Winter Trees and Shrubs: Northern Catalpa

The names of plants often contain clues that can either help with identification or that tell something about the plant’s history or use. The name, catalpa, is said to be derived from the Muscogee word, katałpa, meaning “winged head,” presumably referring to the tree’s winged seeds. Or maybe, as one writer speculates, it refers to the large, heart-shaped, floppy leaves that can make it look like the tree is “ready to take flight.” Or perhaps it’s a reference to the fluted, fused petals of the tree’s large, tubular flowers. I suppose it could mean any number of things, but I’m sticking with its seeds, which are packed by the dozens in the tree’s long, slender, bean-like fruits. The seeds are flat, pale brown, and equipped with paper thin, fringed appendages on either side that assist in wind dispersal – wings, in other words.

winged seeds of northern catalpa (Catalpa speciosa)

Catalpa speciosa, or northern catalpa, is a relatively fast growing, short-lived tree native to the Midwest and one of only two species in the genus Catalpa found in the United States. Its distribution prior to the arrival of Europeans appears to have been restricted to a portion of the central Mississippi River valley, extending west into Arkansas, east into Tennessee, and north into Illinois and Indiana. It has since been widely planted outside of its native range, naturalizing in areas across the Midwest and eastern US. Early colonizers planted northern catalpa for use as fence posts, railroad ties, and firewood. Its popularity as an ornamental tree is not what it once was a century ago, but it is still occasionally planted in urban areas as a shade tree. Its messiness – littering the ground below with large leaves, flowers, and seed capsules – and its tendency to spread outside of cultivation into natural areas are reasons why it has fallen out of favor with some people.

The oval to heart-shaped, 8 to 12 inch long leaves with long petioles rotting on the ground below the tree are one sure sign that you’ve encountered a catalpa in the winter time. The leaves are some of the first to fall at the end of the growing season, briefly turning an unmemorable yellow before dropping.

leaf of northern catalpa (Catalpa speciosa) in the winter with soft hairs on the underside still visible

The leaf arrangement on northern catalpa is whorled and sometimes opposite. The twigs are easy to identify due to several unique features. They are stout, round, and grayish brown with prominent lenticels. The leaf scars are large, rounded, and raised up on the twig, looking a bit like little suction cups. They are arranged in whorls of three, with one scar considerably smaller than the other two. A series of bundle traces inside the scar form an ellipse. The leaf buds are tiny compared to the scar and are protected by loose, pointed, brown bud scales. Northern catalpa twigs lack a terminal bud. In the winter, seed capsules or the stalk of an old inflorescence often remain attached to the terminal end of the twig. The pith inside of the twig is thick, white, and solid.

twig of northern catalpa (Catalpa speciosa)

pith inside twig of northern catalpa (Catalpa speciosa)

Another common name for Catalpa speciosa is cigar tree, a name that comes from its up to 18 inch long, cigar-like seed capsules that hang from the otherwise naked tree throughout the winter. The sturdy, cylindrical pod starts out green in the summer and turns dark brown by late fall. Seed pods that haven’t fallen or already split open will dehisce in the spring time, releasing their papery seeds to the wind.

fruits of northern catalpa (Catalpa speciosa) hanging from the tree in the winter

The young bark of northern catalpa is thin and easily damaged. As it matures, it becomes furrowed with either scaly ridges or blocky plates. Mature trees are generally twisted at the base but otherwise grow straight, reaching 30 to 60 feet tall (sometimes taller) with an open-rounded to narrow-oval crown.

maturing bark of northern catalpa (Catalpa speciosa)

Northern catalpa is one of the last trees to leaf out in the spring. In late spring or early summer, 10 inch long clusters of white, tubular flowers are produced at the tips of stems. Before the flowers open, they look a bit like popped popcorn, reminding me of a song from my childhood (which I will reluctantly leave right here). The margins of its trumpet-shaped petals are ruffled and there is yellow, orange, and/or purple spotting or streaking on the inside of the tubes.

flower of northern catalpa (Catalpa speciosa) just before it opens

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Winter Trees and Shrubs: Netleaf Hackberry

