One of my goals for this summer is to get better at identifying trees (talk about setting the bar high). It’s easier than birding, since they don’t fly away, and you can pull off leaves, unlike wings, to examine while you page through your field guides.
It’s daunting, however. The sheer variety of specimens boggles the mind.
I try to distinguish between compound and simple, lobed and unlobed, toothed or smooth leaves. I look for bark patterns that are representative. I examine flowers and berries, but in the end, stumped (no pun intended), I turn to the Seattle Street Tree site for confirmation and/or correction.
I’m not sure why I’m fixated on this, although I have had periodic bouts of similar activity. When I was a wee hippie lad living in San Francisco in 1975, I used to wander through the Golden Gate Arboretum testing myself on tree names. At least I got to the point where I could pick out a eucalyptus. (If you’ve ever been to the park, you’ll get the joke.)
Maybe I just want to be that guy standing around the backyard barbecue who knows the names; if so, my tenure will be limited. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before there’s a phone app you can hold up to a leaf and it will tell you want the tree is. (If not, get on it nerds; I’ll buy!)
Or maybe it’s about reconnecting with traditional ways of knowing and folk wisdom; I just found out, for example, that the Tree of Heaven dominating my neighbor’s back yard is used in Chinese medicine for all sorts of ailments, including baldness and itching; one never knows when that may come in handy.
Or perhaps I simply want to know the names of what I’m looking at in order to be slightly more aware of things. Distinguishing a beech from an ash, for instance, might be one way to be incrementally wider awake.
It’s daunting, however. The sheer variety of specimens boggles the mind.
I try to distinguish between compound and simple, lobed and unlobed, toothed or smooth leaves. I look for bark patterns that are representative. I examine flowers and berries, but in the end, stumped (no pun intended), I turn to the Seattle Street Tree site for confirmation and/or correction.
I’m not sure why I’m fixated on this, although I have had periodic bouts of similar activity. When I was a wee hippie lad living in San Francisco in 1975, I used to wander through the Golden Gate Arboretum testing myself on tree names. At least I got to the point where I could pick out a eucalyptus. (If you’ve ever been to the park, you’ll get the joke.)
Maybe I just want to be that guy standing around the backyard barbecue who knows the names; if so, my tenure will be limited. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before there’s a phone app you can hold up to a leaf and it will tell you want the tree is. (If not, get on it nerds; I’ll buy!)
Or maybe it’s about reconnecting with traditional ways of knowing and folk wisdom; I just found out, for example, that the Tree of Heaven dominating my neighbor’s back yard is used in Chinese medicine for all sorts of ailments, including baldness and itching; one never knows when that may come in handy.
Or perhaps I simply want to know the names of what I’m looking at in order to be slightly more aware of things. Distinguishing a beech from an ash, for instance, might be one way to be incrementally wider awake.
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