Although it did seem over the week-end that fall was retreating before an Indian Summer of unbelievable vigour (Sunday was the hottest October 7th on record for Chicago, beating the previous record established some 61 years ago, in 1946), the autumnal season has, at least here in the Middle West, reclaimed its predominance, as the temperatures have plummeted a full forty degrees in the past four days. Of course, Chicago weather is always chaotic and unpredictable, but Global Climate Change is making it worse. Because that will be the primary effect, for many decades, of this phenomenon - if all that were happening was that every day was 2 degrees Fahrenheit or so warmer than the old averages, then we humans would hardly notice Global Warming. But, the effect of this seemingly slight warming change is that all weather is going to become more disturbingly unpredictable. So not only may we soon have to face more heat waves in October, but we may also have to face snowstorms in June. O, poor Chicago; poor Lake Michigan! Born in ice but twelve thousand years ago, ye now already lie in the throes of the hot and cold flashes of old age! But to get to the point, since Autumn has returned, with a vengeance, this week I'm highlighting a tree with some beautiful fall foliage that's just beginning to become visible.
Everybody loves big trees. The redwoods, sequoias and douglas-firs of the American West; the ancient Oaks of both the Old World and the New; and the mammoth Ruling Eucalypts and Kauri Trees of Australia and New Zealand, respectively; all of these trees do not want for attention. But this week we are focusing our attentions on a tree of infinitely more modest proportions. After all, Americans are legendary for their love of an underdog - although you'd never know it by the current administration's foreign policy (oh man! look! two current events references in one post! who's the freaking blogmaster now, eh? eh?) - and so it seems only proper to spend some time showcasing the more subtle beauties of those plants whose tops will never be accused of piercing any heavens.
Which is not to say that this week's tree, Rhus typhina, the Staghorn Sumac, is at all humble! No, in its own way, this tree is as feisty as they come. Though it is small - reaching an absolute maximum height of thirty feet, and more frequently being even shorter than that - in the fall its leaves turn a brilliant scarlet color, as if they had been thrust into a can of paint. It is a doughty plant, too, able to withstand rather acidic soils, and having a high tolerance for the terrors of both droughts and fires. A quick growing tree, it is able to reach its maximum height in little more than a decade, and is famed among horticulturalists for its ability to create dense colonies by sending out underground stems, or "rhizomes", as they call 'em in the business, which then proceed to grow up into new sumac clones all around the original tree.
If all these characteristics sound to you like precisely the sort of properties one would expect to find in a weed plant, then you would be absolutely correct. Rhus typhina can, indeed, be quite weedy, opportunistically growing anywhere it can and sprouting dense stands virtually overnight. In some areas, it can become quite invasive and dangerous, blocking out the sunlight and preventing any other species of plant from growing around or 'neath it - although it's something of a hypocrite, as R. typhina itself loathes the shade. But despite this, it has found a home in many gardens, both urban and otherwise. For as has already been mentioned, its fall color is utterly stunning, and it also produces, in June, large, conical, alien-looking clusters of vividly red fruit which will slowly ripen over the course of many months and persists on the plant until well into fall. Its long, graceful leaves and smooth gray bark are also pretty, and the shrub has, overall, a strange, otherworldly look prized by many gardeners. There are also two popular cut-leaved cultivars of the plant, R. typhina 'dissecta' and R. typhina 'laciniata', that add yet another element of visual interest to this already stunning plant.
The staghorn sumac is an easy tree to identify. If its aforementioned fruit doesn't give it away, either because it's too early in the year or because the tree's a male - for R. typhina is most commonly dioecious (an' if ye forget what that means, look it up!) - then either its flowers, branching clusters of yellow, green or white florets that appear in late Spring and early Summer, or its leaves, long compound things up to two feet(!) in length with up to thirty serrated leaflets coming off it, will allow you to know it on sight. And should ye be left at all confused, either because winter's cold has shorn the tree of all its leaves and fruit, or because you have, like me, read too much and are wondering whether what you are looking it is not in truth a shining or glabrous sumac (R. copallina and R. glabra, respectively), then you have only to look to the plant's twigs. For R. typhina's twigs are covered with fine velvety hair that helps to give the plant its common name, out of analogy to the velvety fur that covers the antlers of bucks.
