I can summon the common name of most every tree occurring in the forests of Maine. Immediately surrounding the home in which I grew up there are, among others, maple, oak, poplar, beach, cedar, hemlock, blue spruce, fir, hackmatack and the state tree, white pine. Naturally there is more than one variety of many of these, but my fourth grade teacher imparted to me an understanding of my home woods that informs to this day my every adventure in Maine.
I settled here in Buena Vista some nine months ago, and there is something being born within me. As I mentioned in my previous post, it is a pull to know the land here in deeper dimension. Just as the a human child is born into a world of wholeness and distinguishes not part from part, there has been little dimension to my perception of the land here.
But my exploration has now begun, and it has begun with trees. I reminded myself yesterday of Princeton’s socially inept, muttering academics as I traipsed around on the river trail, lost in a copy of Trees and Shrubs of Colorado. I stood before what I finally concluded was a Rocky Mountain Juniper (Juniperus scopulorum) for about 20 minutes, inspecting its scaly foliage and breaking open its berries to count the number of seeds (1 or 2 but rarely 3).
I returned home, my thumbs and forefingers sticky with berry resin. The strong aroma of the juniper berry is familiar to most, repugnant to some given its use as a flavorer in gin.
Referring to the useful book From Grassland to Glacier: A Natural History of Colorado, I discovered that the ecosystem here is referred to as Pinon Pine-Juniper woodlands. This will come as no surprise to locals, but it was, nonetheless, a discovery for me.
Naturally then, the other tree variety I encountered in my stumblings was the Pinon Pine (Pinus edulis). Pinons are the predominant evergreen variety on the slopes of Midland Mountain, just across the Arkansas River. The generally small stature of both the Pinon and Juniper has earned these woodlands the common name of “pygmy forests.”
Pinons have short needles compared to those of their taller relative the Ponderosa (Pinus ponderosa), which grow in bundles of two. Their cones are less than two inches long and are home to the famous pine nut which is ready for harvest in the fall.
Pine nuts were and still are a staple food for the Native peoples of this land. And according to the excellent book A Natural History of Western Trees, the pine nut harvest was also a social occasion for the early settlers who would ship the crop to the east coast where it was sold in pushcarts. I look forward to the opportunity to sample the Pinons’ bounty firsthand this autumn.
While I’m still sorting out the identity of some of the trees in my backyard, it is a satisfying thing to become better-versed in the tree varieties here. It seems to somehow anchor me in this place. And it does bring more dimension to my observations. Whereas only a week ago I perceived in general terms an evergreen forest across the river, I can now glance out my window and pick out the various evergreen varieties. I can just see myself twenty years from now, a seasoned mountain man giving tours of the local ecosystem and telling stories of when I didn’t know Pinon from Ponderosa.
