Red Maple

I did a quick tally on my archives at this site, as well as on NYPAOS and realize I have posted about a grand total of seven maple species: Acer griseum (paperbark maple), A. capillipes (snakebark maple), A. palmatum (Japanese maple) and A. pseudoplatanus (sycamore maple) here on Planted Cloud, and A. platanoides (Norway maple), A. saccharum (sugar maple) and A. campestre (hedge maple) on NYPAOS.

 

And yet, I've never mentioned Acer rubrum, or red maple (AKA: swamp maple), which is one of my favorite of the genus.  While the fall color is highly variable (despite the common name, the leaves on this species sometimes aren't red, but yellow and orange, too), I love this plant for its spring flowers.  The photo above was taken about two weeks ago.  It's of a 25 year old specimen at my folks' place.  As you can see, the new stems are red -- they turn this color in winter/fall -- and the buds are fattening up.

 

Here's the same tree, two weeks later.  The buds have flowered into tiny puffballs of marginally diminutive flowers of petals, stamens and pistils.  The tree is monecious, which means that there are female and male specimens of the tree.  Which is a wonderful segue way for me to implore you all to pick up a copy of Dirr. At first glance, his reference book is pretty dry.  But when you really read through all his descriptions you pick up wonderful passages like the following: 

I have assessed the peculiar sexual preferences of this species -- actually quite kinky for in a give population of seedlings staminate, pistillate, monoecious and monecious with hermaphrodite (bisexual) flowers occur; an interesting anecdote concerns male trees in a 25-tree popularion on the Georgia campus that grow much faster than their seed bearing sisters; my supposition...so much stored carbohydrate is required for fruit formation that vegetative growth is reduced.  

It's simply not often enough that one employs the term 'kinky' in reference to a tree!

Anyway, back to the tree.  In addition to being highly variable in fall color, red maples differ greatly in their cold tolerance, depending on where they were first grown as seedlings.  A seedling from the south may not perform well at all in northern climes and vice versa.  These are reasons that there's a tremendous market for red maple cultivars ('Armstrong,' 'Autumn Glory' and 'October Glory' are a few classics).  Indeed, if your client wants red fall color on a red maple guaranteed, you don't want to take your chances with generic nursery stock.

Acer griseum

Below we have Acer griseum, or paperbark maple, flanking an entry to the sculpture garden.  Again, we can age this landscape at about 20 years, which makes sense for this species.  They grow slowly - 6-12" per year and are unlikely to get much taller than 25'. 

 

   

Below, you can verify the plant is a maple, by checking the leaf orientation: opposite.  However as you can see, the young shoots have very short internodes which can make this identification a bit trickier. In the summer, leaves are trifoliate and in the fall, A. griseum is one of the last maples to turn red, sometimes fall color doesn't occur until late November, even in Boston.

Acer griseum can be a darling for landscape architects, due to its slow growth (expense) and its papery, exfoliating bark.  Indeed, the back is beautiful, with reddish-cinnamon peels curling off the trunk.  There's some debate about the quality of fall color; Dirr is downright skeptical, claiming that he rarely sees anything beyond a muddy red.

A. griseum can be classified among other species of maple as a subgroup of trifoliate maples.  Others include A. mandshuricum, A. triflorum, and A. maximowicszianum.

Japanese Maple

Below we have the same shot of the katsuratree I blogged about last week.  If you look beyond that sprawling beauty, you'll see another large tree.  At first glance, you'd maybe wonder if they are the same, but a second look proves that wrong. 

 

The tree to the left has samaras, and opposite leaf orientation.  That, along with the stripey bark and a few persistent leaves make it quite clear that this is Acer palmatum or Japanese maple.   A gigantic Japanese maple. 

Most cultivars of Acer palmatum (and there are hundreds of cultivars) top out at about 30', max.  'Bloodgood' is by far one of the most famous cultivars and gets about 15'.  I'd love to know what this one is, since its spread is around 45' and it's probably just as tall. 

