Category Archives: Vegetable

Fireweed and White Spruce

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From the window of the Denali Star, we saw our first stand of fireweed (Epibolium angustifolium). The tour guide on the train pointed out that the plant blooms from the bottom up and told us a local legend claims that summer is over when the blooms reach the top.

I later read that the plant is called fireweed because it is one of the first plants to bloom after a fire. It seems to grow everywhere in Alaska. I saw it from Denali to Fairbanks to Tok to Valdez and back in Anchorage, mostly wild but sometimes cultivated. By the end of our trip, it seemed to me that it was as ubiquitous as sunflowers are here in the western part of the Lower Forty-Eight.

Photo: Fireweed, Denali NP, AK
2024

Two weeks before our mid-July trip to Denali National Park, the Riley Fire started near the visitor center which is just across the road from the Alaska Railroad station. Within hours the park was shut down. The fire burned 432 acres but was nearly 100% contained by July 10th when the park re-opened, and train service resumed. We saw stands of charred trees within the park, and as we departed on the train to Fairbanks, we saw areas that had burned right next to the tracks.

As Denali faded in the distance, I wondered how long it would be before the dormant, deeply buried seeds of the fireweed would sprout and make their showy comeback in the newly burned areas of Denali.

While visiting Denali I went on a short hike led by a Youth Conservation Corps ranger named Izzy. Just outside the back door of the visitor center was a stand of white spruce (Picea glauca) where we walked. The trees are tall, skinny conifers with spire-shaped tops. Like fireweed they grow in much of Alaska.

Sixteen-year-old Izzy’s enthusiasm for her topic was contagious as she talked about the importance of white spruce to animals and humans. Red squirrels (one of whom was keeping a close eye on us) build middens from the cones which provide both shelter and food. Moose browse the trees in winter when it’s hard to find other food sources. Athabaskans rely on all parts of the tree for a multitude of uses including shelter, medicine, and fuel. Before the group dispersed Izzy suggested that we all think about our role in protecting the forest.

We drove through miles and miles of white spruce on our trip from Fairbanks to Tok. I later learned about black spruce (Picea marianna) that looks (at least to untrained eyes) similar to white spruce. Both are widely distributed in Alaska but thrive in different conditions. So, I’m guessing some, or maybe many, of those white spruce I saw were actually black spruce.

The trees pictured at right are white spruce. They appear to range from about forty feet to sixty feet in height. It’s hard for me to guess how old they are since I’ve read they can grow anywhere from three to twelve inches in a year.

Alaska has always been about mountains to me–range after range of snow-covered peaks. But after this trip that image in my mind has been replaced with forests of stately spruce trees and shrubs filled with pinkish purple flowers blooming in the sun at their feet.

Photo: Bearberry Cabin, Tok, AK
2024

Postscript: Right after I published this post I discovered that the next chapter in the book I was reading about Alaska was titled “Fireweed”. Here the writer compares the plant to its namesake:

Fire: with weedlike tenacity, it ignites a fire of green on barren ground. Fire: it blazes across mountainsides in mid- and late summer, blooming profusely and then bursting white cotton-swathed seedpods that look like wisps of smoke as they quiver and release to the winds.

The book is called The Heart of the Sound: An Alaskan Paradise Found and Nearly Lost by Marybeth Holleman.

Alaska Reading – Coming into the Country by John McPhee

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This one is a slow read but well worth the effort. I read it once before and have only made it through the first of three chapters/books this time around.

So much detail here, it’s hard to choose a favorite paragraph. From bush pilots getting lost to grizzly bears that can be shooed to this bit about trees:

“The forest around us, to the extent that it could be called forest, consisted of bands of spruce and cottonwood. Occasionally, it made sallies up the hillsides onto protected slopes or into dry ravines, but mainly it pointed north like an arrow, and gradually it widened as we moved downstream. Close to the river edge, much of the way, were clumps of willow and alder, backed by the taller trees, which in turn had bands of alder backing them, before the woods gave way altogether to open, rising ground–to the lichens, the sedges and mosses of the high tundra. The leaves of alder chewed to break out the sap, relieve itching when rubbed on mosquito bites. The forest Eskimos make red dyes from alder bark–American green alder, the only species that grows so far north. Willow, as a genus, is hardier. The Sitka spruce is the state tree, in recognition of its commercial distinction, for Sitka spruce is the most negotiable thing that grows from roots in Alaska. It grows only in the south, however, and while the Sitka spruce goes off to the sawmill, the willow vegetates the state. There are only a hundred and thirty-three species of trees and shrubs in all Alaska, and thirty-three of those are willows. . . “

