Late December Roundup

Winter colors, sounding the alarm on Euonymus fortunei, appreciating trees, and personal tidbit

Temperatures have climbed back up close to 50F, and though I'd prefer real winter, the warmth encourages relaxed walks during which the marvelous colors of the season can be appreciated. Yes, I really wrote “marvelous colors” when referring to a brushy winter field. Assuming it's all gray and drab out there would be a serious mistake, since this time of year the monochromatic backdrop of sycamore trucks and dead goldenrod stalks makes a perfect foil for any color that remains.

Shown above, the Virginia pine appears to glow this time of year. Pinus virginiana, an early successional tree able to grow on poor soil, is common in the eastern United States. It isn't considered a particularly valuable tree, but I hold this one in high regard simply because it is the sole specimen on the property.

How did its seed arrive? Left behind by flood or deposited in bird poop? There's an obvious explanation for the arrival of the numerous white pines considering the many mature trees on adjacent land, but the genesis of the Virginia pine remains a mystery, making it all the more appreciated.

Below, American holly berries and wild crabapples advertise themselves as delicious and nutritious snacks. A quick internet search informs me that the tradition of red balls on Christmas trees comes from Germany where pagan tree decorating was appropriated and changed to fit Christian beliefs. Red apples were hung to represent the Garden of Eden and Original Sin. Surely the appeal of such ornaments arises from a deeper past, when bright reds and oranges against a green background meant a feast for our distant ancestors. Regardless, there is something satisfying about the sight of berries in winter, especially for those of us who keep the well-being of birds in mind.

While winter is undoubtedly the time when evergreens are appreciated, there is one perennially green plant that I dread seeing, Euonymus fortunei, or wintercreeper as it is commonly known. There are invasive plants, and there are demon flora from hell that threaten life as we know it. Wintercreeper falls into the second category, but though it is listed as invasive in Ohio it doesn't elicit the proper level of concern in my opinion.

I've written quite a bit about invasives, pointing out that some of hysteria surrounding them is deliberately induced by chemical companies in their own self interest. I don't engage in hack and squirt, slash and burn, or any other frenzied activity to eradicate invaders. I deal with invasive plants by chipping away at them, encouraging native trees to recover, and relying on shade to gradually weaken the undesirables. I'm relatively unconcerned about the Japanese honeysuckle, autumn olive, Miscanthus, and other non-natives because I believe that in the end native plants will win.

Wintercreeper is different though, as it doesn't mind deep shade and takes over mature woods by forming a mat on the forest floor consisting of a mass of tangled individual vines. Should a questing vine encounter a tree, it will grow upwards and expand until of sufficient size and maturity to form fruit, which then rains down and the cycle continues. Thus the plant easily penetrates existing forests, and trees that are smothered simply become zombie-like and appear green and alive, but are dead underneath.

An alarming number of our trees, hundreds at least, look like the one pictured. The vines can be ripped out easily when young, but the sheer number makes keeping ahead of them difficult. Unfortunately this noxious weed will most likely dictate much of the work I do in the next few years. We are far past the date when banning the sale of it would have any effect, but some acknowledgment of the extent of the problem from the invasive species Grand Poobahs would be nice.

On a brighter note, there are many more welcome sights to be found on the Savanna. Reindeer moss, which is neither a moss nor eaten by reindeer — at least not in Ohio — grows here and there on paths. This plant is actually a lichen, probably Cladonia subtenuis. Other members of this genus really do feed caribou in boreal forests. I'm not sure what role it plays in the ecosystem here, but I like the pale, ethereal green against the brown leaves.

Common milkweed can still be seen in December, bright white fluff know as floss spilling from its seed pods. The dead stalks of common evening primrose draw the eye against a background of faded Canada goldenrod.

Between downpours, the river clears to a beautiful shade of green. The largest trees understandably grow near the river, and now that summer’s grasses and forbs have died back they are revealed. Many are tilted at odd angles, or covered in the hairy vines of poison ivy. They grow with multiple trunks, some standing dead, some fallen yet still living. Floods have left plastic bags in lower branches, and thick deposits of mud at their bases. They are in various states of decay, some more fungus or moss than tree.

These are undervalued species like silver maple, sycamore, and boxelder that line the banks, their roots tangled with each other in the sodden clay. Though some rise straight and majestic, most are not pretty, but season after season they perform the crucial job of literally holding the riverbank in place.

Perhaps they remind you of someone or something, and I invite you to fill in the blank with your own personal metaphor. For me, they remind me of me. Few people who live nearby know about the Turtle Paradise project, or, if they were made aware, would understand or value it. And I'm not as young, pretty, and fungus-free as I used to be. I might have bits of trash in my hair, and definitely mud on my boots. But I think I'm doing something important here, and recognition for it — and the way I look while doing it — are totally immaterial.

Having a few more readers would be nice, though, so don't let the previous paragraph deter you from sharing my work, if you are so inclined. Best wishes and safe celebrations to all my readers on this last day of 2023!