ethnobotany

by

Tea Time: Kentucky Coffeetree

Learning to identify Kentucky coffeetree in the winter brings you one step closer to making a coffee-like (albeit caffeine-free) beverage from its seeds. Humans have a long history of occasionally using the “beans” of Gymnocladus dioicus to make this tisane, which explains common names like coffeetree, American coffee berry, and coffeenut. The process is a bit time consuming, and the end result is mixed, but foraging adventures like this are all about the experience. This drink is not likely to replace whatever you are currently drinking in the morning, but it does offer an interesting diversion.

fruit of Kentucky coffeetree (Gymnocladus dioicus)

Winter is the best time to collect the pods, which are flat, leathery, brown to black in color, and about 2 inches wide and 6 inches long. The stocky fruits are often found hanging from the tips of the tree’s bare branches. Many also fall to the ground over the course of the season, making them easier to collect. If you split the pods open early in the season, you’ll find the seeds embedded in a sticky, neon green goo that will stick to your hands and clothes. As the year progresses, the glue-like substance dries out and is easier to deal with. The seeds are dark, extremely hard, rounded and flattened, and about the size of a penny or nickel. The funiculus, which is a short stalk that connects the ovule/seed to the ovary, tends to be fairly prominent and something you don’t often get to see on seeds.

inside the fruit of a Kentucky coffeetree

Once you’ve collected several pods and removed the seeds from the gooey innards, soak the seeds for an hour or two and then rinse them, making sure to remove dried up goo and any remaining funiculi. Pat the seeds dry and place them in a baking dish with a lid for roasting. The roasting process is said to eliminate the toxicity of the seeds. The lid is important because several of the seeds will pop open during roasting and will fly around in your oven if they aren’t contained.

The fruits of Kentucky coffeetree contain a toxic compound called cytisine, an alkaloid that is similar in action to nicotine. The Handbook of Poisonous and Injurious Plants by Nelson, et al. states that “the cytisine content of the seeds is quite low; and chewing one or two would not be expected to produce toxic effects.” Actually, the bigger risk of chewing one of these rock hard seeds is breaking your teeth. Cytisine poisoning includes typical symptoms like diarrhea and vomiting; in extreme cases it can lead to coma and death. If the seeds are properly roasted, you won’t have to worry about any of this, but as with anything you are trying for the first time, start with small amounts.

seeds of Kentucky coffeetree

Times and temperatures for roasting vary depending on who you’re getting your information from. I went with 300° F for 3 hours (which ended up being 3 and a half hours because I forgot to take them out in time). One source suggested roasting the seeds for only 2 hours for better flavor, but I decided to err on the side of caution and roast them for longer. Many of the seeds will have popped open during the roasting process. For those that haven’t you will need to use a nutcracker or some other comparable tool to crack the seed coat and remove the insides. Dispose of the seed coats and grind the remaining bits into a fine powder using either a coffee grinder or mortar and pestle. You’ll end up with a fine, chocolate-colored powder which you will use to make your “coffee.”

You can prepare this beverage in the same way you would typically choose to make coffee, but keep in mind that upon adding water, the fine grounds quickly turn to a mud-like substance and will block up the filter you are using. For this reason, I recommend small batches. I found Kentucky coffeetree “coffee” to be very earthy and rich and somewhat similar to strong black coffee. Sierra tried it and immediately exclaimed, “That’s nice!” and then proceeded to give it two thumbs up. Some people like black coffee. I added cream to it and found it much more pleasant to drink. Other people don’t think this beverage tastes like coffee at all and instead call it tea-like, chocolaty, fruity, or “akin to mud,” among other more negative reviews. I think it’s a drink that could grow on me, but considering the effort it takes to make one cup, I don’t see that happening any time soon.

Kentucky coffeetree “coffee grounds”

Have you tried making “coffee” from the seeds of Kentucky coffeetree? Let us know what you think about it in the comment section below.

More Tea Time Posts on Awkward Botany:

Advertisement
by

Winter Trees and Shrubs: Kentucky Coffeetree

A few years ago, I was on the hunt for a Kentucky coffeetree. I was aware that a few could be found in some of the parks around Boise, but not being familiar with them, I wasn’t sure where exactly to find one or what I was even looking for. One winter while riding my bike to work, I noticed a tree at the edge of a golf course. No doubt I had passed this tree hundreds (if not thousands) of times. What caught my eye were thick, bean-like pods hanging from the ends of branches. They were unlike any other tree fruits I was familiar with. I stopped and, with a little effort, knocked one of the pods free from the tree. When I split it open, I found three or four large, smooth, black seeds inside. Later, I confirmed that the tree was indeed Kentucky coffeetree. Passing by it during any other time of year, it may have never caught my eye – just another deciduous tree with green leaves that, from a distance at least, looks like so many other deciduous trees. But in winter, with several chunky pods hanging from the tips of its stout branches, it really stood out. This is the joy of looking at trees and shrubs in the winter, where features that may otherwise be obscured, become glaringly obvious against the plainness of a winter backdrop.

fruits of Kentucky coffeetree (Gymnocladus dioicus)