Amazing how much there is to learn in this half, yes, half a paragraph: there are only 133 species of trees in Alaska; Sitka spruce is the state tree; and you can chew on alder leaves and apply the paste to relieve the itching from mosquito bites–that’s the one that caught my eye. I have yet to meet my first mosquito in Alaska and have my cortisone cream in my suitcase, but now I know.

My Backyard – Late Spring 2023

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Piñon Sprout Photo by Paula Nixon

This tiny piñon tree is about 10 inches tall with new shoots that are 3 inches long! It sits downhill from a couple of mature piñons, one of which was our first Christmas tree after we moved into our house in 2000.

We had a good winter this year with lots of snow in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Most of our piñon and juniper trees look healthy and have new growth. But the outlook is still dire. Drought and rising temperatures are making these trees vulnerable along with another threat that Sara Van Note wrote about in this article Unraveling the Plight of the Pinyon Jay. According to Van Note, “Pinyon jays and piñon pines are wholly interdependent–the piñon nuts provide essential sustenance for the bird, and the jay offers critical seed dispersal for the tree.”

In the 28 years I have lived here I have rarely seen a pinyon jay. Much more common is the squawky Woodhouse’s scrub jay. He loudly announces his arrival at the birdfeeder and takes over the backyard. My guess is that it was one of these jays who cached a piñon nut and forgot to come back for it.

Here’s hoping it will be a good year for piñon nuts and my local scrub-jays. I don’t see as many of them as I used to but maybe a bumper crop of nuts will bring them around.

For now, I’ll be watching this sprout and giving it a little extra water over the summer months.

Birding with Bob

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Red-Tailed Hawk
Photo Credit: Bob DeCandido

Yellow-bellied sapsucker (Sphyrapicus varius). Our first bird of the morning. I lifted my field glasses to get a better look, but never caught a glimpse of its golden underside. Bob pointed out rows of holes in the bark of a Siberian elm, one of the woodpecker’s favorite trees in Central Park. Most of these birds are passing through, making a stop to feed before continuing on their journey south. 

It was a Saturday morning in mid-October, overcast but mild.  About 30 people had gathered outside a restaurant in the middle of the park to meet up with Bob for a 3-hour walk. A native New Yorker, Bob earned a PhD studying the flora of NYC and has been conducting bird walks in Central Park for over 25 years. Dave and I arrived at 9:30, not a moment too soon, to go on the second walk of the morning. We both borrowed binoculars (often referred to as “bins” by birders) from Bob and were on our way, headed into the Ramble, one of the wilder areas of the Park.

After our first sighting, Dave and I fell into a rhythm. I made a list of all of the birds called out and he looked them up on the Cornell bird identification website.  We had mixed success in actually seeing the birds, often concealed in the leaves of trees or moving too quickly for our inexperienced binocular handling. We took few photos, leaving that to the pros with their high-powered cameras and long lenses.

The morning passed quickly with a succession of kinglets, warblers, and sparrows. Lots of the birders dropped off. Dave and I had skipped breakfast in our rush to catch an uptown train to the park so it was tempting, but we kept walking, stopping frequently to peer through our bins into the trees, hoping to spot a scarlet tanager or a brown creeper.

Near the end of our walk, back in the heavily-wooded Ramble, the sun came out and one of our fellow birders pointed out a red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis). The feathered predator was sitting serenely on the branch of a hackberry tree above a boulder, the size of an upended mini-van, balanced on a sheet of rock.

Red-tails, native to the area, have adapted well to the ceaseless growth and development of Manhattan. They nest and raise their young on the ledges of multi-storied buildings near Central Park, soar high over the city, and make a good living off an endless supply of rats and pigeons. The story of one red-tail called Pale Male was documented in books, movies, and articles. In the 1990s, he and his mate built a nest on a Fifth Avenue building where they raised their young in view of a crowd of birdwatchers and casual bystanders.

