On American sycamore trees, buds are breaking. Under American sycamore trees, balls are breaking. Continue reading “Sycamore currency”
Our dog loves hackberry trees. If there is a hackberry seedling within range of her face, she finds it. Under the neighbor’s boxwood, up the U-channel of the stop sign, poking from a storm drain, or wherever. She plucks the leaves with her teeth. She will chew as many as her leash lets her have time for. The seedling may be flanked by baby elm or privet or althea or bush honeysuckle of a similar size, but she only goes for hackberry leaves. Continue reading “Hackberry Jam”
Last night’s quick storm left evidence, but mostly of the subtle kind. We didn’t have to leap over any downed hackberry trees on our morning dog-walk. We did step on confetti, and lots of it.
Crepe myrtle wins as leading indicator of subtle disturbance because blooms are at their peak, and the neighborhood—and the city, and the South—has plenty of crepe myrtle. The flowers are available to be ripped in quantities and spun where directed. Red, pink and white confetti line streets and sidewalks, and in more than one lawn lie atop as if sprinkled by a careful hand. Continue reading “Crepe Myrtle Confetti After a Storm”
Native persimmon time again: fat little sacks of sweet pulp waiting to be baked into muffins. Mom and Izzy and I foraged in an office parking lot last night, under a tree I watch all year. I check for blooms, leaves, caterpillar tents, and any evidence that the property owners have lost patience with car-spattering, jelly-bomb season. Continue reading “Wild Persimmons on the Sidewalk”