Boise, Idaho is frequently referred to as the City of Trees despite being located in a semiarid region of the Intermountain West known as the sagebrush steppe where few trees naturally grow. It earns this moniker partly because the name Boise is derived from the river that runs through it (the Boise River), which was named La Rivere Boisse, or The Wooded River, by early French trappers. Although it flows through a largely treeless landscape, The Wooded River was an apt name on account of the wide expanse of cottonwoods and willows that grew along its banks. The fervent efforts of early colonizers to plant trees in large numbers across their new city also helped Boise earn the title, City of Trees. Today, residents continue the legacy of planting trees, ensuring that the city will remain wooded for decades to come.

As is likely the case for most urban areas, the majority of trees being planted in Boise are not native to the region. After all, very few tree species are. However, apart from the trees that flank the Boise River, there is one tree in particular that naturally occurs in the area. Celtis reticulata, commonly known as netleaf hackberry, can be found scattered across the Boise Foothills amongst shrubs, bunchgrasses, and wildflowers, taking advantage of deep pockets of moisture found in rocky outcrops and draws.

The western edge of netleaf hackberry’s range extends to the northwest of Boise into Washington, west into Oregon, and down into California. The majority of its range is found south of Idaho, across the Southwest and into northern Mexico, then east into the prairie regions of Kansas and Oklahoma. Previously placed in the elm family, it is now considered a member of the family Cannabaceae (along with hemp and hops). It’s a relatively small, broad tree (sometimes a shrub) with a semi-rounded crown. It grows slowly, is long-lived, and generally has a gnarled, hardened, twisted look to it. It’s a tough tree that has clearly been through a lot.

The leaves of Celtis reticulata are rough, leathery, and oval to lance shaped with serrate or entire leaf margins. Their undersides have a distinct net-like pattern that gives the tree its common name. A very small insect called a hackberry psyllid lays its eggs inside the leaf buds of netleaf hackberries in the spring. Its larvae develop inside the leaf, feeding on the sugars produced during photosynthesis, and causing nipple galls to form in the leaves. It’s not uncommon to see a netleaf hackberry with warty-looking galls on just about every leaf. Luckily, the tree doesn’t seem to be bothered by this.

fallen leaves of netleaf hackberry (Celtis reticulata) with nipple galls

The fruit of netleaf hackberry is a pea-sized drupe that hangs at the end of a pedicel that is 1/4 to 1/2 inch long. Its skin is red-orange to purple-brown, and its flesh is thin with a large seed in the center. The fruits, along with a few random leaves, persist on the tree throughout the winter and provide food for dozens of species of birds and a variety of mammals.

persistent fruit of netleaf hackberry (Celtis reticulata)

Celtis reticulata is alternately branched. Its twigs are slender, zig-zagging, and often curved back towards the trunk. They are reddish-brown with several pale lenticels and have sparse, fine, short hairs that are hard to see without a hand lens. The leaf scars are small, half-round, and raised up from the twig. They have three bundle scars that form a triangle. The buds are triangle-shaped with fuzzy bud scales that are slightly lighter in color than the twig. The twigs are topped with a subterminal bud, and the pith (the inner portion of the twig) is either chambered or diaphragmed and difficult to see clearly without a hand lens. 

twigs of netleaf hackberry (Celtis reticulata)

The young bark of netleaf hackberry is generally smooth and grey, developing shallow, orange-tinged furrows as it gets older. Mature bark is warty like its cousin, Celtis occidentals, and develops thick, grey, corky ridges. Due to its slow growth, the bark can be retained long enough that it becomes habitat for extensive lichen colonies.

bark of young netleaf hackberry (Celtis reticulata)

bark of mature netleaf hackberry (Celtis reticulata)

Netleaf hackberry is one of the last trees to leaf out in the spring, presumably preserving as much moisture as possible as it prepares to enter another scorching hot, bone-dry summer typical of the western states. Its flowers open around the same time and are miniscule and without petals. Their oversized mustache-shaped, fuzzy, white stigmas provide some entertainment for those of us who take the time to lean in for a closer look.

spring flowers of netleaf hackberry (Celtis reticulata)

More Winter Trees and Shrubs on Awkward Botany:

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Photos of netleaf hackberry taken at Idaho Botanical Garden in Boise, Idaho.

