certain plants say a lot about the places they come from, and by extension, a lot about the people who come from those places. if you say “birch,” can you think of anyplace other than a northern forest, with some tall and hearty looking human specimens moving briskly through them? possibly on skis or snowshoes? so when i say “olive tree,” where do those snowshoes go? and where to those pale, blond nordic giants go? well, they shrink by about half a foot. and their hair turns black. and they ditch those skis. and they probably lie down in the shade of the olive tree because it’s pretty hot in the sun, and because life is meant to be enjoyed in the form of moments like these, in the shade of olive trees.

olive branch with fruits

i recently read the design book A Frame for Life (which I recommend by the way). In it the author Ilse Crawford talks about how good design integrates unusual beauty with surprising functionality. Could there be any better description of nature itself? i mean look at that stem. is there anything about it that is not unusually beautiful, or surprisingly functional?

winter teasel

think i’ll belly up to a sand bar tonight and slide a few of these across. keep ’em coming, barkeep. i got a million more where that came from.

sand dollars

gulf coast of florida

i’ve had occasion to laud my fellow scientists for the precision of their language. often the scientific description of a species or plant is as accurate and playful as anything a poet could come up with. but i just read the rain tree pods above described as “three-parted inflated bladder-like pods.” come on, fellow nerds. you can do better than that. how about “leathern satchels.” or “varnished skulls” or “matte mahogany.” let’s not take our eyes off the ball here.

golden rain tree seed pods

in minnesota one of your jobs growing up is learning to identify conifers. some of our best trees are “pine trees” although most of them aren’t really pines, they’re firs. you learn to distinguish the flat needles of the balsam from the round bottle brush tips of the spruce. you learn that the white pine has five needles per bunch and the red pine has two. you learn that white cedar has a strange spicy cherry smell when you run your hand over it in winter. and you learn to love the tamarack, not only for its spectacular golden fall phase before it (unlike any other minnesota conifers) drops its needles. but you learn to love it for the comically large round buds it carries all winter long on its needle-less branches. it gives an impression of friendliness. it isn’t trying to blend in. it’s an extravert. like the lovable guy at the party in the loud blazer. hey, nice to meet you. i’m bob. what are you doing in these parts?

tamarack pine cones

st. paul, minnesota