 

Elsewhere in Dumbarton Oaks, a smaller, more protected specimen still had leaves on it.  As you can see the plant has amazing fall color. 

Despite the gorgeous seasonal interest, I don't use Japanese maples too often.  Namely because I'm not crazy about the deep purple foliage many of the cultivars have during the summer. Some cultivars have green leaves during the summer, and I like them much more. 

Though it's hard to be critical of this plant when the fall color is so remarkable!  Indeed, that's why it's one of the most popular small non-flowering ornamental trees. 

American Beech

A few posts back, I promised to write about the American beech, or Fagus grandifolia, at Dumbarton Oaks.  To be sure, if you have been to Dumbarton Oaks, you know precisely which tree I'm talking about.  Even people who wouldn't be able to identify this tree as American beech would remember this particular specimen, as striking as it is.

 

Beeches are extremely slow growing (and Fagus grandifolia is more slow growing than its relative, the European beech, or Fagus sylvatica). In Central Park, specimens of European beech abound, but it's hard to find an American beech like this.  Low-branching and with shallow roots resting on the ground, this is an ideal specimen for introducing the plant to students. 

It's easy to identify a beech by its smooth (elephant skin-like) bark, which is often covered with graffiti.  In fact, a part of beech trunk, with the words "D. Boon Killd Bar o this tree 1775" inscribed on it, is on display at the Grandfather Mountain Nature Museum, though it's been proven that Daniel Boone himself was not the graffiti artist.

Of course, in the Virginia-Maryland-DC area, American beeches are downright ubiquitous.  I encountered the one above while running on the C&O Canal in Georgetown.  In its native forest habitat, beeches tend to sucker and so you will also find communities of beeches. I've been on old tracts of land where the only tree around is the beech.  That's the result of this suckering tendency and because it has very hard wood  (which consequently protected it from harvest until the chainsaw was invented).

The fall color is...okay.  It has a rusty golden-orange color which is just fine.  The leaves are ovate and the presence of very small spines along the margin help distinguish it from Fagus sylvatica, which has an entire margin.

Beeches produce nuts that provide food for dozens of birds and forest mammals.  The seedcaps are fuzzy, four-winged capsules which are persistent on the tree through early winter or spring.  The plant also provides habitat for many caterpillars.  The wood is used for furniture, flooring and woodenware.

Though the bark alone makes beeches easy to identify, the buds are also very distinctive.  Long and slender, they have always reminded me of a spindle on a spinning wheel.  I'm guessing, more specifically, in some deep recess of my memory, they remind me of the cursed spindle that Sleeping Beauty is fated to touch. I looked up a clip online and am pretty sure that's where my association comes from.  Since it's Friday, and who doesn't like a bit of Tchaikovsky and Disney, see for yourself here.

Pseudocydonia sinensis

Last week, when I was visiting Dumbarton Oaks, I noticed some deep red leaves on the ground.  At first glance, I wondered (irritably) if Dumbarton Oaks used a tree as plebeian as the dreaded Bradford pear.  Those can, despite their other problems, exhibit some lovely rose petal-like fall color.  But rounding the corner, I happily realized this was a different tree.

 

As you can see, the fluted bark is exfoliated and quite different from Pyrus.   Instead, the bark was more similar to Pinus bungeana, or lacebark pine.  The mottling isn't just white, silver, peach and gray, like Platanus, Stewartia or Lagerstroemia, but has an army green color in the bark as well.  It's quite striking.

 

The plant was also a mystery to me; I had no idea what it was.  My best bet was that it was still a relative to Pyrus or at the very least, a member of the Rosaceae family.  Looking up at the canopy, I got another clue.

At the time, a glimpse of these large fruit furthered my belief that this may have been a pear.  Though they are awfully lemon-yellow for a pear, it seemed possible.  I determined I'd have to do a bit more research when I got home to pin down exactly what this was.  

In any case, I was wowed by the contrast between the deep red foliage with the bright yellow fruit. 