Kentucky coffeetree (Gymnocladus dioicus) is in the bean family (Fabaceae). It occurs in forests across the eastern and central United States and north into southern Ontario, Canada. It is also planted in urban areas both within and outside of its native range. It is a medium to large tree, averaging 60-70 feet (18-21 meters) high and 40-50 feet (12-15 meters) wide. It generally branches out at around 10-15 feet high and forms a narrow, rounded to pyramidal crown. It is a fairly sparsely branched tree compared to other trees its size, which is much easier to observe in the winter after all of its leaves have dropped.

winter twigs of Kentucky coffeetree

The winter twigs of Kentucky coffeetree are thick and stubby with few hairs and can be greenish, orange, brown, or deep wine-red in color. They have small, scattered lenticels that are either white, orange, or orange-brown. Their leaf scars are alternately arranged and are heart- or sheild-shaped and very large with 3 to 5 distinct bundle traces. It’s pretty obvious from the leaf scars that Kentucky coffeetree bears a sizeable leaf. These massive, bipinnately compound leaves are demonstrated in this Plant Sleuth YouTube video. Leaf buds are tiny and found directly above the leaf scar. There are usually two of them, one of which is sterile and can be difficult to see. They are round, hairy, olive-colored, and sunken like fuzzy, little craters, although you’ll need a hand lens to really see the hairs (which I highly recommend). The twigs lack a terminal leaf bud. Their pith is rounded, thick, and either orange, brown, or salmon colored. The young bark of Kentucky coffeetree is pale gray and fairly smooth. As the tree ages, it breaks into shallow ridges that run the length of the tree. At maturity, the bark is shades of grey and scaly with long, defined, narrow ridges.

pith of Kentucky coffeetree twigs

Kentucky coffeetree is dioecious, meaning that there are “male” trees and “female” trees. The tree that I found on the golf course was a “female” tree because it was bearing fruit, which the “males” and certain cultivars won’t have. If there are no seed pods present, you will have to rely on other features to identify the tree; however, when the pods are present, the tree is unmistakable. Its fruits are thick-walled, flat, oval-shaped, smooth, leathery, and orange-brown to black in color. They measure around 5 to 10 inches long and up to 4 inches wide. They are indehiscent and can persist on the tree for more than a year, and even those that fall to the ground can take months or years to break down enough to release the seeds, which have a hard, dark seed coat. Inside the pod, the seeds are embedded in a thick, gooey, yellow-green pulp, which some descriptions call sweet. However, it doesn’t look appetizing enough to try, and considering that the seeds are toxic, I’d be hesitant to consume any part of the fruit without first verifying its safety with a reputable source. That being said, the seeds can be roasted and used to make a coffee substitute and, as long as it’s done correctly, is safe to drink.

mature bark of Kentucky coffeetree

Kentucky coffeetree is one of the last trees to leaf out in the spring and one of the first to drop its leaves in the fall. Flowers appear in mid to late spring. The leaves have a pink to bronze color as they first emerge, and in the fall they turn bright yellow before they drop.

fall foliage of Kentucky coffeetree

More Winter Trees and Shrubs:

by

Drought Tolerant Plants: Blue Flax

“Lewis’s prairie flax is a pretty garden ornamental suited to hot, dry sites. Each morning delicate sky blue flowers open on slender arching stems, only to fall off in the afternoon and be replaced by others the next morning. In spite of its fragile appearance, it is quite sturdy and may put out a second flush of blossoms on new growth in late summer.” — Common to the This Country: Botanical Discoveries of Lewis and Clark by Susan H. Munger

When selecting plants for a waterwise garden, it is imperative that at least a portion of the plants are easy to grow and maintain and are adapted to a wide variety of conditions. This will ensure a more successful garden, both functionally and aesthetically. Luckily, there are a number of drought-tolerant plants that pretty much anyone can grow without too much trouble. Blue flax, in my opinion, is one such plant.

You may be familiar with flax as a culinary plant, known for its edible seeds which are used to make flour (i.e. meal) and oil. Or perhaps you’ve used linseed oil, a product of flax seeds, to protect wooden, outdoor furniture or in other wood finishing projects. You may also think of linen when you think of flax; and you should, because linen is a textile made from the fibrous stems of the flax plant. All of these products generally come from a domesticated, annual flax known as Linum usitatissimum – a species that has been of benefit to humans for millenia. Various species of flax have also been planted for erosion control, fire breaks, forage for livestock, and in pollinator-friendly gardens. Flax seeds, a common ingredient in bird seed mixes, provide food for birds and other small animals. All this to say, humans and flax share a long history together, and it deserves a place in your garden.

The flax species profiled here is actually two species: Linum lewisii and Linum perenne. That’s because these two species look nearly identical and are both used as garden ornamentals and in wildflower seed mixes. They are also both known as blue flax, among myriad other common names. Due to their similiarity, L. lewisii is considered by some to be a subspecies of L. perenne.

Linum lewisii is found across western North America and received its name after being collected by a member of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. The plant collection was brought back from the expedition and determined to be new to western science. It was described and named by Frederick Pursh. Linum perenne is a European species which was introduced to North America as an ornamental and has since become widely naturalized. In 1980, a naturalized selection of L. perenne was released for use in restoration plantings under the cultivar name ‘Appar’ with the understanding that it was L. lewisii. A genetic study later revealed that the cultivar was instead L. perenne. The study also provided evidence that “North American Lewis flax and European perennial blue flax are reproductively isolated,” suggesting that they are indeed two separate species.

