playing the odds

enormous old elm trees used to line many of the streets of minneapolis and st. paul. in the 1970s and 1980s most of these trees were lost to dutch elm disease. to understand the loss and devastation, image the plane trees of southern france all dying in a single decade, or the cherry trees of japan, or the redwoods of california. watching these monumental trees get taken down one after another, turning majestically shaded boulevards into naked sun-parched streets was heartbreaking. so, eyeing this elm tree loaded with seeds today was a joyful sighting. only approximately 1 in 100,000 american elm trees is dutch elm disease tolerant. so, i don’t know what the odds of this particular tree’s survival are, but looking at the number of seeds it’s putting out, makes he hopeful that one or two may have a chance.

elm branch with ripening samara seeds

here today

i spotted my first apple-blossom sidewalk carpet today. the next rain or heavy wind will send the rest of them  to the ground  doesn’t matter. i’ve seen what i need to see.

crab-apple blossoms

what a difference a week makes

spring ephemerals, those timid woodland flowers of early spring, have a very short window in which to do their thing. they must reach maturity and go into full bloom before the trees start leafing out and hide them into shadowy obscurity for another year. i spent the better part of the last two weeks trying to capture some of those delicate beauties. the difficulty is, the second you pick one, it begins to droop. i did my best, with what i had. now this week, i have turned my attention to the leafing of the trees. in just one week, my woods have gone from full dappled sunshine to nearly full shade. all in a week. now the soft colors of spring are overhead, rather than of underfoot. look up! do it soon, it will only last a week.

new leaves of spring

most stubborn

our maple is completely leafed out. and our oak, ten meters away on the other side of the deck, still has catkins and baby leaflets. the oaks are always the last to spring. likewise, they are also the last to fall in november–often holding their leaves well into winter. i respect their stubborness. if i were a tree, i would like to be a graceful birch, flexible and beautiful. but in my heart i know i’m an oak. just try making me bend.

baby white oak leaves in spring

that green exactly

my view these days is hazed with the chartreuse yellow-green of new new-growth leaves. i live in a heavily wooded three acre lot on the south shore of small lake. it’s a unicorn of a place–to be so secluded within 15 minutes of two downtowns–minneapolis and saint paul. it feels more like a cabin 100 miles north. i love this time of year in our woods. within weeks the leaves will be so dense that i will live in constant shade. ecologically, it’s very sound–summer shade to keep the house cool, and winter sun to heat the house up. but, i have to admit, i do have fantasies of living on a high hill, and no trees to obstruct the endless views. oh, i suppose the grass is always greener. but right now, i wouldn’t trade anybody’s grass for my young, diaphanously pale green hardwood leaves.

springtime linden leaves and buds