It turns out that this was Pseudocydonia sinensis, or Chinese quince.  It's a very rare specimen tree, native to China, that is indeed in the Rosaceae family.  The fall color, fruit and beautiful bark are all characteristic of the species.  For a long time, it was classified in the Cydonia (quince) genus, but the absence of spines ultimately led to its classification in its own genus (P. sinensis is the only species in the genus). Cydonia is not to be confused with the shrub with the same common name, Chaenomeles.

Sycamore Maple and Incestuous Nomenclature

First of all, apologies.  It's already after 5 on a Tuesday and I've yet to update this site.  I'm in New York until tomorrow and have been a bit overrun with meetings and catching up with some good friends.  But I still managed to get in a run in Central Park yesterday and today.  

 

I stopped to take these shots of sycamore maple, or Acer pseudoplatanus, since we've been covering trees with fall color quite a bit lately and this tree is probably at its peak. As you can see, while the leaves are not as fiery as its cousin, Acer saccharum, they are a fairly clear, bright yellow.  The leaves are also serrated, unlike sugar maple, Norway maple, or even hedge maple.  Acer rubrum, or red maple, also has serrated leaves, as do other species in the genus, but I've yet to post on them.  But, if you're familiar with red maple leaves, you may notice that the leaf below is a broader shape, with five distinct lobes, whereas A. rubrum often has trident-like leaves.  The lobes on sycamore maple also are a touch fatter or wider at the mid-point; red maple lobes consistently taper in size and are widest near the middle of the leaf, narrowing to the points.  Finally, and perhaps obviously, red maple leaves this time of year are usually, well, red.

Sycamore maple is called thus because the bark has a thick, scaly bark similar to sycamore (Platanus occidentalis).  And here's a good example where nomenclature can get a touch confusing:

London plane tree is Platanus x. acerifolia and the species name is indicating the leaves look like Acer, or maple.

Norway maple is called Acer platanoides because the leaves look like london plane tree, or Platanus x. acerifolia.

Sycamore maple is called Acer pseudoplatanus because the bark (below) looks like sycamore (and probably because platanoides was already taken!).

The whole thing gets a bit cyclical, like a flawed math formula, doesn't it?

The tree is not native and while it is not as outrageously invasive as Norway maple, it can conquer over natives due to its high tolerance to salt, drought and wind.  It's just that resilience which lead to the plant being brought here from Europe and Southwest Asia, sometime in the late 19th century.

White Oak

Since we're on the topic of oaks, what with Tuesday's post on red oak, it seemed appropriate to follow up with another oak species, the white oak, or Quercus alba. 

Quercus alba is a native forest tree found in the United States from Maine to Florida and west toward Minnesota and Texas.  It's a slow-growing tree and its high sensitivity to compaction makes it a little-used tree for ornamental applications.  It's also a tell-tale pH indicator.  Chance are, your soil is acidic in the presence of this (and other) oaks. 

And, as you can see, the fall color is excellent.  I think this, along with scarlet oak (Q. coccinea) are among the best of the genus for fall color.  Unlike the red oak, white oaks have rounded lobes, though the depth of the sinuses is quite similar. 

The bark is much shaggier-looking than red oak, and has a silvery gray sheen to it.  The common name, white oak, is referring to this light-colored bark.  Like the red oak, it is fairly easy to identify in the winter.  In addition to the tree's beauty, the white oak is very important in a manufacturing capacity.  The wood is used for furniture, flooring, boat building and for wine and whiskey casks.

Dirr writes, "Difficult to pen my emotional ties to this species," and I'm sure that sentiment resonates well with many people in the eastern states where this tree is ubiquitous.   He comments on the tree's beauty near Biltmore Estate, as well as along the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia, which is not too far from where this specimen was growing (this is at my parents' place in northern Virginia).  After looking at this gorgeous display of fall color, contrasted against such a perfect November sky, I'm hard-pressed to disagree with him.   ...I may just have to revise my list.

