More Blooming Trees - Black Locust

Just like the tulip trees we met over the weekend, the black locust trees are in full bloom this week, and this young specimen is looking particularly lovely by the light of the setting sun. 

Black locust, Robinia pseudoacacia, is native to North Carolina and is prized for both its wood and its flowers; although the blooming season is short, black locust is the source for a great deal of spring honey production. The wood is extremely durable and resistant to decay, and is perfect for outdoor applications such as fence posts.

The blossoms are strongly reminiscent of garden pea blossoms, and the black locust is indeed a member of the botanical family Fabaceae; you guessed it, the pea family. The black locust is quite adaptable and spreads aggressively into newly cleared areas, so much so that it has been identified in many areas of the U.S. outside of its native southeast as an undesirable invasive species. Be that as it may, the black locust's aesthetic appeal is undeniable this time of year, and we're inclined to like it.

More May Flowers...Crossvine

May is prime time for North Carolina's native wildflowers, not to mention the birds and the bees and the trees...

And since it's also time for tennis regionals and soccer tournaments and quarterly tax returns, Hoot Owl Karma has no chance of keeping pace with nature's springtime frenzy. 

So we've decided to simply catch what we can and pass it along, hoping that you'll do the same and between us perhaps we won't miss too much!

Crossvine is another of North Carolina's showy native wildflowers which peaks in early May, and as luck would have it, we crossed paths this morning as I made my daily delivery run. So...

right after supper, we dashed back over to get better acquainted before darkness set in.

The brilliant two-toned reddish-orange and gold blossoms resemble those of its summer-blooming cousin, the trumpet creeper, but the crossvine blooms earlier and seems to have a much shorter blooming window. 

From a distance, the profusion of blossoms seems to cascade down from above with no apparent attachment at all. Upon closer inspection, the buds occur in pairs or in clusters of five or six, and a paucity of leaves further enhances the illusion of the cascade.

Cultivated versions of this native woody vine are popular in piedmont gardens, but they tend to be more uniformly orange and most we've seen lack the sharp contrast between outer red and inner yellow that characterizes the wild variety.

Hummingbirds are likely the primary pollinators of crossvine, with their flower's tubular form and both male and female flower parts perfectly situated to take advantage of a foraging hummer's forehead.

The leaves have an intriguing structure, in that each "leaf" consists of a pair of leaflets and a tendril for clinging and climbing, and the fresh green leaves on this specimen are beginning to emerge with a vengeance, right behind the blossoms.

As you make your hectic way through the next few weeks, keep an eye on the trees for these bright smiling faces, and if you're lucky enough to spot a crossvine in your neighborhood, pause for a moment and get to know it; you'll be glad you did!

That Which We Call A Lily...Zephyranthes atamasco

Late April showers bring forth one of our favorite native wildflowers, the atamasco lily. Known variously as Easter lily, rain lily or simply atamasco, this lovely lady is becoming more and more scarce due to habitat loss. 

Late yesterday, soccer practice sent us homeward via the rural byways of Chatham, where these lovelies luxuriated beneath the lightest little drizzle of raindrops.

Swaying gently in the breeze, they stood singly by the side of the road or gathered in small groups, the largest of which is pictured here. According to various sources, atamascos once formed colonies of thousands on suitable sites across the state, from the coastal plains into the mountain valleys.

These "atamasco meadows" as one famous NC botanist characterized them, are encountered rarely these days; but the lucky traveler, rambling North Carolina's rural byways around May Day, may be blessed with a tiny sampling of that long-lost visual feast.

Pinewoods Magic - Moccasin Flower

Not far from Hoot Owl central, here in the heart of Carolina, a large stand of towering loblolly pines borders the two-lane rural byway leading back to my beginnings as a naturalist in the Sandhills. An almost pure stand of loblolly, with a veritable carpet of reddish orange straw blanketing the sandy soil beneath, not unlike the scenery you might encounter on any of hundreds of rural highways in the American Southeast, and only a week or so removed from its role in broadcasting its share of a few million tons of bright yellow pine pollen throughout our region.

A few years back, one of my secret sources of nature knowledge encouraged me to have a short walk in those woods along about the first of May. Having spent hundreds of hours wandering woods like these as a child, I wasn't expecting much in the way of surprises. But these woods, like all of nature, have a way of exceeding expectations...

Two steps into the forest, a mere forty feet from the busy by-way, the magic begins. Bright green basal leaves thrust forth from six decades' accumulation of decaying straw, bizarre bowing blossoms on hirsute stalks bear witness to nature's ingenuity. These creatures were born here, in this precise spot; they belong here, to this place, the magical pinewoods of Carolina.

I wander farther afield, probing the boundaries of this remarkable space; in clumps, and singly, these magnificent native flora abound in an area no larger than the footprint of a modest house. In a tiny little corner of the forest, where who-knows-what critical environmental factors exist, these glorious little sprites spring forth to dance in sun-dappled silence for but a few brief passages of the golden orb, and then they are gone. 

Why do such mysteries exist?

Why here, and why now?

Are they here for me, or am I intruding on a show intended for some other; or perhaps, intruding on lives that wish not to be disturbed? 

The wonderful magic of the pinewoods is palpable, and I am humbled in the presence of such indescribable beauty and biological complexity.

I am grateful that I exist in a world filled with such wonders.

What can I learn from them, from how they live and grow?

I leave the pinewoods with more questions than answers, 

humbled, inspired and grateful.

Dwarf Wild Iris, Spring is Here!

Growing up wild in the Sandhills of North Carolina, nature marked the passage of my days almost as well as the Johnsonville Ruritan Club's birthday calendar which hung inside the kitchen cabinet beside the stove. 