Winter Trees and Shrubs: Eastern Redbud

Botanizing doesn’t have to end when the leaves fall off the trees and the ground goes frozen. Plants may stop actively growing during this time, but they are still there. Some die back to the soil level and spend the entire winter underground, leaving behind brown, brittle shells of their former selves. Others, particularly those with woody stems, maintain their form (although many of them leafless) as they bide their time while daylength dips and rises again, bringing with it the promise of warmer weather. Plants that leave us with something to look at during the winter can still be identified. Without foliage or flowers to offer us clues, we rely instead on branches, bark, and buds to identify woody species. In some cases, such features may even be more helpful in determining a certain species than their flowers and foliage ever were. Either way, it’s a fun challenge and one worth accepting if you’re willing to brave the cold, hand lens and field guides in tow.

In this series of posts I’ll be looking closely at woody plants in winter, examining the twigs, buds, bark, and any other features I come across that can help us identify them. Species by species, I will learn the ropes of winter plant identification and then pass my findings along to you. We’ll begin with Cercis canadensis, an understory tree commonly known as eastern redbud.

Eastern redbud is distributed across central and eastern North America, south of southern Michigan and into central Mexico. It is also commonly grown as an ornamental tree outside of its native range, and a number of cultivars have been developed for this purpose. Mature trees reach up to 30 feet and have short trunks with wide, rounded crowns. Its leaves are entire, round or heart-shaped, and turn golden-yellow in the fall. Gathered below the tree in winter, the leaves maintain their shape and are a light orange-brown color.

fallen leaf of eastern redbud (Cercis canadensis)

Eastern redbud is alternately branched with slender, zig-zagging twigs that are dark reddish-brown scattered with several tiny, light-colored lenticels. Older sections of branches are more grey in color. Leaf scars (the marks left on twigs after leaves fall) are a rounded triangle shape and slightly raised with thin ridges along each side. The top edge of the leaf scar is fringed, which I found impossible to see without magnification. Leaf buds are egg-shaped and 2-3 mm in length with wine-red bud scales that are glabrous (smooth) with slightly white, ciliate margins. Descriptions say there are actually two buds – one stalked and one sessile. If the second bud is there, it’s miniscule and obscured by the leaf scar. I haven’t actually been able to see one. Twigs lack a terminal bud or have a tiny subterminal bud that points off to one side. The pith of the twigs is rounded and pale pink. Use sharp pruners or a razor blade to cut the twig in half lengthwise to see it.

twig and buds of eastern redbud (Cercis canadensis)

Bark is helpful in identifying woody plants any time of year, but is especially worth looking at during the winter when branches have gone bare. The bark of young eastern redbud is grey with orange, furrowed streaks running lengthwise along the trunk. In mature trees, the bark is gray, scaly, and peels to reveal reddish-brown below.

bark of young eastern redbud (Cercis canadensis)

bark of mature eastern redbud (Cercis canadensis)

Eastern redbud is in the bean family (Fabaceae) and its flowers and fruits are characteristic of plants in this family. Fruits can persist on the tree throughout the winter and are another way to identify the tree during the off-season. Seed pods are flat, dark red- or orange-brown, and up to 2.5 inches long with four to ten seeds inside. The seeds are flat, round, about 5 millimeters long, and ranging in color from orange-brown to black.

persistent fruits of eastern redbud (Cercis canadensis)

seeds of eastern redbud (Cercis canadensis)

Eastern redbud flowers in early spring before it has leafed out. Clusters of bright pink flowers form on old branches rather than new stems and twigs. Sometimes flowers even burst right out of the main trunk. This unique trait is called cauliflory.

cauliflory on eastern redbud (Cercis canadensis)

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Photos of eastern redbud taken at Idaho Botanical Garden in Boise, Idaho.