Northern Red Oak

Below, to the right, is a shot of Lewisohn Hall, at Columbia University's campus.  I usually meet my students for the first time outside the doorway - our first class begins here.  (Obviously, this was taken last spring.)  It's a great place to introduce students to the subtle differences among trees.  Immediately flanking the portico are two small specimens of Acer palmatum.  This gives me a chance to talk about leaf orientation and explain that, among trees at least, an opposite leaf orientation is the first clue in identifying a species. 

 

After this, I have them study the two large shade trees in front of the building.  In the foreground we have Quercus rubra or northern red oak and in the background, Q. palustris, or pin oak.  Whereas most people would simply catalog them both as 'trees', some would know they are oaks.  A few would understand they are different species of oaks.  Finally, fewer still would know they are different species when there are no leaves on the trees to aide them.  But look closely, even in this photo, and it's clear the texture of the bark is different.

To me, red oaks are one of the easier trees to identify, sans leaves.  The bark consists of smooth, shiny furrows and rough raised ridges.  I describe it to students by saying it looks like someone has taken a butter knife or their thumbnail and gently carved the furrows in the bark.  The smooth shiny quality can reflect the sun brilliantly, too.  

Despite the common appellation, I think the fall color on red oak is fairly ho-hum.  You use this tree when you want a magestic, long-living shade tree, but not if brilliant fall color is your priority.

The leaves are (I hope) universally recognized as oak leaves, but differ from the popular leaf of the white oak (Quercus alba) because the lobes of these leaves are pointed.  The sinuses (the spaces between the lobes) are relatively shallow and the leaf itself is quite large, which means it can pose more of a litter problem than the aforementioned Q. palustris which has smaller leaves with deeper sinuses.

Aronia arbutifolia

It seems a disservice to laud the best native trees for fall color, without highlighting a few shrubs, too. And so today I am sharing a few shots of Aronia arbutifolia (red chokeberry) that I took in Central Park last October. 

 

Aronia is a native shrub in the Rosaceae family and is similar to its relatives in its ovate, serrated leaves and the presence of small berries which somewhat resemble rosehips.  It readily suckers and spreads, and can survive in somewhat marshy areas.  The flowers look like many others in the rose family - they are small, with five white petals and showy stamens.  I've blogged about many rose family plants before, including crabapples, quince, cherrylaurels, cherries, hawthornes, and most notably the dreaded Bradford pear and the wonderful serviceberry.  

Like its relatives, chokeberry has exceptional fall color and its status as a native makes it an excellent alternative to invasive plants like burning bush (Euonymus alatus) or Nandina domestica. The fruit provide food for birds as well, though it isn't edible for them until a few frosts have fermented the fruit's flesh. (A lot of alliteration for a little laugh.)

Aronia derives from 'Aria' - the Greek name for Sorbus which has similar berries. Arbutifolia literally means that the foliage looks like Arbutus. Chokeberry is the common name because the fruit is quite astringent, though it can be rendered into jams, jellies, wines and teas.  It should not be confused with the similarly named chokecherry, which is Prunus virginiana.

Top Five Native Trees For Fall Color

Some time ago, I received a very good suggestion to have a few blog posts with lists -- let's face it, we all love a good top five or top ten list.  (Mostly, I think because it gives us a chance to take issue with the author, but such is life.)  Since I've largely neglected the plant life on the East Coast, in favor of the Arizonan plants I have been learning about lately, I thought I'd offer up my top five native trees for good fall color. 

Number 5: Yellowwood (Cladrastis kentukea)

I suppose regular readers of NYPAOS may recognize some of these photos (and certainly the sentiment) from posts featuring these plants more fully, but let's please revisit this lovely shot of yellowwood in Central Park, right near the Plaza Hotel.  The tree is an underappreciated native that has beautiful yellow foliage in the fall.  In addition to this, the white pendulous summer blossoms and the stately habit make this a wonderful alternative to maples or oaks.

Number 4: Witch Hazel (Hamamelis sp.)

Witch hazel, like almost all other members of the Hamamelidaceae family, has remarkable, mottled red, orange and yellow fall color.  These small trees (or large shrubs if you prefer) have a broad spreading habit and also bloom very early in the year, providing a welcome sign of spring.  Other family members include Fothergilla and Corylopsis.

