My husband and I live on 2.5 rural acres that he bought before we were married. For less than the present price of most new vehicles, he got land that included an old farmhouse and barn (both gone now) and a granary that still looks like it might collapse under the next heavy snow. The property had been a farmstead back when people valued trees for more than their ornamental contributions. Box elders shaded the farmhouse. Apple trees produced food to feed the family. The posts used to build the barn and granary might have been harvested right here.
In northern Wisconsin, we talk about trees. A lot. We talk about timber cuts and firewood harvesting, young stands of aspen that look like ideal habitat for ruffed grouse, where beavers have been busy felling trees. We send 4th graders into the woods to tap trees and make maple syrup, and learn about Wisconsin history. Those conversations may sound foreign to people who grew up in sterile suburban yards and manicured green spaces. But trees are something we can talk about – even when there are many other topics we can’t easily discuss.
Maybe it’s time to brush up on tree talk so we feel more comfortable in conversation with rural neighbors who hold different views. There’s no need to become an expert dendrologist, but it helps to have a moderate level of fluency in a handful of examples. Fluency isn’t just about what you feel you can say. It also helps make us more confident listeners.
Maybe we can start to build fluency with, say, five trees. Five we can not only identify but also know enough about them to really appreciate when we meet them elsewhere or they come up in conversation. Five species with which we can feel as joyful as a Bob Ross painting demonstration on PBS. Five trees that help us see the forest as something greater than the sum of its parts, and the parts as integral to the whole.
Here are my five.
Eastern White Pine. We live on a state highway where the traffic moves at a speed that makes spotting our driveway tricky. That is, until you learn to look for the towering white pines. They were probably too small to cut for the river log drives that transformed northern Wisconsin’s pinery. But with a dozen decades of growth since then, they are impressive. You can see why 17th century Britain wanted New World white pine to make single-stick masts for ships of the Royal Navy.
White spruce seedlings planted in the mid-1980s are now sowing smaller trees. (Photo by Donna Kallner / Daily Yonder)
We have a lot of smaller white pines on our property as well. They’re easy to distinguish from other conifers because the needles are bundled in groups of five (same as the number of letters in w-h-i-t-e). I make teas and tinctures from the needles. They are so high in Vitamin C they were once used to treat scurvy. Oranges don’t grow here in rural northern Wisconsin. When there’s a choice between paying for highly processed orange juice shipped from far away or harvesting something with the same benefits in my own yard, well, please pass the white pine tea.
My preference is to use fresh, rather than dried, white pine needles for making tea. They’re easy to pick and available year round a few steps from my front door. I make the tea by adding a handful of needles to a saucepan of cold water. I bring it to a simmer, cover the pot, let it steep for 10 or 15 minutes, stir in a squeeze of lemon and a little local raw honey, and strain into a thermos. If you’ll be out and about, be sure to take an extra cup to share the contents of that thermos as you practice talking trees with someone in your community.
White Spruce. Before we were married, my husband planted white spruce seedlings along the perimeter of the property. Those seedlings survived the drought of the late 1980s, and a longer drought in the 2000s. When they finally got some regular moisture, they really took off. They’re not quite towering trees yet, but they’re getting there. And they are self-sowing lots of little spruces.
The smaller trees are my favorites for gathering spruce tips for culinary and medicinal purposes. We harvest the bright green new growth in late spring to early summer. The fresh tips are delicious added to a wild rice salad along with dandelion leaves and wild asparagus, or as a garnish for deviled eggs. Taking one of those dishes to a potluck is a guaranteed conversation starter.
White spruce seedlings planted in the mid-1980s are now sowing smaller trees. (Photo by Donna Kallner / Daily Yonder)
We had a towering white spruce near the towering white pines by our driveway. When a friend built a birch bark canoe, he collected spruce pitch at our place to seal the seams. Sadly, that tree was leaning toward a building and we had to take it down a few years ago. Now, its decaying stump hosts turkey tail mushrooms.
Northern White Cedar. White cedar makes my list of five tree species because there are only two on our property and they’re practically hidden in a row of large conifers. Those trees border the road that runs past our place, a route that was known as the Military Road before it came to be called State Highway 55.
In 1863, Congress funded the construction of a road to connect Green Bay in Wisconsin with Copper Harbor, Michigan. The government contracted to have the road cut 25 feet wide. Logs were laid perpendicular to the roadway in swampy areas, making what is commonly called a corduroy road. I can’t say for sure that our cedars sprouted from that corduroy, but it’s possible, and that’s close enough to encourage a neighbor to talk about their favorite cedar swamp.
Partly, though, I just admire how tough and tenacious cedar trees can be. I’ve seen small cedars rooted in the duff that fills fissures in rocks along the windy shore of Lake Michigan. Those small trees may, in fact, be hundreds of years old.
It’s a miracle that the two cedars along the road at my place have survived browsing deer, motorists, and power company tree trimmers. What better catalyst could there be for talking about rural resilience?
Willow. All the willows on our property (and there are lots) are here because I planted them. These aren’t willows of the weeping variety (or whomping, for you Harry Potter fans). They’re not nearly so showy. They are, however, a traditional 4th wedding anniversary gift because they symbolize resilience, renewal, and the ability to bend without breaking.
When I started weaving willow baskets in the early 1990s, I got materials by cutting in ditches and along the railroad tracks. Pretty soon, I decided to plant materials where they wouldn’t be mowed down by a road or rail maintenance crew. Mostly, I planted cuttings, given to me by other basketmakers, of salix purpurea and s. alba cultivars. Eventually, some of the willows I didn’t cut regularly grew into proper trees.
Willows are fast-growing trees that help stabilize soil and provide forage for bees. Willow bark mulch may even help fight apple scab. (Photo by Donna Kallner / Daily Yonder)
I love to share cuttings from the willows I’ve grown. They’re fast-growing and help stabilize soil. I shared lots of cuttings with friends who lost trees in the 2019 derecho windstorm here. I’ve given others to neighbors interested in growing medicinal plants or as early spring forage for bees. Sharing plants with neighbors is a great way to bridge differences.
Apples. When Bill bought this property, there was still a small orchard here. Some of those trees are long gone. The few remaining won’t last much longer, but still produce a healthy crop of windfall apples, much appreciated by the local deer population. We have planted apple and pear trees and hope to leave a legacy for future stewards of this land.
Recently, I was at a retreat of my willow basketry study group, where most of us (by necessity) grow our own materials. The conversation veered to a study on using willow mulch to fight scab on apple trees.
The blight of division is a clear and present threat to our rural communities. But maybe we can fight it, too. And maybe that can start with safe conversations about trees, potlucks, and pass along plants.
Donna Kallner writes from Langlade County in rural northern Wisconsin.
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