Despite being separate species, telling them apart can be a challenge. Blue flax plants grow from a taproot and woody base and are multistemmed, reaching two to three feet tall. The stems are thin yet stringy, wiry, and not easily torn, which helps explain why flax is such a good plant for making textiles. Short, slender leaves are alternately arranged along the length of the stems, while flower buds form at the ends of stems in loose clusters. Flowers bloom early in the day and are spent by the afternoon. They are 5-petaled, saucer-shaped, and a shade of blue – from whitish blue to deep blue – depending on the plant. Small, round, 10-chambered seed capsules form in the place of flowers, each chamber housing one or two flat, shiny, dark brown seeds. Flowers bloom daily in succession up towards the ends of stems even as the fruits of spent flowers lower on the stalk mature.

seed capsules of blue flax

A close look at their flower parts is really the only way you might be able to tell these two species apart. Blue flax flowers have five stamens topped with white anthers and five styles topped with little, yellow stigmas. The flowers of L. lewisii are homostlyous, which means their styles are all the same length and are generally taller than or about the same height as the stamens. The flowers of L. perenne are heterostylous, which means their flowers can either have styles that are much longer than their stamens or stamens that are much longer than their styles. Each plant in a population of L. perenne has either all long-styled flowers or all short-styled flowers. In a mixed population of L. perenne and L. lewisii, separating the long-styled L. perenne plants from the L. lewisii plants presents a challenge (at least for me).

long-styled blue flax flower
short-styled blue flax flower

Due to the similarity of these two species, it’s easy to see how the plants or seeds of blue flax could easily be mislabeled and sold as one species even though they are the other species. This could be a problem in a restoration planting where seed source and identity is critical, but in your garden, it’s really no big deal. Both species are great for waterwise and pollinator gardens. They are equally beautiful and easy to grow and care for. If nothing else, perhaps the challenge in identifying them will encourage you to take a closer look at your flowers and familiarize yourself with their tinier parts – an act all of us amateur botanists could stand to do more often.

The photos in this post were taken at Idaho Botanical Garden in Boise, Idaho.

More Drought Tolerant Plants Posts:

by

Book Review: Fruit from the Sands

“By dispensing plants and animals all around the world, humans have shaped global cuisines and agricultural practices. One of the most fascinating and least-discussed episodes in this process took place along the Silk Road.” — Fruit from the Sands by Robert N. Spengler III

———————

My understanding of the origins of agriculture and the early years of crop domestication are cursory at best. The education I received was mostly concerned with the Fertile Crescent, as well as crops domesticated by early Americans. The Silk Road, as I understood it, was the route or routes used to move goods across Asia and into eastern Europe well after the domestication of many of the crops we know today. Other than the fact that several important crops originate there, little was ever taught to me about Central Asia and its deep connection to agriculture and crop domestication. I suppose that’s why when I picked up Fruit from the Sands by Robert N. Spengler III, published last year by University of California Press, I wasn’t entirely prepared for what I was about to read.

It wasn’t until I read a few academic reviews of Fruit from the Sands that I really started to understand. Spengler’s book is groundbreaking, and much of the research he presents is relatively new. The people of Central Asia played a monumental role in discovering and developing much of the food we grow today and some of the techniques we use to grow them, and a more complete story is finally coming to light thanks to the work of archaeologists like Spengler, as well as advances in technology that help us make sense of their findings.

This long history with agricultural development can still be seen today in the markets of Central Asia, which are loaded with countless varieties of fruits, grains, and nuts, many of which are unique to the area. Yet this abundance is also at risk. Crop varieties are being lost at an alarming rate with the expansion of industrial agriculture and the reliance on a small selection of cultivars. With that comes the loss of local agricultural knowledge. Yet, with climate change looming, diversity in agriculture is increasingly important and one of the tools necessary for maintaining an abundant and reliable food supply. Unveiling a thorough history of our species’ agricultural roots will not only give us an understanding as to how we got here, but will also help us learn from past successes and failures. Hence, the work that Spengler and others in the field of archaeobotany are doing is crucial.

To set the stage for a discussion of “the Silk Road origins of the foods we eat,” Spengler offers his definition of the Silk Road. The term is misleading because there isn’t (and never was) a single road, and the goods, which were transported in all directions across Asia, included much more than silk. In fact, some of what was transported wasn’t a good at all, but knowledge, culture, and religion. In Spengler’s words, “The Silk Road … is better thought of as a dynamic cultural phenomenon, marked by increased mobility and interconnectivity in Eurasia, which linked far-flung cultures….This network of exchange, which placed Central Asia at the center of the ancient world, looked more like the spokes of a wheel than a straight road.” Spengler also sees the origins of the Silk Road going back at least five thousand years, much earlier than many might expect.

Most of Spengler’s book is organized into chapters discussing a single crop or group of crops, beginning with grains (millet, rice, barley, wheat) then moving on to fruits, nuts, and vegetables before ending with spices, oils, and teas. Each chapter compiles massive amounts of research that can be a bit overwhelming to take in all at once. Luckily each section includes a short summary, which nicely distills the information down into something more digestible.