Red-tails in NYC have grown used to humans and this adult male paid no attention to the photographers under the hackberry angling for the best shot or to those of us who stayed on the path training our bins on him to get a better look at his pale breast and streaky belly band.

We have red-tails in New Mexico and I often see them on power poles as we drive down the highway, but it’s always a fleeting view from a distance. Although this red-tail sitting on a branch was not a rarity in the park, it was my favorite sighting of the day. Long ago I had read about the Central Park red-tails and I wondered if this hawk might be one of Pale Male’s progeny.

I stood and watched, hoping to see him take flight so I could get a look at his red fan-shaped tail and the elaborate pattern on the underside of his wings, but he didn’t budge. I took one last long look before I handed my bins back to Bob.

Dave and I walked out of the park, caught a southbound subway, and went in search of lunch.

Further Information:
Bob’s Bird Walks – schedules and bird lists and much more
Deborah Allen’s list of birds for October 12, 2019
Central Park Red-Tailed Hawks: two articles written by Deborah Allen and Robert DeCandido (aka Bob): Nesting! and Fledging!





Almost Alive

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The less rain the more tumbleweeds
break loose from the fields
during December wind, roll the road
like a mass migration of animals,
pile up against the fences,
sacrificing themselves so those
who follow can bounce on over
and keep moving until they reach
the eaves of proper houses out there
on the edges of those little towns
where inside the elevator owner
prays for at least a sprinkle
to keep the winter wheat green.
—Randy Phillis Plots We Can’t Keep Up With

Somewhere in a box sitting at the back of a closet is a photo that goes with this poem—an old black and white with curled edges.  You can’t tell from the picture, but the little ranch house on Fairview Street with two elms in the front yard is painted green.  On the north side of the house in a shady flower bed next to the fence a few tiger lilies, planted by the former owner, bloom each summer.  Next door, just a few feet further north, Mr. Farrell, tends to his tomato plants and uses his shovel to kill the fat green worms that eat the leaves.

But the photo was taken in the late winter or early spring before the lilies have poked their heads out and the space is filled with tumbleweeds, piled against the fence—stacked so high that they have spilled over into the backyard, surrounding the clothesline poles and swing set. The invasion turns into an adventure once the wind stops blowing and Dad corrals the wayward weeds in a wire cage, set up in the alley, and lights a match.

It was the late sixties and two kids who had yet to meet would both remember those tumbleweeds years later. She would look up the Latin name (Salsola tragus) and discover the story of immigrants who, inadvertently, carried the Russian thistle seeds with them to the Midwest.  He would write a poem. Two different paths to the same memory.

 

Oxlips and Violets

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I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite overcanopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet muskroses, and with eglantine.
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night.
Lulled in these flowers with dances and delights.
And there the snake throws her enameled skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.
And with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes
And make her full of hateful fantasies.
—William Shakespeare A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 2. Sc.1

It was a hectic week with taxes and travel.  To make up for the missed Monday and Tuesday posts here are a few lines of Shakespeare’s.  His birthday is tomorrow.

Several months ago I discovered the book How to Teach Your Children Shakespeare by Ken Ludwig.  It turns out it works pretty well for adults too!

Forest Man

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Jays land on the muscles of his branches, breasts high,
Churning their infinite tones.  Spiders trace a path
along his long legs, up the dusty window of his body.
The forest man spells of pine and chocolate mints.
—Lauren Camp

The piñon trees in my yard and around town are dying.  Not all of them, but enough of them to be alarming.  Too hot, too many years of drought—I will miss them and wonder where the birds will go.  Check out the entire poem here.

Lilacs

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“Why don’t you turn at the next corner,”
she said, “and take another road home.
Let’s go past that farm with all the
different colored lilacs.”
—Leo Dangel

Did I mention I was going to take a break from poetry or at least blogging about poetry for the weekend?  I needed time to gather the books of poems strewn around the house–on the kitchen table, under the bed, buried in stacks of newspapers–and to think about where I was after seven days of verse.