A Few More Snags Near Ketchum

Nearly a year has passed since Sierra and I took a trip to Ketchum, Idaho and I reported on some of the snags we encountered there. After months without a break, we finally had the chance to get away for a few days, and since we were desperate for some time off and a change of scenery, we couldn’t turn it down. Plus, we were heading back to Ketchum, so I knew I’d get to check out a few more snags. I was stoked.

I’m obsessed with trees, and my preference is for live ones (generally speaking), but dead trees are certainly gaining in popularity. After all, a dead tree isn’t truly dead. As its corpse slowly rots, it continues to harbor and support life inside and out in a substantial way. Forests need dead trees just as much as they need live trees. Plus, ecology aside, dead trees are no less photogenic than any other tree.

Death isn’t all bad. New life springs from decay. Given our current state of affairs, we need this reminder, and snags offer it in spades. As Sierra and I pulled up to the Apollo Creek trailhead, we looked out onto a section of forest that had clearly been ravaged by fire in the not too distant past. Acres of standing and fallen burned out trees bore witness to this fact. Yet among the dead, life flourished, as dozens of songbirds actively foraged on and around the charred trees. They were there for the insects that were feeding on the dead wood, fueling themselves for fall migration. In the spring, when the birds return, some of them may even nest in the cavities of the dead trees. They will feed again on the insects and raise up a new generation of songbirds that will do the same. In and among snags there are myriad examples just like this, showing us the countless ways in which death supports new life.

What follows is a small sampling of the snags we encountered this time around on our trip to Ketchum.

post-fire snag among many other snags

a series of cavities in a post-fire snag

snag surrounded by live trees

three new snags

fallen snag

broken snag

new tree emerging from a nurse stump

not a snag, but one of many lupines we saw flowering along Apollo Creek Trail

Revisiting the Moon Tree

I first learned about Moon Trees in the fall of 2015. One of the trees – a loblolly pine – had been planted at an elementary school just down the street from where I was living at the time. It wasn’t a new thing – it was planted back in 1977, during the period when most other Moon Trees where being planted around the country and the world – but because it wasn’t doing too well, it was in the news. Members of the community, concerned about its long-term survival, were pitching in to help keep it alive. Once I was made aware of it, I also became concerned and decided to go check on it. I even wrote a post about it, which you can read here.

Now that nearly 5 years have passed, I figured I should go check on it again. I hadn’t heard any more news about it, so I assumed it was still hanging in there, but who knows? Maybe not. Since I was going to be on that side of town for Father’s Day, I made plans to stop by. My dad hadn’t seen the tree yet, so he decided to join me.

As we approached Lowell Elementary on our bikes, I was half-expecting the tree to be gone. It was in pretty sad shape when the community stepped in to help it. Braced for this possibility, I anxiously peered down the street as we biked closer. When the tree came into view, I felt relief and announced, “There it is!”

All this time later, it still looks a little rough. The majority of its bark remains largely obscured by crusty, dried up sap, and its canopy isn’t as full as it likely would be if it was a picture of health. But it’s alive and, surprisingly enough, still growing taller, reaching for the moon.

Any loblolly pine would feel out of place in Idaho – it’s a species whose distribution spans the southwest region of the United States, which is starkly different from the northwest – however, this individual in particular is an anomaly. The seed it sprouted from took a journey into space, circled the moon a number of times and then, as a sapling, was planted in Idaho (of all places). Now, over 40 years later, it stands as a symbol of resilience. Something we could all use right now, I’m sure.

This sign was installed shortly after my original Moon Tree post.

Boise, Idaho’s Moon Tree in June 2020

My dad by the Moon Tree in Boise, Idaho

Me by the Moon Tree in Boise, Idaho

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Was a Moon Tree planted near you? Is it still around? Tell us about it in the comment section below.

 

Botany in Popular Culture: Close It Quietly by Frankie Cosmos

Frankie Cosmos – the stage name for Greta Kline and also the name of her band – is not a new thing but was new to me in 2019. Their music is classified broadly as indie rock or indie pop, and could easily be placed in a number of subgenres. I, however, consider it punk. The songs are short, emotionally raw, unconventionally structured, simply arranged, and independently produced. That’s punk enough for me. Their most recent album, Close It Quietly, is easily my top pick for best album of 2019. The reason I’m saying this here on a blog about plants is because plants are featured in some of the lyrics. But it’s more than that really.