Spengler’s chapter on broomcorn millet (Panicum miliaceum) is particularly powerful. While in today’s world millet has largely “been reduced to a children’s breakfast food in Russia and bird food in Western Europe and America,” it was “arguably the most influential crop of the ancient world.” Originally domesticated in East Asia, “it passed along the mountain foothills of Central Asia and into Europe by the second millennium BC.” It is a high-yielding crop adapted to hot, dry conditions that, with the development of summer irrigation, could be grown year-round. These and other appealing qualities have led to an increase in the popularity of millet, so much so that 2023 will be the International Year of Millets.

The “poster child” for Spengler’s book may very well be the apple. Popular the world over, the modern apple began its journey in Central Asia. As Spengler writes, “the true ancestor of the modern apple is Malus sieversii,” and “remnant populations of wild apple trees survive in southeastern Kazakhstan today.” As the trees were brought westward, they hybridized with other wild apple species, bringing rise to the incredible diversity of apple cultivars we know today. Sadly though, most of us are only familiar with the small handful of common varieties found at our local supermarkets.

Of course, as Spengler says, “No discussion of plants on the Silk Road would be complete without the inclusion of tea (Camellia sinensis),” a topic that could produce volumes on its own. Despite the brevity of the section on tea, Spengler has some interesting things to say. One in particular involves the transport of tea to Tibet in the seventh century, where “an unquenchable thirst for tea” had developed. But the journey there was long and difficult. Fermented and oxidized tea leaves traveled best. Along the way, “the leaves were exposed to extreme cold as well as hot and humid temperatures in the lowlands, and all the time they were jostled on the backs of sweaty horses and mules.” This, however, only improved the tea, as teas exposed to such conditions “became a highly sought-after commodity among the elites.”

“In Central Asia, Mongolia, and Tibet, tea leaves were oxidized, dried, and compressed into hard bricks from which chunks could be broken off and immersed in water.” – Robert N. Spengler III in Fruit from the Sands (photo via wikimedia commons)

As dense as this book is, it’s also quite approachable. The information presented in each of the chapters is thorough enough to be textbook material, but Spengler does such a nice job summing up the main points, that there are plenty of great takeaways for the casual reader. For those wanting a deeper dive into the history of our food (which in many ways is the history of us), Spengler’s book is an excellent starting point.

More Reviews of Fruit from the Sands:

———————

Our Instagram has been revived!!! After nearly a year of silence, we are posting again. Follow us @awkwardbotany.

by

Drought Tolerant Plants: Yellowhorn

A drought tolerant garden doesn’t have to be treeless. While the pickings are slim, there is a selection of trees that, once established, are well adapted to deal with extended bouts of little to no water. One such tree is yellowhorn, a species that demands to be considered for any waterwise landscape. Yellowhorn is rare in cultivation – and also restricted in its natural distribution – but perhaps that will change as word gets around about this beautiful and resilient tree.

Xanthoceras sorbifolium is native to several provinces in northern China and has been cultivated in a number of places outside of China since at least the 1800’s. Its ethnobotanical value is well understood in China. Its leaves, flowers, and seeds are edible and medicinal, and the high oil content of its seeds make them useful for the production of biofuels. Researchers are also investigating the use of yellowhorn for ecological restoration in arid habitats where desertification is a concern.

yellowhorn in bloom

Yellowhorn is the only species in the genus Xanthoceras, but is one in a long list of trees and shrubs in the Sapindaceae family – a family that now includes maples and horse chestnuts. It is considered both a large shrub and a small, multi-stemmed tree. It reaches a maximum height of about 25 feet, but arrives there at a relatively slow pace. It tolerates a variety of soil types, but like most other drought tolerant plants, it prefers soils that don’t become waterlogged easily. Its leaves are long, glossy green, and compound, consisting of 9 – 17 leaflets. The leaves persist late into the year and turn yellow in the fall. However, late spring, when the tree is covered in flowers, is when this tree puts on its real show.

Large white flowers with yellow-green centers that turn maroon or red-orange as they age are produced on racemes at the ends of branches. Small, yellow, hornlike appendages between each of the five petals of the flowers are what gives the tree its common name. Flowering lasts for a couple weeks, after which fruits form, which are about 2.5 inches wide, tough, leathery, and somewhat pear shaped. In my experience, most of the fruits are eaten by squirrels long before they get a chance to reach maturity. The ones the squirrels don’t get will persist on the tree, harden, and eventually split open to reveal several large, dark, round seeds nestled in chambers within the fruit.

To truly appreciate this tree, it must be seen in person, especially in bloom. At that point you will demand to have one (or more) in your garden. The seeds are said to be delicious, so you should give them a try if you can beat the squirrels to them. For a more thorough overview of yellowhorn, check out this article from Temperate Climate Permaculture, and for more photos of yellowhorn in bloom, check out this post from Rotary Botanical Gardens.

Squirrel nesting in yellowhorn, getting ready to go after more fruits.

All photos in this post were taken at Idaho Botanical Garden in Boise, Idaho.

———————

More Drought Tolerant Plants Posts:

by

From Pine Tree to Pine Tar (and a bit about baseball)

Scots pine (Pinus sylvestris) is a Eurasian native, distributed across Europe into Eastern Siberia. It is the national tree of Scotland, and the only native pine in northern Europe. Human activity has pushed native populations to extinction; while, at the same time, appreciation for this tree has led to widespread introduction in other parts of the world. Like other pines, humans and Scots pine have a long relationship going back millennia. Pines are incredibly useful trees, which explains both the overexploitation and mass planting of Scots pine.