Four Kinds of Lilacs seems like a good place to pick it up again.  I’ve been in Santa Fe for almost twenty years, but I’m always surprised when the purple clusters begin to show themselves in April.   In western Kansas where I grew up they lag by several weeks (or at least they used to), making them the perfect May Day flower.  As a kid, I filled baskets made of colored construction paper with lilacs and candy, dropped them on neighbors’ porches, rang the bell, and ran.

Friday night I stepped off the sidewalk and into a flowerbed downtown to catch a whiff of a just-opened blossom.  It smelled like spring.

 

An Abundance of Pinon

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Photo by Paula Nixon

Photo by Paula Nixon

Most of the piñon trees around my house have open cones this year, some with the dark brown pine nuts still ensconced within.  I hadn’t noticed them until I talked to Rick Winslow, a wildlife biologist with the NM game department, about a bear scat filled with piñon shells I found in the yard–turns out bears love the buttery nuts as much as the squirrels and jays. Winslow mentioned there had been lots of  piñon in the area for the last couple of years, which didn’t fit with what I thought I knew about New Mexico’s state tree.

I had heard the piñon pine produced once every seven years, but it really depends on the weather, how much moisture we get.  The recent years of drought have killed some of the trees, another setback.  But in the last couple of years with closer to normal rainfall, they have responded by putting on cones.

Bumper crops are few and far between (that explains the seven year theory), but this year it’s a “bull market for piñon in Northern New Mexico” according to the Santa Fe New Mexican.

The last big crop we had was in 2005.  I remember being surprised that autumn by a flock of boisterous Clark’s nutcrackers appearing out of nowhere, taking up residence in the pine outside my kitchen window.  The sleek white birds with black wings crashed the party, scaring off the piñon jays, usually the bossiest birds in the trees. Once the cones were empty, they left as quickly as they came. No sign of them yet this year.

Last week I started to gather a few of the nuts in a small bowl and spread a bedsheet on the ground and shook the branches to release those still in cones.   I was hoping to accumulate enough to roast for my sister-in-law, Kelli, who is an aficionado. The few I cracked open with my teeth (not recommended) were dried out and brown, not the plump, light-colored nuts I was expecting so I abandoned my efforts.

Maybe there are some good ones out there, but I’ll leave those for the industrious chipmunks to discover.   I’ll be checking out our local roadside vendors or ordering from New Mexico Piñon Nut Company‘s  online store. Sold unshelled, it’s a challenge to extract the tasty nuts.  Wiki-How offers a few different techniques.  The one that looks most promising  involves a can opener. I’ll let you know how it works.

 

 

 

 

Green Chile and the End of Summer

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Whether you are Hispanic or Indian or Anglo, the land belonged to the corn and chile before it belonged to you.
—Huntley Dent in The Feast of Santa Fe

Roasting chile. Photo by Paula Nixon

Roasting chile.
Photo by Paula Nixon

Vendors have staked their claims in parking lots along Cerrillos Road. Their pickup trucks are filled with burlap bags stuffed with freshly-picked green chile hauled up I-25 from Hatch and Socorro.  They appear in Santa Fe every year in the final weeks of summer, gas-fired roasting cages primed and ready to blister batches of chile on demand.

I bought a bushel of Hatch, medium hot, from Octavio in front of Jackalope.  We’ll eat it through the fall and winter in the traditional ways, but will also use it to add pizzazz to a pot of corn chowder or to gussy up a cheeseburger.   I’m hoping I stashed enough of the little baggies in the freezer to carry us through until the next harvest makes its way north.

A few years ago I had lunch at the San Marcos Café and Feed Store on the Turquoise Trail—a burrito topped with a simple, but divine green chile sauce.  Back in my kitchen I tinkered until I came up with the recipe below that comes close to theirs.  With a little adaptation it also works with dried red chiles.

Quick and Easy Green Chile Sauce

1 tablespoon oil (I use canola)
1 tablespoon flour
2 cups water or chicken stock
2-3 green chiles, roasted, peeled, and chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
Salt, to taste

Heat the oil in a heavy saucepan.  Add flour and brown, whisking constantly.  Add water or broth, chile, garlic, and salt.  Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer for twenty minutes, or until sauce thickens, stirring frequently.

Delicious on enchiladas, chalupas, huevos rancheros. Buen Provecho!