And the wild iris was my favorite springtime marker.  

Just beyond the limits of the mowed yard, on the margin of a small copse of trees, consisting as best I can recall of one magnificent longleaf pine, a hickory or two, a couple of scrub oaks and a small blackgum tree, there was a small community of six or eight tiny iris plants. Their leaves were present nearly year-round, but only in the early spring, usually around Easter, did the blossoms appear. 

And oh, what blossoms!

Dwarf wild iris, dwarf violet iris or vernal iris; by any name, its emergence from the sandy soil of the southern pines is a magical springtime treat, and undeniable evidence of spring's arrival.

This particular individual resides at the margin of the woods near my brother's home in Harnett county, just a couple of miles from those bold little bloomers that announced the springs of my childhood.

On a trip to the NC mountains last spring, I was delighted to discover an upland community of dwarf irises which are very similar in appearance to my old friends from the Sandhills. Spreading by way of rhizomes, the miniature montane iris formed much denser colonies than those I encountered in my youth.

The blossoms showed some slight variation as well, but these diminutive heralds trumpeted the same glad tidings as their lowland brethren had throughout the years of my childhood...

The long, cold nights of winter have passed, and still we live! Witness the glory of spring's rebirth! Spring is here! Rejoice!

Welcome Back, Spring. Sweet Gum and Yellow Jessamine

 Clocks have sprung forward, and clouds of yellow pine pollen fill the Carolina blue skies. The first morel has been spotted in the park, and the tulip poplar leaves are about the size of squirrel ears. Last year's sweet gum ball still hasn't loosed its grip, but this years crop will not be denied.

The golden trumpets of yellow jessamine have heralded the arrival of springtime for me as far back as I can remember. The first trip to the coast each spring always traversed a swampy river bottom or two, draped with masses of these golden trumpets.

The ditch behind the house was already filled to brim with evergreen Carolina jasmine when the purple wisteria clusters were still mere hints of a bud on the bare vines of winter. 

Summer's shade unfurling... 

Winged seed of forests future crowned with wreaths of gold.  

Welcome back, Spring!

Welcome Back, Spring! Eastern Redbud and Carpenter Bees

As the boys and I wait at La Dolce Vita for Jules to arrive for dinner, hundreds of humming insect wings draw our attention to this visual feast. 

A single eastern redbud tree, perched unassumingly in the shadow of the railroad crossing at Charlotte and Chatham, appears to have attracted every bumblebee in Lee County. 

Literally immersed in the redbud's sweet nectar, the bees pay us no heed. When the warm evening breeze momentarily stirs them from their feasting, they drift dizzily up into the draft before diving down for another syrupy draught.

  

Spring has sprung. The trees and the bees declare it!

The redbuds have burst into bloom, and the leaves are not far behind. 

The carpenter bees have awakened from their winter slumber and will soon spawn the next generation.

Welcome back, Spring. Welcome back.

Another Walk on the Wild Side - Island Creek Trail

Thirty miles or so northwest of the red-cockaded woodpeckers' pine barrens in Carteret County, Croatan National Forest takes on a decidedly different air. The dark, tannin-stained waters of Island Creek wind through cypress trees  bedecked with spanish moss and huge loblolly pines backed up against massive yellow poplars and hickories. Underlying the forest is a shallow layer of coquina limestone, imprinted with the shells of mollusks long dead, ghosts of a thriving seabed some millions of years gone...now exposed in the creek bend by the erosive action of Island Creek over these past thousands of years.

On a mid-winter day, the trees and the water would rule this domain, but today, in early spring, the eye and the soul of the wanderer is captivated by the diminutive flora of the forest floor. Bold white bloodroot blossoms dominate, springing right out of the fossil-filled limestone in places.

Following close the meandering stream, the timelessness of the pine barrens permeates this scene as well, blurring the lines between past and present, overwhelming the senses with the tenacity of nature, of the wilderness...Here and Now, the forest is alive, as it has been for ages. And, before that, the ocean lived here, teeming with lifeforms familiar yet unknown.

The insect and the flower; pollen, nourishing the bee, replicating the flower, the forest lives.

The hunter, stealthily stalking the bee from the shadows of brown, the forest alive.

Another hunter, inching up out of the brown of the forest floor, green as the living leaves above.

The diversity of life is awesome; a writhing mass of leaves; not ferns - lousewort.

Lousewort, too, is a flowering plant, only different...

The forest is alive with color, violet, in this instance.

Swiftly seeking shelter in the shade of the mayapple leaf, this woodland snail oozes along its trail of slime mere inches above the remains of millions of its ocean-dwelling molluscan ancestors.

Nearby, new life emerges, drawing vital nutrients from the decomposed remains of forests (and oceans) past, while the pine tree seeds, with their vast potential, lie dormant for the moment, biding their time until they, too, take their place in the long line of forest giants. 

More bloodroot, two individuals in a colony occupying the entire forest floor.

Virginia pennywort, yet another flowering plant, gloriously inconspicuous.

Round-lobed hepatica, liverwort, stakes its claim to the life of the forest as well, joining with the bloodroot to give our coastal plain wood a decidedly piedmont flavor.

More bloodroot, but twelve petals, not eight; different is beautiful.

The pennywort sidles right up alongside the ubiquitous bloodroot and its oddly-lobed leaf, the forest floor comes alive in springtime, and springtime comes alive in the forest floor.

More hepatica amidst the ancient ferns and their fresh young fiddleheads...

The eyes resist, not easily lured from the visual feast below, but the persistent warbling from the branches conspires with the other senses to draw them upward for a glance at the forest's avian inhabitants.

But only for a moment, now back to the blossoms at the base of the tree, the forest alive.