Scots pine (Pinus sylvestris) via wikimedia commons

In Sweden and other Scandinavian countries, Scots pine not only has a long history of being used as a building material, but also for producing pine tar. As the name suggests, pine tar is a dark, sticky substance extracted from pine wood. Wood tar production dates back centuries and has been made from a number of tree species, including pines and other conifers as well as deciduous trees like birch and beech. Wood tar has myriad uses – as an ingredient in soaps, shampoos, and cosmetics; as medicine; as a food additive; as waterproofing for ships, roofs, and ropes; in hoof care products for horses. It’s no wonder that as demand for pine tar increased in Scandinavia, it became a cash crop for peasants, earning it the nickname “peasant tar.”

Pine tar soap – a decent soap if you can tolerate the intense smell. Regarding the smell of pine tar, Theodore Kaye writes, “The aroma produces reactions that are as strong as the scent; few people are ambivalent about its distinctive smell.”

A study published in the Journal of Archaeological Science examines small and large funnel-shaped pits in Sweden determined to be used for making pine tar. The smaller pits date back to between 240 – 540 AD, the Late Roman Iron Age. They would have been used by Swedes living in small scale settlements. The larger pits date back to 680 – 1160 AD and signify a shift towards large scale production during the Viking Age. As the centuries proceeded, Sweden became a major exporter of pine tar. Their product set the standard. Even today “Stockholm Tar” refers to pine tar of the highest quality.

As Europeans colonized North America, they were introduced to several new pine tree species from which to extract pine tar, including longleaf pine (Pinus palustris), a southeastern native with exceptionally long needles. Pine tar production was especially prolific in the southeastern states, thanks in part to the abundance of longleaf pine and others. North and South Carolina were dominating production by the 1800’s, which helps explain North Carolina’s nickname, The Tar Heel State.

Extracting pine tar from pine wood is fairly simple. The process is called destructive distillation. Pine wood is placed in a contained, oxygen-free environment and subjected to high heat. As the pine tar is released from the wood, the wood turns to charcoal. This is what was happening in the small and large funnel-shaped pits discussed earlier. Root pieces and stumps of Scots pine were placed into the pits. Brush wood was piled on top and then set on fire. As the brush burned, the pine wood below carbonized, and pine tar collected at the bottom of the pit. In larger pits, the pine tar was piped out and deposited into a barrel – a set up known as a pine tar dale.

pine tar dale illustration

Modern production of pine tar is done in kilns (or in laboratories). The concept is the same – wood is enclosed in the kiln, heat is applied, and pine tar drips from the bottom of the kiln. Heartwood, also known as fatwood, is the best part of the pine tree for making pine tar, particularly the heartwood of old stumps. Making pine tar is such a simple process that anyone can do it, and there are numerous tutorials available online.

My familiarity with pine tar comes from being a baseball fan. Pine tar is a useful, albeit controversial, substance in this sport. Batters have a variety of means to help them get a better grip on the bat in order to improve their hitting. Rubbing pine tar on the bat handle is one of them. However, according to Major League Baseball rules, anything applied to, adhered to, or wrapped around the bat to help with grip is not allowed past the bottom 18 inches of the bat. Pine tar is allowed on the bat handle, but if applied past that 18 inches mark, the bat becomes illegal.

pine tar stick for baseball bat handles

This rule goes mostly ignored; unless, of course, someone on the other team rats you out. Which is exactly what happened in 1983 to the Kansas City Royals in a game against the New York Yankees. Royals batter, George Brett, had just hit a home run, which put the Royals in the lead. It had been suspected for a while that Brett had been tarring his bat beyond the legal limit, and this home run was the last straw for Yankees manager, Billy Martin. He brought the suspected illegal bat to the attention of the umpires, and after measuring the bat’s pine tar stain they found it to be well beyond 18 inches. The home run was recalled, and the Yankees went on to win the game.

It doesn’t end there though. After a repeal, it was decided that the dismissal of the home run was the wrong call. If an illegal bat is in play, it should be removed. That’s all. The home run still stands. The Royals and Yankees were ordered to replay the game, starting at the point where Brett had hit his home run. This time the Royals won.

This saga is well known in baseball. There is even a book all about it, as well as a country song and t-shirts. But that’s only part of baseball’s pine tar controversy. While batters are allowed to use it on their bats, pitchers are not allowed to use it to better grip the ball while pitching (however, they can use rosin, which curiously enough, is also made from pine trees). Of course, that doesn’t stop them from trying to get away with it. Sometimes they get caught, like Michael Pineda infamously did in 2014. There are arguments for allowing its use – and perhaps in the future the rules will change – but for now pine tar use by pitchers remains prohibited.

Further Reading – Medicinal Uses for Pine Tar:

by

Summer of Weeds: Plantains

This is a revised version of two ethnobotany posts that appeared previously on Awkward Botany: White Man’s Foot, part one and part two. Plantains have a long history of ethnobotonical uses, as well as a bad reputation of being pesky, hard-to-eliminate weeds. The two most common introduced plantain species in North America are broadleaf plantain (Plantago major) and lanceleaf plantain (Plantago lanceolata). Wherever our daily travels take us, chances are there is a plantain growing nearby.