Number 3: Serviceberry (Amelanchier sp.)

Well, I can't imagine a day when I won't fanatically endorse any species of Amelanchier.  Whether you want a spreading large shrub (A. canadensis), a native tree (A. arborea), or a showier hybrid (A. grandiflora, lamarckii), serviceberries are showstoppers.  I love the cultivar 'Autumn Brilliance' for it's deeper orangey hue, but even the golden-orange more common in the shrubs is lovely.  As I've said many times, in the fall it almost looks as if the tree has been plugged into an electrical socket somewhere.

Number 2: Sugar Maple (Acer saccharum)

 

Not including sugar maple on this list would be like talking about baseball and not mentioning Babe Ruth (that's a reference in honor of my struggling Yankees*). Sure, some people will say that Babe Ruth was overhyped or deserves some kind of asterisk due to the times in which he played, but I doubt most can truly deny the galvanizing effect he had on people, even those who would not otherwise identify with baseball.  Sugar maples have amazing fall color and their regular, broad, symmetrical habit is majestic.

Number 1: Black Gum, or Tupelo (Nyssa sylvatica)

Despite the love I may have for sugar maples (or the Yanks for that matter), I had to save my number one ranking for Nyssa sylvatica.  Tupelos are not used as often as they should, largely because the tree has a tap root and is thus difficult to transplant in large sizes.  But a relatively new cultivar, 'Wildfire' can be transplanted more easily and is also more resistant to leaf spot.  The loose, low-branching habit is elegant, perfectly suited for tree climbing and lights up a landscape each autumn. 

There are many more native trees that have exceptional fall color, which helps make the case against using a bradford pear or a Norway maple (as if you didn't have enough reasons for that already!).  Some honorable mentions include:

            Sweet Gum (Liquidambar styraciflua)
            Sassafras (Sassafras albidum)
            Franklinia (Franklinia alatamaha)
            Dogwood (Cornus florida)
            Red Maple (Acer rubrum)

What else have I missed?  Any suggestions for killer fall color? 

Happy tree viewing!

Note: All of the photos in this post, except for the last one, were taken in Central Park.

*This post was written before game five.   Fingers crossed.

American Smoketree

Last week I was tagging some plant material for a property in the District and spent the better part of the day at wholesalers in Maryland.  When I was at Manor View Farms, I was lucky enough to start a conversation with one of the owners.  It went something like this,

Me: "I think I checked on your inventory and saw you're out of Amelanchier but that's what I was hoping to get.  Something small, multistemmed, with good fall color."

Him: "Well, you could go with a crape myrtle..."

Me: "Yea...I really don't care for that plant.  There's nothing wrong with it, really, but I'm just sick of seeing it everywhere.  Maybe a Stewartia, or..."

Him: "Franklinia?"

Me: "Oh, for sure.  Love that plant!"

It turns out John and I had pretty similar tastes in plants.  We discussed our admiration for black gum, yellowwood, American hornbeam and others.  Soon enough, he was giving me a tour of their hundred-acre farm.  While driving around, I pointed out the tree below and inquired about it.

Turns out the tree is a native species of Cotinus, Cotinus obovatus.  I never knew there was such a thing.  As you can see it's more tree form and less of a large shrub.  Occasionally these leaders will fail, at which point the nursery cuts it back to the ground and starts growing it as a multistemmed shrub.  The flower set is not as heavy as Cotinus coggygria, but the fall color is reportedly far superior.  I was intrigued.  The plant's native range is is primarily in the mountainous regions of northern Alabama, Tennessee and Kentucky, though it reaches as far west as Oklahoma and Texas.

I have blogged about Cotinus on NYPAOS a few times, I'm always a touch ambivalent about it because it seems so alien to our indigenous landscape.  I have to say the tree-form habit of this species makes me warm to the genus considerably.  I will definitely look forward to an opportunity to use this in a planting.