I’m dreaming of a bright Christmas—sunny with temperatures in the low 70s. The iconic “White Christmas” is so 1940s, forget the fact that Bing Crosby’s version of Irving Berlin’s song is the best-selling single of all time. We must look on the bright side of global warming or the more politically correct “climate change.” We just need to change our perspective.
Speaking with my 83-yr old dad in Maine over Thanksgiving, he remarked that as a kid, he and his friends were always skating by Thanksgiving. I reminded him, that we—his kids—were also skating by Thanksgiving! During my Maine childhood a white Christmas was a given. Now, ponds and lakes barely hold ice in a Maine winter. A white Christmas is merely a historical song from 1941.
It is true that all scientists actively involved in climate change research do not agree that the rise of global temperatures is the result of human activity. No, of 1,372 climate change scientists surveyed in 2010, only between 97–98 percent of scientists believed that global warming was caused by human activity. That leaves between 27-41 non-believer scientists (the 2-3%) that conservative “I told you so” faux journalists and faux policy makers can parade in front of cameras and hearings to dispute the reading on your thermometer. Why act when instead you can make jokes about Al Gore inventing the internet?
This week 17,000 attendees are debating data and policy at the 18th United Nations Conferences of the Parties on Climate Change in Doha, Qatar. It’s the perfect venue since Doha is a man-made desert oasis in a tiny country with the highest per-capita carbon emissions in the world. Not to worry. The conferees won’t do anything but talk. On November 27th, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change in their fourth assessment report, said whoops, we were wrong. Sea levels are rising 60 percent faster than our previous projections. Bye-bye Manhattan. Get to New Orleans while it’s still there. Look on the bright side, who doesn’t want to turn down the heat and throw open the windows this winter? I’m dreaming of a bright Christmas!
What are those ribbons of ice traveling up the stem of roadside plants that you may have noticed on a recent early morning? They are “frost flowers”, “ice flowers”, or “ice ribbons” and are found on two plant species at this time of year native to the Ozarks. Those seen on plants in ditches or at the edge of a road are probably from White Crownbeard, Frostweed or Tickweed (Verbesina virginica). A late blooming member of the aster family, it sports ragged white flowers in flat-topped clusters. It’s a plant you probably won’t notice until now—the moment of the first few hard freezes of autumn. The frost flowers form during the first few hard frosts as capillary action draws moisture up the vascular bundle of moist living tissue fed from the roots, then the watery sap freezes, expands at right angles and transforms along the stem into extruded crystals ribbons of beautiful, layered, ice formations.
Another plant found in woodlands, American Ditty (Cunila origanoides), which grows in dry, wooded habitats mostly on west or south-facing slopes, also produces frost flowers. You probably have to go a little out of your way to see them, unless you drive along a forested dirt road early in the morning. This little oregano-scented mint family member is common in our woods. On the first frosty morning of autumn, the still active roots send cell sap toward the stems, now cracked and beginning to die back to the ground. As the sap from the root tries to make its way up the cracked stems, the freezing air turns the moisture-laden sap at the base of the stems into fluted, twisted, layered ribbons of ice that look like Christmas ribbon candy. This phenomena usually occurs only during the first few frosts of the year, though American Dittany can produce frost flowers for several weeks, depending upon soil moisture and weather conditions. Of course, another plant that is a definitive barometer of the season’s first hard freeze is the tomato. If one morning your tomato plants suddenly turn black then likely we’ve just had our first frost.
In 2009 Holiday Island resident and Eureka Springs Independent reader, Leah Nelson, noticed an extraordinary leaf on a sidewalk in Rogers, Arkansas—a giant sycamore leaf that was 16 ½ inches wide, and 13 ½ in. long, more than twice the normal size. This fall at Black Bass Lake I found a small group of Sassafras trees with leaves that were far from normal. Usually Sassafras has three types of leaves— simple oval leaves, mitten-shaped leaves (with one prominent lobe), and three-lobed leaves. Sassafras leaves are “always” longer than wide. On these trees, a large percentage of leaves were 5-7-lobed, and up to three times as wide as long. Back in the early 80s I wrote about an Ozark Witch Hazel (Hamamelis vernalis) plant that I found that was brilliant scarlet red. It’s usually yellow to orange-tinged. A plant breeder in up-state New York saw my article and traveled to the Ozarks just to see the plant. He collected it, propagated it and offered it to his customers. These are examples of what horticultural breeders refer to as “sports”—variations from a plant’s “normal” morphological features. It’s all part of the package that nature delivers as endless variation.
It is this endless variation that horticulturists exploit to bring unusual or new plants to gardens. The famous plant breeder, Luther Burbank (1849-1926), gave us the giant Idaho potato (the Russett-Burbank potato). Before that one could hold a handful of potatos. Inspired by Charles Darwin’s 1868 book The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication, Burbank planted dozens of acres of daisies, then walked up and down the rows, selecting a handful of “sports” from which to collect seed for propagation. The rest of the field was plowed under. From those selections the Shasta daisy was born. These types of variations usually are not described in field guides. They are freaks of nature, genetic twists of fate, or perhaps some inexplicable response to the environment. Who knows! We just hope that when we find such mutations that they are not induced by man-made chemicals unleashed to the air, soil, and water or from genetically modified organisms. Let Nature work her own wonders.
This year fall colors came in waves. First a wave of glorious yellows and reds from Sugar Maples (Acer saccharum) planted around Eureka Springs, Arkansas. I couldn’t help but notice that the Sugar Maples planted along the sidewalk in front of the Best Western Eureka Inn at the top of Planer Hill showed their colors and dropped their leaves before the wild Sugar Maples in the forest directly across the street even began to turn color. Same for the Sugar Maples along Spring Street. Those planted along the street have dropped their yellow-orange leaves, while those in the adjacent woods have a glorious color display of orange to burgundy leaves, dominating the current color trend. So what is the difference between the colors and timing of the planted Sugar Maples and wild Sugar Maples? I suspect it is some type of genetic clock trigger. Which begs the question, how are autumn tree colors formed?
There is no single, definitive answer to the question of why trees turn color. Much of our understanding is physiological. The major factor among a myriad of variables is the diminishing length of the autumn day, hence the amount of daylight. Production of chlorophyll ceases, and as the green chlorophyll degrades, sugars and anthocyanadins (the vast group of compounds responsible for color combinations of fruits, leaves and flowers) begin to dominate the leaves, aided by the variables of moisture and temperature changes. The recipe changes from year to year and species to species. This is convention wisdom.
In the last 20 years an entirely new field of study—plant-animal interactions— hints of broader mechanisms, beyond mere physiological changes in the leaves. Fall colors are integrated in nature, signaling to fruit-loving animals and insects that fruits are ready for harvest, thus aid in seed dispersal. In some trees, the colors may send a signal to insect herbivores that feeding is over. The new science of autumn tree color suggests the process is a mix of defensive, seed-dispersing, signaling, and physiological functions all working in a symphonic display of intricate beauty. Our role in the process is simply to enjoy it.