———————

Plantago major is in the plantain family (Plantaginaceae) a family that consists of at least 90 genera, including common ornamental plants like Veronica (speedwells), Digitalis (foxgloves), and Antirrhinum (snapdragons). The genus Plantago, commonly known as plantains, consists of around 200 species distributed throughout the world in diverse habitats. Most of them are herbaceous perennials with similar growth habits.

Originating in Eurasia, P. major now has a cosmopolitan distribution. It has joined humans as they have traveled and migrated from continent to continent and is now considered naturalized throughout most temperate and some tropical regions. P. major has a plethora of common names – common plantain being the one that the USDA prefers. Other names include broadleaf plantain, greater plantain, thickleaf plantain, ribgrass, ribwort, ripplegrass, and waybread. Depending on the source, there are various versions of the name white man’s foot. Along the same line, a common name for P. major in South Africa is cart-track plant.

common plantain (Plantago major)

Common plantain starts by forming a rosette of broad leaves usually oriented flat against the ground. The leaves are egg-shaped with parallel veins; occasionally, leaf margins are faintly toothed. The inflorescence is a leafless spike up to 20 centimeters tall or taller with several tiny flowers that are a dull yellow-green-brown color. The flowers are wind pollinated and highly prone to self-pollination. The fruits are capsules that can contain as many as 30 seeds; an entire plant can produce as many as 15,000 seeds. The seeds are small, brown, sticky, and easily transported by wind or by adhering to shoes, clothing, animals, and machinery. They require light to germinate and can remain viable for up to 60 years.

Common plantain prefers sunny sites but can also thrive in part shade. It adapts to a variety of soil types but performs best in moist, clay-loam soils. It is often found in compacted soils and is very tolerant of trampling. This trait, along with its low-growing leaves that easily evade mower blades, explains why it is so common in turf grass. It is highly adaptable to a variety of habitats and is particularly common on recently disturbed sites (both natural and human caused). It is an abundant urban and agricultural weed.

Illustration of three Plantago species from Selected Weeds of the United States (Agriculture Handbook No. 366) circa 1970

Even though it is wind pollinated, its flowers are visited by syrphid flies and various bee species which feed on its pollen. Several other insects feed on its foliage, along with a number of mammalian herbivores. Cardinals and other bird species feed on its seeds.

Humans also eat plantain leaves, which contain vitamins A, C, and K. Young, tender leaves can be eaten raw, while older leaves need to be cooked as they become tough and stringy with age. The medicinal properties of  P. major have been known and appreciated at least as far back as the Anglo-Saxons, who likely used a poultice made from the leaves externally to treat wounds, burns, sores, bites, stings, and other irritations. It has also been used to stop cuts from bleeding and to treat rattlesnake bites. Apart from external uses, the plant was used internally as a pain killer and to treat ulcers, diarrhea, and other gastrointestinal issues.

P. major has been shown to have antibacterial, anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, and other biological properties; several chemical compounds have been isolated from the plant and deemed responsible for these properties. It is for this reason that P. major and other Plantago species have been used to treat such a diverse number of ailments. The claims are extensive and worth exploring. You can start by visiting the following sites:

Excerpts about plantains from The Book of Field and Roadside by John Eastman

Concerning their cosmopolitan nature: “Although both plantains [P. major and P. lanceolata] are Eurasian natives, they have long been thoroughly naturalized global residents; the designation ‘alien’ applies to them in the same sense that all white and black Americans are alien residents.”

In which I learned a new term: “Both species are anthropophilic (associate with humans); they frequent roadsides, parking areas, driveways, and vacant lots, occurring almost everywhere in disturbed ground. Where one species grows, the other can often be found nearby.”

Illustration by Amelia Hansen from The Book of Field and Roadside by John Eastman

Medicinal and culinary uses according to Eastman: “Plantains have versatile curative as well as culinary properties; nobody need go hungry or untreated for sores where plantains grow. These plants contain an abundance of beta carotene, calcium, potassium, and ascorbic acid. Cure-all claims for common plantain’s beneficial medical uses include a leaf tea for coughs, diarrhea, dysentery, lung and stomach disorders, and the root tea as a mouthwash for toothache. … Their most frequent and demonstrably effective use as a modern herb remedy, however, is as a leaf poultice for insect bites and stings plus other skin irritations. The leaf’s antimicrobial properties reduce inflammation, and its astringent chemistry relieves itching, swelling, and soreness.”

Even the seeds are “therapeutic”: “The gelatinous mucilage surrounding seeds can be readily separated, has been used as a substitute for linseed oil. Its widest usage is in laxative products for providing bulk and soluble fiber called psyllium, mainly derived from the plantain species P. ovata and leafy-stemmed plantain (P. psyllium), both Mediterranean natives.”