But be careful! Before you get close enough to examine any Sumac's twigs, you should make sure that it is not the dreaded Poison Sumac, the sexily named Toxicodendron vernix. T. vernix is a far more dangerous plant than even the closely related Poison Ivy, Toxicodendron radicans. Both produce the compound urushiol, which produces nasty rashes and even blisters lasting for several weeks in susceptible individuals. But it is easy to distinguish Poison Sumac from its more benificent brethren. First of all, T. vernix prefers to live in swampy areas, and therefore is not frequently found in close association with human settlements, nor with R. typhina, which, despite its general opportunism, best loves to dig its feet into dry but fertile upland soils. Also, T. vernix has wider, non-serrated leaflets growing out from a red, non-hairy central stalk (or "raceme"). As for its fruits, instead of vermillion spears shooting up like rockets, the Poison Sumac has sickly white or yellow berries that dangle in long, branched chains.
But R. typhina, unlike its misanthropic relative, is not only an attractive but also, to the knowledgeable woodsman, a useful plant. For its fruits, when washed, strained, and sweetened, can be made into an agreeable-tasting pink beverage, similar (I'm told) to lemonade, and rich in Vitamin C. In olden days, Native Americans made a tea from the fruit, as well, equally rich in that essential nutrient, and valued as a restorative. Wildlife enjoys the taste of the fruit as well, and so staghorn sumac is beloved by birds of all sorts, from sparrows to turkeys. Squirrels and rabbits like the taste of the tree's bark, and deer will eat both fruits and leaves. This continent's aboriginal people would also use the plant's leaves, crushing them and mixing them with tobacco to add a pleasant flavor to their smokes. Though I have no desire to smoke tobacco, whose addictive properties scare me, I should very much like to someday buy a pipe, harvest some sumac leaves, and see how their smoke tastes. The plant also contains a natural dye once used to color and treat clothes, although this is not done any more.
The genus Rhus is a complex and large one, containing, according to some taxonomists, 250(!) different species, most of whom live in tropical climates; in fact, southern Africa has the greatest diversity of species. Our staghorn sumac is one of the northernmost members of the genus. The inter-relationships amongst the various sumacs is not well known, and most authorities suggest breaking up the genus into several, an idea which has gained further support from recent molecular studies. But one will still find some scientists including not only all the members of Toxicodendron in the genus, but also the gorgeous American Smoketree, which is usually classed in the seperate genus Cotinus. Whichever source you use, though, the staghorn sumac is certainly a member of the genus Rhus. Sometimes, though, it is given the species name of Rhus hirta, but these two names - R. typhina and R. hirta - are synonyms. I am using R. typhina here because that seems to be the preferred name. But I reiterate, they are precise synonyms. The USDA, for example, though it lists the plant as Rhus typhina, gives its characteristics as R. hirta. The whole genus is included in the Anacardiaceae, the cashew family, a mostly tropical clan which also contains mangoes and pistachios, and which is in turn a part of the great Order of the Soapberry, the Sapindales. If you will throw your minds back, O my Gentle Readers you will recall that the Sapindales also contains the eponymous Sapindaceae, the mighty Soapberry Family whose fame in the Northern World rests primarily on its inclusion of the Maples and the Horsechestnuts. The Sapindales is in turn a part of the Rosid clade, one of the three great groups of flowering plants.
So! There you have it. Rhus typhina, the Staghorn Sumac, in all its glory. Now go out there and look for it, folks! Go out to your friendly Suburban forest preserve, where you'll doubtlessly see some examples of this wonderful plant in some of the thinner sections of the woods - except for you, Sam, for this sumac is primarily an eastern plant. Also, y'all can look right for it right in your own urban areas, for I have sometimes seen staghorns growing alongside railroad tracks and in abandoned lots, and of course the decorative cultivars are often planted alongside fancy buildings, as Greg, Abram, and I witnessed at Northwestern on Sunday. So now that their leaves are turning their fiery red, go out there and admire 'em, ye daft fucks!
Admiring daft fucks since 1986,
--mark
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