaves, hit 'em a lick with a mulching mower. If that doesn't fit into your urban lifestyle, go ahead and rake them, but compost them over the winter and add them back into your garden in the spring. Make good use of Ma Nature's gifts!

Quercus Garryana

Day 8: Although I dearly love living among the evergreens, there are a few things I miss from the days when my home was on one of Southwest Washington's prairies, notably Camas and Garry Oak (Quercus, garryana, aka Oregon White Oak). Unlike some of its cousins, Garry does not colour up red in autumn; however, it turns a lovely shade of warm brown which is very pleasing to the eye. The acorn of this species is about twice as long as it is wide and contains a smallish nut which can be ground into flour or eaten after soaking in plain water to remove the tannins. That said, they are a favourite with the squirrels, so you don't often find them on the ground.