Quite often plants find their way into the lyrics of songs. They are, after all, great subject matter for all kinds of art. The special thing to me about the lyrics of Close It Quietly isn’t so much that plants get mentioned, but the sentiments that surround the references and the lessons learned from them. It may just be personal bias, but to me the plant references are more than just cursory. They come from a place of connection and personal relationship. Plants have things to teach us, and when we are open to it – which is often during challenging times in our lives – we can hear their lessons.

Trees receive the bulk of the plant references on this album. Like the song “Trunk of a Tree,” for example, in which Greta sings, “You’re the trunk of a tree / silent, filled with clarity.” That’s no surprise though. As David George Haskell writes in his book, The Songs of Trees, “To listen to trees, nature’s great connectors, is therefore to learn how to inhabit the relationships that give life its source, substance, and beauty.” There is great wisdom in trees. Confiding in or consulting with them can help bring clarity to a moment or feeling. This doesn’t have to mean anything weird – just being among trees and observing them in a reflective way will do the trick.

What follows is a list of some of the songs on Close It Quietly along with their plant references and some thoughts about them.

“41st”

This song is pretty fitting for the start of a new year, with the first line asking, “Does anyone wanna hear the 40 songs I wrote this year?” Looking back, maybe it was a crummy year. Perhaps you weren’t treated well, or maybe someone in your life didn’t turn out to be who you thought they were. There may be some comfort in knowing that you’re not the only one going through such things. Glancing up at the trees, Greta sings, “I look at the branches and hold a mirror up / They’re looking at me and say, ‘You don’t have a comb, do ya?'” The tangled branches of trees speak of past difficulties. As it turns out, we all have challenges that we’re trying to move past.

“A Joke”

We often find ourselves under pressures to be or act a certain way – to conform to some standard that was decided by someone else. Timelines created by other people direct our lives and tell us how or where we should be at a certain age or point in life. But, as Greta notes, “Flowers don’t grow in an organized way. Why should I?” It’s okay to be yourself, and there is no rush to become someone or something else.

“Rings (on a Tree)”

Sometimes we have to walk away from relationships, particularly when those relationships are not good for us. It’s never easy, but perhaps you’ll come to the realization that “it was wrong, so wrong / to try to hold on to a fallen tree / one that wouldn’t even look at me” or one that wasn’t “holding arms out lovingly.” It doesn’t mean that person wasn’t or still isn’t meaningful to you in some way. It’s just that it’s time to move on.

“This Swirling”

In our worst moments we are “like a dandelion,” and “just a little bit of breath blows [us] apart.” Our lives feel as chaotic as the swirling of a dandelion fluff tumbling through the air. However, a closer look reveals that a dandelion seed in flight is actually more stable than we originally thought. Perhaps we can take some comfort in that.

More Botany in Popular Culture

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.

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More Drought Tolerant Plants Posts:

Awkward Botanical Sketches #3: The Ginkgo Edition

For most of my life, ginkgo has been a meaningful tree to me. I remember first learning about it as a fourth grader. Our teacher had assigned us each to make a leaf collection. My grandparents heard about my assignment and sent me a ginkgo leaf from a tree growing in their front yard. It was unlike any other leaf in my collection, and it had a fascinating back story. Not only is it the only living tree in its genus and family, it’s also the only extant species in its division (Ginkgophyta). It was around during the time of the dinosaurs, and is considered a living fossil. I felt honored to have it, especially when I learned that I was the only kid in the class that had one.

Since then I’ve considered Ginkgo biloba to be one of the best trees. It continues to fascinate me. It’s a beautiful tree with captivating foliage, and it’s resiliency is amazing. It’s no wonder that depictions of ginkgo are so common across many cultures.