An excerpt from Weeds: In Defense of Nature’s Most Unloved Plants by Richard Mabey

“Plantain, ‘the mother of worts,’ is present in almost all the early prescriptions of magical herbs, back as far as the earliest Celtic fire ceremonies. It isn’t clear why such a drab plant – a plain rosette of grey-green leaves topped by a flower spike like a rat’s-tail – should have had pre-eminent status. But its weediness, in the sense of its willingness to tolerate human company, may have had a lot to do with it. The Anglo-Saxon names ‘Waybroad’ or ‘Waybread’ simply mean ‘a broad-leaved herb which grows by the wayside.’ This is plantain’s defining habit and habitat. It thrives on roadways, field-paths, church steps. In the most literal sense it dogs human footsteps. Its tough, elastic leaves, growing flush with the ground, are resilient to treading. You can walk on them, scuff them, even drive over them, and they go on living. They seem to actively prosper from stamping, as more delicate plants around them are crushed. The principles of sympathetic magic, therefore, indicated that plantain would be effective for crushing and tearing injuries. (And so it is, to a certain extent. The leaves contain a high proportion of tannins, which help to close wounds and halt bleeding.)”

by

Summer of Weeds: Common Mullein

The fuzzy, gray-green leaves of common mullein are familiar and friendly enough that it can be hard to think of this plant as a weed. Verbascum thapsus is a member of the figwort family and is known by dozens of common names, including great mullein, Aaron’s rod, candlewick, velvet dock, blanket leaf, feltwort, and flannel plant. Its woolly leaves are warm and inviting and have a history of being used as added padding and insulation, tucked inside of clothing and shoes. In Wild Edible and Useful Plants of Idaho, Ray Vizgirdas writes, “the dried stalks are ideal for use as hand-drills to start fires; the flowers and leaves produce yellow dye; as a toilet paper substitute, the large fresh leaves are choice.”

Common mullein is a biennial that was introduced to eastern North America from Eurasia in the 1700’s as a medicinal plant and fish poison. By the late 1800’s it had reached the other side of the continent. In its first year it forms a rosette of woolly, oblong and/or lance-shaped leaves. After overwintering it produces a single flower stalk up to 6 feet tall. The woolly leaves continue along the flower stalk, gradually getting smaller in size until they reach the inflorescence, which is a long, dense, cylindrical spike. Sometimes the stalk branches out to form multiple inflorescences.

First year seedlings of common mullein (Verbascum thapsus)

The inflorescence doesn’t flower all at once; instead, a handful of flowers open at a time starting at the bottom of the spike and moving up in an irregular pattern. The process takes several weeks to complete. The flowers are about an inch wide and sulfur yellow with five petals. They have both female and male sex parts but are protogynous, meaning the female organs mature before the male organs. This encourages cross-pollination by insects. However, if pollination isn’t successful by the end of the day, the flowers self-pollinate as the petals close. Each flower produces a capsule full of a few hundred seeds, and each plant can produce up to 180,000 seeds. The seeds can remain viable for over 100 years, sitting in the soil waiting for just the right moment to sprout.

Common mullein is a friend of bare, recently disturbed soil. It is rare to see this plant growing in thickly vegetated areas. As an early successional plant, its populations can be abundant immediately after a disturbance, but they do not persist once other plants have filled in the gaps. Instead they wait in seed form for the next disturbance that will give them the opportunity to rise again. They can be a pest in gardens and farm fields due to regular soil disturbance, and are often abundant in pastures and rangelands because livestock avoid eating their hairy leaves. Because of its ephemeral nature, it is generally not considered a major weed; however, it is on Colorado’s noxious weed list.

Several features make common mullein a great example of a drought-adapted plant. Its fleshy, branching taproot can reach deep into the soil to find moisture, the thick hairs on the leaves help reduce water loss via transpiration, and the way the leaves are arranged and angled on the stalk can help direct rain water down toward the roots.

Common mullein has an extensive history of ethnobotanical uses. Medicinally it has been used internally to treat coughs, colds, asthma, bronchitis, and kidney infections; and as a poultice to treat warts, slivers, and swelling. The dried flower stalks have been used to make torches, and the fuzzy leaves have been used as tinder for fire-making and wicks in lamps.

The hairy leafscape of common mullein (Verbascum thapsus)

More Resources:

Quote of the Week:

From Gaia’s Garden by Toby Hemenway

Here’s why opportunistic plants are so successful. When we clear land or carve a forest into fragments, we’re creating lots of open niches. All that sunny space and bare soil is just crying out to be colongized by light- and fertlity-absorbing green matter. Nature will quickly conjure up as much biomass as possible to capture the bounty, by seeding low-growing ‘weeds’ into a clearing or, better yet, sprouting a tall thicket stretching into all three dimensions to more effectively absorb light and develop deep roots. … When humans make a clearing, nature leaps in, working furiously to rebuild an intact humus and fungal layer, harvest energy, and reconstruct all the cycles and connections that have been severed. A thicket of fast-growing pioneer plants, packing a lot of biomass into a small space, is a very effective way to do this. … And [nature] doesn’t care if a nitrogen fixer or a soil-stabilizing plant arrived via continental drift or a bulldozer’s treads, as long as it can quickly stitch a functioning ecosystem together.

by

Summer of Weeds: Pineapple Weed

“The spread of the fruitily perfumed pineapple weed, which arrived in Britain from Oregon in 1871, exactly tracked the adoption of the treaded motor tyre, to which its ribbed seeds clung as if they were the soles of small climbing boots.” – Richard Mabey, Weeds: In Defense of Nature’s Most Unloved Plants

Can a plant that is native to North America be considered a weed in North America? Sure. If it is acting “weedy” according to whatever definition we decide to assign to the word, then why not? Can “weeds” from North America invade Europe the same way that so many “weeds” from there have invaded here? Of course! Pineapple weed is just one such example.

