A year among the trees

by Wilson Flagg

The Quince-Tree, though inferior in size, and not prospering very well on the soil of New England, which is rather too cold for it, deserves a passing remark. In botanical characters it bears more resemblance to the pear than to the apple. The fruit has the same tender and mucilaginous core; the seeds are not enclosed in a dry hull, like those of the apple; and the pulp of the quince, like that of the pear, is granulated, while that of the apple displays in its texture a finer and firmer organization. I may add the well-known fact that the pear may be grafted upon a quince stock, while no such union can be effected between the apple and the quince, or the apple and the pear. The quince-tree makes a very elegant appearance, both when covered with its large white and crimson-stained flowers, and when laden with its golden Hesperian fruit.

The Plum-Tree, in connection with the orchard, hardly deserves mention; but there are two indigenous species which in some places are conspicuous objects in our fields. The beach-plum requires no description. It is a low shrub, very common on many parts of the New England coast and on the islands around it. There is nothing remarkable in its appearance or in the beauty of its fruit, which is of a dark-blue color and about the size of damsons. The other species is a tree of considerable size, which is very beautiful when covered with its ripe scarlet berries. In the State of Maine they are called “plumgranates,” and are very generally used for culinary purposes.

The Peach-Tree, of all the tenants of the garden and orchard, is the most beautiful when in flower, varying in the color of its bloom from a delicate blush to a light crimson. As it puts forth its flowers before the leaves, the tree presents to view the likeness of a magnificent bouquet. When covering many acres of ground, nothing in nature can surpass it in splendor, flowering, as it does, sooner than almost any other tree. Even in New England, where these trees are now seen only in occasional groups, they constitute an important object in the landscape, when in flower. Few persons are aware how much interest the peach-tree adds to the landscape in early spring, by its suggestions as well as its beauty. Since the changeableness of our winter and the harshness of our spring weather have been aggravated by the destruction of our Northern forests, the peach-tree is so liable to perish that its cultivation has been neglected, and trees of this species are now very scarce in New England, except in the gardens of wealthy men. We no longer meet them as formerly in our journeyings through rustic farms, when they were interspersed among apple-trees, adorning every byway in the country.

THE AMERICAN ELM.

I will confess that I join in the admiration so generally bestowed upon the American Elm. To me no other tree seems so beautiful or so majestic. It does not exhibit the sturdy ruggedness of the oak; it is not so evidently defiant of wind and tempest. It seems, indeed, to make no outward pretensions of strength. It bends to the breeze which the oak defies, and is more seldom, therefore, broken by the wind. The Elm is especially the wayside tree of New England, and it forms the most remarkable feature of our domestic landscape. If there be in any other section of our land as many, they are individuals mingled with the forest, and are not so frequent by the roadsides. In this part of the country the Elm has been planted and cherished from the earliest period of our history, and the inhabitants have always looked upon it with admiration, and valued it as a landscape ornament above every other species. It is the most drooping of the drooping trees, except the willow, which it surpasses in grandeur and in the variety of its forms.

Though the Elm has never been consecrated by the muse of classic song, or dignified by making a figure in the paintings of the old masters, the native inhabitant of New England associates the varied forms of this tree with all that is delightful in the scenery or memorable in the history of our land. All spacious avenues are bordered with elms, and their magnificent rows are everywhere familiar to his sight. He has seen them extending their broad and benevolent arms over many a hospitable mansion and many a humble cottage, and equally harmonizing with all. They meet his sight in the public grounds of the city with their ample shade and flowing spray; and he beholds them in the clearing, where they were left by the woodman to stand as solitary landmarks of the devastated space. Every year of his life he has seen the beautiful hangbird weave his pensile nest upon the long and flexible branches, secure from the reach of every foe. From its vast dome of branches and foliage he has listened to the songs of the late and early birds, and under its canopy he has witnessed many a scene of rustic amusement.

To a native of New England, therefore, the Elm has a character more nearly approaching that of sacredness than any other tree. Setting aside the pleasure derived from it as an object of material beauty, it reminds him of the familiar scenes of home and the events of his early life. How many a happy assemblage of children and young persons has been gathered under its shade in the sultry noons of summer! How many a young May queen has been crowned under its tasselled roof, when the greensward was just daisied with the early flowers of spring! And how often has the weary traveller rested from his journey under its wide-spreading boughs, and from a state of weariness and vexation, when o’erspent by heat and length of way, subsided into quiet thankfulness and content!

In my own mind the Elm is intimately allied with those old dwelling-houses which were built in the early part of the last century, and form one of the principal remaining features of New England home architecture during that period. They are known by their broad and ample but low-studded rooms, their two stories in front, their numerous windows with small panes, their single chimney in the centre of the roof, that sloped down to one story in the rear, and their general homely appearance, reminding us of the simplicity of life that characterized our people before the Revolution. Their very homeliness is attractive, by leaving the imagination free to dwell upon their interesting suggestions. Not many of these venerable houses are now extant; but whenever we see one, it is almost invariably accompanied by its Elm, standing upon the green open space that slopes down from it in front, waving its long branches in melancholy grandeur above the old homestead, and drooping, as with sorrow, over the infirmities of its old companion of a century.

Early in April the Elm puts forth its flowers, of a dark maroon color, in numerous clusters, fringing the long terminal spray, and filling up the whole space so effectually that the branches can hardly be seen; they appear at the same time with the crimson flowers of the red maple, and give the tree a very sombre appearance. The seeds ripen early, and being small and chaffy are wafted in all directions and carried to great distances by the wind. In the early part of June, soon after the leaves are expanded, the Elm displays the most beauty. At this time only can its verdure be considered brilliant: for the leaf soon fades to a dull green, and displays no tints, except that of a rusty yellow in the autumn. In perfectly healthy elms, standing on a deep soil, the brightness of the foliage is retained to a later period; but the trees near Boston have suffered so much from the ravages of the cankerworm that their health is injured, and their want of vitality is shown by the premature fading and dropping of their foliage.

Nothing can exceed the American Elm in a certain harmonious combination of sturdiness and grace,—two qualities which are seldom united. Along with its superior magnitude, we observe a great length and slenderness of its branches, without anything in the combination that indicates weakness. It is very agreeable to witness the union, under any circumstances, of two interesting or admirable traits of character which are supposed to be incompatible. Hence the complacency we feel when we meet a brave man who is amiable and polite, or a learned man who is neither reserved nor pedantic. A slender vine, supported by a sturdy tree, forms a very agreeable image; not less delightful is that consonance we perceive in a majestic Elm, formed by the union of grandeur with the gracefulness of its own flowing drapery.