Learning Plants and Trees

One thing I've noticed as I get older is that learning no longer comes easily to me.  Or more accurately, retention of what I have (supposedly) learned.  I am finally coming to terms with this unfortunate reality, and am working on more effectively sorting and storing the copious notes I find myself always taking.  A clipboard of loose-leaf paper has become as constant a companion as my sunglasses. 

For while my retention may be suffering, my curiosity most certainly is not!  There are few subjects about which I am not constantly looking for more information, more details, additional examples of how the pieces fit into the whole. 

Trees, and increasingly under-story plants, are two excellent examples of this.  While I understand the concepts of succession, that no forest is a static entity, that it's always changing as parts die, openings are created, some species populate quickly while others bide their time, I've never learned (or is it retained?) the cast of characters and their roles. 

Two discoveries brought this all to mind today – yesterday's observation of baby ferns, aka fiddleheads, popping up all over the forest floor, and, while retrieving something else entirely, coming across a “Forest Trees of Maine” poster I purchased last fall. 


I have been told that fiddleheads are a Maine springtime delicacy.  Cue the TV announcer – Act Now!  Don't Delay!  Limited Time Offer!  But fiddleheads aren't something from late night television, although I wouldn't be surprised if there is an 800 number you could order them from.  For a limited time anyway.  But were the baby ferns I saw the delicacy type?  Details, I want details!  I recalled discussion of fuzzy vs. papery, but no clue which is preferable.  Enter my heroes, reference books.  Okay, I'll grant the internet is a kind of giant reference book, but I prefer ones I know have been edited, that I can hold in my hand, even carry into the woods.  Oh sure, you could carry the internet into the woods on a smartphone, but given the spotty reception around here, I'll stick with books, thanks.

So I borrowed a friend's “Edible Wild Plants” book, which has all of two, count them two, ferns in it.  Immediately I wished for an additional fern reference guide, because what if I'm looking at a non-edible variety?  Then I realized my quest for more information, more details, was getting in the way of my true goal – are these the edible delicacy type of fiddleheads?  Sadly, the answer is no.  The prize is the Ostrich fern, covered with larger, papery, brown scales.  What I found better fits the description of the Bracken fern, covered with silver-grey hair.  As a consolation prizes, the book does note that “while the fiddleheads of other ferns can presumably be eaten (none are reported to be poisonous), many are bitter and unpalatable.”

So the fiddleheads I have seen might be bracken, or they might be some other species, but they are not the coveted Ostrich.  And if I fail to remember hairy vs. papery come next spring, I know where to (re)learn the distinction.  In the meantime, I'm keeping my eyes out for the papery ones! 


Several years ago I lived a brief stint near the Hoosier National Forest in Indiana.  I would drive the few extra miles to pass through the forest on my way to town.  The property I lived on had been selectively logged, so while it had trees, it didn't have TREES!  I was desperate to know exactly who/what I was looking at, and a neighbor obliged me, spending a lovely afternoon tromping through the woods pointing out various specimens and some of their defining characteristics.  At the end of our walk, he told me to pick three trees and learn them, then next year pick three more, and so on.  But I want to know them all now, I wailed.  How could I restrict myself to learning only 3 per year?

That walk was 7 years ago now, and how many trees do I know?  The same 5 I knew before that conversation, the standard inventory of Maple, Oak, White Birch, White Pine, and – well crud, maybe it's only 4 instead of the 21 I would know had I heeded his advice. 

After I moved to Maine, I again went for a walk with a knowledgeable local, trusty clipboard in hand.  Somewhere I have a double-sided page full of notes with details such as which birch has “armpits” or chevrons below each branch.  I did mention I'm still working on that note sorting and storage process, yes?  My current method is a three-ring binder of papers off my clipboard, added in chronological order, there being far too many topics to categorize that way!  Sadly, the notebook dates back only to its inspired inception – all of my other notes are living quiet lives in piles shoved into boxes, patiently waiting to be re-discovered. 

As someone who loves and needs trees around me, I'm embarrassed I don't know them better.  One species I learned the name of last year, the Tamarack, I have learned to love the shape of this year.  When I'm clipping trails through the woods, I'm usually following old skidder trails left from logging on the property a decade or two ago.  The forest is reclaiming those skidder trails, and I'm happy to cede much of the width, but not all of it.  Accordingly I find myself cutting many saplings, but often on the branches encroaching on a human, rather than machine, sized trail.  The Tamarack lends itself to this operation by having obligingly flat branches that when removed pile neatly off to the side.  In contrast, the White Pine, apparently another vigorous reclaimant

So I am in fact up to five species in my retained knowledge bank: Maple, Oak, White Birch, White Pine, and Tamarack.  Current thought is this year's three will be the Yellow and Grey Birches, and whatever that is outside my door.  Time to grab the tree guide reference book!