Deviations In Phenology

Day 123: I have been thinking that the pussywillows seemed late this year, but checking my phenology notes (i.e., posts and photos), I see that catkins have emerged as early as December 22, and as late as March 16. That strikes me as a pretty wide range of deviation. My weather records show nothing remarkable for that early year: not overly dry or wet, no prolonged hot spells or unusually cold temperatures, although the summer was smokier than usual due to wildfires. Could that have instigated an early bloom? Could the tree have been stressed by aerial pollutants to an extent which kicked it into survival mode? It's an interesting hypothesis, and I suspect it's one which will lead me down a rabbit hole later on today as I try to find supporting documentation. In any event, the pussywillows are right on time according to my logs. I was just overly anxious for them to appear.

Rites Of Spring

Day 117: If the First Day of Skunk Cabbage signifies the beginning of the year, what then is the Festival of Pussywillows? My friends, it is the upbeat note on which we end the tale of Winter, the time when we close the book and consign its grey story to memory. For a few more weeks, it will command our attention occasionally, but we can push it aside with a glance at the garden space and a few envelopes of hopeful seeds. Pussywillows are a promise of light and warmth, of brown giving way to green. They are the beacon guiding us to the shovel and to the hoe, and their swelling carries the scent of freshly turned soil. Pussywillows are a cycle unto themselves, both end and beginning, come 'round to bind the loop of the year end to end with their soft, silvery stitches.

Snow Cats

Day 137: Spring in the Pacific Northwest means weather. What kind of weather? You name it. In our history, we have had 80-degree days in February and we have had temperatures below zero (that's 26 and -18 to you Celsius types). We have had three feet of snow on the ground. We have had flood-producing rain. I've never suntanned in February, but then, this is the Pacific Northwest. "We don't tan; we rust," or so the saying goes. And conversely, we have had snow and killing frosts in June. Was I surprised to see snow on my pussywillows a few days ago? Not particularly. Was I surprised yesterday by the pea-sized hail which chattered so loudly on the metal awning over my back porch that it sounded like Animal playing the drums? Nope. I just shrugged and said, "Eh, February." Now that said, February weather is a little more consistent as you move up in altitude, and sometimes the snow accumulation on the Mountain is pretty impressive. Record snowfall at Paradise was 1,122 inches in the year 1971-72. Go on, divide that by 12. That's ninety-three and a half feet of snow (no typo there...93.5 feet)! Of course, that fell over a 12-month period. Currently, Paradise has 212 inches on the ground according to the Snotel weather station. Seventeen feet may not be as impressive as ninety-three, but you can't really dismiss its significance.

Unreasonably Unseasonable

Day 70: Let's get one thing straight: Pussywillows do not bloom in December in the Pacific Northwest. In fact, when they started blooming in late January instead of February, I began ranting about changes in the climate. A decade later, they were appearing mid-month. I have never, repeat NEVER seen them bloom before Christmas, and mine, living at elevation as they do, are later than those in Flatland. It's one thing for stores to start their Christmas push before Hallowe'en and put valentines on the shelves before New Year's, but when Nature follows the lead of crass commercialism, one can only say that she's being unreasonably unseasonable.

Pussywillow Mystery

Day 98: A few days ago, I solved the mystery of why my pussywillow has so few catkins every year: Steller's Jays think the young buds are very tasty! I caught Mr. Steller in the act of eating them, pecking at each one to remove the husk and then gobbling down the tender center. While this wasn't exactly what I'd planned when I planted the tree, I'm glad to see that it has more than a purely ornamental purpose.

Here It Comes!

Day 133: Spring is beginning! The first of my pussywillows popped about two weeks ago, and although the tree doesn't have a lot on it yet, the signs of the season are there to see, right outside my kitchen window. Other portents are emerging: 3-4" daffodil shoots, a few curly tulip leaves, threads of grape hyacinth. It's happening. Spring is coming! But wait...what are those white things drifting down? Sigh. Ma Nature is playing tricks on me again.

Soft Catkins

Day 103: Here it is, a sure sign that winter's reign will soon give way to spring. The emergence of pussywillows marks the beginning of my seasonal calendar, the natural equivalent of New Year's Day. They've been out for a week or so already, waiting for me to acknowledge them with a portrait as soon as the rains stopped. I haven't checked the twig I planted in the front yard last year, a slip from this tree, but it bore leaves well into autumn last year, so I'm sure it's all right.

Sprangly though it is, this tree projects up beyond the peak of the garage roof. It too originated as a slip, taken from a branch found on a back road, broken off by an ice storm several years ago. Pussywillows used to be quite common here in the Pacific Northwest, but in the last several decades, they've become harder to find growing wild, and it's my considered opinion that the world needs more of their cheer. Willows of all sorts root readily in water or moist ground. Pick pussywillows just as they begin to open, put them in a jar of water and let the catkins go through their cycle. When the catkins fall, the twigs will begin to develop leaves. By the time the leaves are mature, a healthy crop of roots will have developed as well. The twigs can be put directly in the ground at that point, or as I prefer to do, pot them up to confine the roots and force them to grow into a good ball. Plant the following spring and keep well watered through the heat of summer.

Making More Pussywillows

Day 129: The scarcity of wild pussywillows upsets me, so I am taking measures to ensure that I am never without this delightful tree and its old-fashioned charm. The bush I started from a slip a decade ago now stands about ten feet tall, its topmost branches being the best bearers of catkins. The lower branches are rather sparsely endowed, so it was those from which I cut slips to put in water. Pussywillows root readily, and as you can see, mine are anxious to take their places in my yard. I will pot them later in the season, and will leave them there for a year or two while they establish strong root systems. Then I'll plant them in strategic spots where they will prosper in good light. You can never have too many pussywillows!

Think Spring!

Day 109: Spring is coming! Of course to date we haven't had much winter in the Pacific Northwest other than a cold snap which lasted a few days in early December but here, pussywillows are a January item. The earliest varieties seem to be the cultivated types: big catkins borne close together on fat, stiff stems. The smaller wild ones won't show up until later, and they are growing increasingly hard to find. For many years, I've hunted them down, picking just a few twigs to put in a vase in honor of Spring's return. Occasionally, the slips root in water, but until a few years ago, my transplanting efforts failed. That said, I was finally successful with one of the fat-catkin varieties and planted it at the corner of my garage. For a while, it looked like I might lose it to the deer and elk, so I wrapped the lower branches with harsh plastic netting to deter them. I am happy to say that the tree is now about ten feet tall and the varmints are leaving it alone.