Since I love looking at ginkgo leaves, I decided to try to draw them. If you’ve been following this series of posts, you’ll remember that my drawing skills are severely lacking. A shape as simple as a ginkgo leaf should be easy to draw, but not for me. I resorted first to tracing leaves that I had pressed, and then going from there. Below are some of my results.

Ginkgo biloba leaf rubbing inspired by a page in Gayla Trail’s book, Grow Curious. After several attempts, this was the best I could do.

Finally, a freehand drawing of a cluster of ginkgo leaves in my pocket notebook in celebration of Staple Day.

Some ginkgo leaves I mailed to the Smithsonian for their Fossil Atmospheres research project.

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Field Trip: Green Spring Gardens and Meadowlark Botanical Gardens

Last month, Sierra and I were in Washington D.C. for the American Public Gardens Association annual meeting. We didn’t get to visit nearly as many gardens as I would have liked. Time was limited, and rain spoiled things a bit. However, we did get a chance to take an all day field trip to a few gardens in nearby Virginia. A couple of the gardens we visited on that trip were Green Spring Gardens in Alexandria, VA and Meadowlark Botanical Gardens in Vienna, VA.

Both gardens are quite large – Green Spring is over 30 acres and Meadowlark covers over 90 acres – and there wasn’t time to get the full experience at either location. Thus, my photos are scant and obviously not fully representative of either place. Either way, we had a good time visiting both gardens.

Green Spring Gardens

The Fairfax County Parks Authority owns and operates Green Spring Gardens. Among other partnerships, they receive considerable support from a non-profit organization called Friends of Green Spring. Although it was the wrong time of year to see them in bloom, Green Spring Gardens has a nationally accredited witch hazel collection that I’m sure would be worth checking out in the winter months. I enjoyed walking through the native plant garden, seeing the newly planted crevice garden, and learning about magnolia bogs from a friendly and enthusiastic volunteer.

the pink form of smooth azalea (Rhododendron arborescens) in the Virginia Native Plant Garden

jewelweed (Impatiens capensis) in the Virginia Native Plant Garden

bush honeysuckle (Diervilla lonicera) in the Virginia Native Plant Garden

hornbeam inflorescence (Carpinus sp.)

newly planted crevice garden

rain lily (Zephyranthes sp.) in the crevice garden

Meadowlark Botanical Gardens

Meadowlark is owned and operated by NOVA Parks. Its immense size made it difficult to decide what to check out in the little time we had, but we were happy with our decision to stop by the wetlands (to see the knees on the Taxodium distichum) and walk through the forested nature trail. We also had fun watching all the bumblebees lumber about from flower to flower.

lichen on Yoshino cherry (Prunus x yedoensis)

bumblebee on common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca)

bumblebees climbing inside leatherflower blossoms (Clematis viorna)

scarlet beebalm (Monarda didyma)

A small peak into what was a very large Fairy Garden

blue leaf form of dusty zenobia (Zenobia pulverulenta)

bear’s breeches (Acanthus sp.)

Armenian cranesbill (Geranium psilostemon)

More Awkward Botany Field Trips:

Awkward Botanical Sketches #1

At the beginning of the year I unveiled my plan to share some of my sketches with you as I learn how to draw. This is to make up for not writing quite as many posts so that I can spend time working on some other projects. It also serves as a great motivator to actually draw, which isn’t something I do very often. Turns out that if you want to get better at something, you actually have to do it.

To help me in my quest, I collected a few books. Some are instructional and others simply feature inspirational artwork. I’ve included links to a few of these books with my drawings below. If you have any books you would like to recommend, particularly a book that has helped you learn to draw, please let me know in the comment section below.

And now on to my dumb drawings…

My first drawing in Drawing Nature by Jill Bliss

Drawing of a hibiscus flower with help from Illustration School: Let’s Draw Plants and Small Creatures by Sachiko Umoto

A sketch inspired by Carcassonne: Over Hill and Dale

Sketch of an old tree inspired by a drawing in Clare Walker Leslie’s book, Drawn to Nature

Sketch of agave in bloom inspired by an image on the back of some guy’s shirt at Treefort Music Fest

Sketch of a tiny tuft of grass I was trying to identify. It’s still a bit of a mystery.