Native to western North America and northeastern Asia, this diminutive but tough annual plant in the aster family can now be found around the globe. Matricaria discoidea gets its common name from the distinctive fruity scent it gives off when its leaves and flowers are crushed. Its scent is not deceptive, as it is yet another edible weed (see Eat the Weeds). Teas made from its leaves have historically been used to treat upset stomachs, colds, fevers, and other ailments.

pineapple weed (Matricaria discoidea)

Pineapple weed reaches as few as a couple centimeters to a little over a foot tall. Its leaves are finely divided and fern-like in appearance. Its flower heads are cone or egg-shaped, yellow-green, and cupped in light-colored, papery bracts. The flower heads lack ray florets and are composed purely of tightly packed disc florets. The fruits (i.e. seeds) are tiny, ribbed achenes that lack a pappus.

Compacted soils are no match for pineapple weed. It is often seen growing in hard-packed roadways and through small cracks in pavement, and it is undeterred by regular trampling. It is a master of disturbed sites and is commonly found in home gardens and agriculture fields. It flowers throughout the summer and is often confused with mayweed (Anthemis cotula); the telltale difference is that mayweed gives off a foul odor when crushed.

Meriwether Lewis collected pineapple weed along the Clearwater River during the Lewis and Clark Expedition. In their book, Lewis and Clark’s Green World, Scott Earle and James Reveal write, “There is nothing in the expedition’s journals about the plant, but it would seem that there was little reason for Lewis to collect the two specimens that he brought back other than for its ‘agreeable sweet scent.’ It is otherwise an unremarkable, rayless member of the aster family.” The authors continue their mild ribbing with this statement: “The pineapple weed deserves its appellation, for it is a common weed – although a relatively innocuous one – that grows in disturbed places, along roadsides, and as an unwanted garden guest.”

pineapple weed (Matricaria discoidea) – photo credit: wikimedia commons

More Resources:

Quote of the Week:

From Weeds and What They Tell (ed. 1970) by Ehrenfried Pfeiffer

“Weeds are WEEDS only from our human egotistical point of view, because they grow where we do not want them. In Nature, however, they play an important and interesting role. They resist conditions which cultivated plants cannot resist, such as drought, acidity of soil, lack of humus, mineral deficiencies, as well as a one-sidedness of minerals, etc. They are witness of [humanity’s] failure to master the soil, and they grow abundantly wherever [humans] have ‘missed the train’ – they only indicate our errors and Nature’s corrections. Weeds want to tell a story – they are natures way of teaching [us] – and their story is interesting. If we would only listen to it we could apprehend a great deal of the finer forces through which Nature helps and heals and balances and, sometimes, also has fun with us.”

by

The Nippleworts of Camassia Natural Area

This is a guest post. Words and illustration by Mesquite Cervino.

At the end of a residential neighborhood that is barely off the 205 in the hills of West Linn, Oregon is a small, 26 acre preserve called the Camassia Natural Area. The defining features of the landscape were caused by the Missoula Floods (aka the Spokane or Bretz floods) at the end of the last ice age (12 to 19 thousand years ago) which swept away the already established soil and in their place deposited glacial erratics from other far-away places, some even coming all the way from Canada. The flood reached eastern Oregon and the Willamette via the Columbia River Gorge and created the green and rocky plateau that is now Camassia.

While the reserve is named after a widespread plant in the park, which is a common camas (Camassia quamash) that blooms in April and early May, the park has over 300 different species overall. However, one species in particular has kicked in the door and far overstayed its welcome in the park, becoming a highly invasive weed in the area. This plant is known as Lapsana communis or nipplewort. It is an annual dicot that is native to Europe and Asia, but is considered invasive in Canada and the United States. In the U.S., the weed is most common west of the Cascades in the Pacific Northwest. It is in the Asteraceae family (aka the aster, daisy, or sunflower family), and like dandelions or common groundsel, nipplewort is part of the weedy side of the family.

nicole illustration_cropped

The name itself has an interesting history that originated around 350 years ago when an Englishman by the name of John Parkinson named the plant after he heard that it was useful for topical treatment of ulcers for women on certain areas of their bodies. It was also an herbal treatment for nursing mothers, and was used to aid cows and goats that were having trouble being milked. Another source of the name is said to have come from the shape of the basal lobes and their resembling features. Because nipplewort is edible, its leaves can be cooked like spinach or served raw in only the most hipster of salads.

In terms of its anatomy, nipplewort is about one to three and a half inches in height, has alternate, ovular, lobed, rich green leaves, and composite yellow flowers with about 13 petals – similar in resemblance to a dandelion. They flower from June to September and are pollinated by various insects. Seed set occurs in July to October. The plant then spreads through reseeding, and one plant can produce 400 to 1,000 seeds that put out shoots in fall and spring.

Consult a fellow botanist to find out more about Lapsana communis, especially if you are curious to know if it has invaded your territory. If it has, consider entertaining dinner guests with this unusual plant.

Additional Resources: