Shagbark hickory ‘makes it new’ for trail traveler
- John Lorson: The Rail Trail Naturalist
- May 28, 2021
- 1247
This pair of blossoms from the same shagbark hickory tree represent a progression — in the shot on the left the salmon-colored petals begin to wither as leaves emerge from the center, while on the right the leaves stretch upward as the flower petals prepare to drop. The shagbark hickory grows for nearly 40 years before ever producing a single nut, but the trees may live up to 200 years, providing an incredible amount of mast for woodland wildlife and human foragers alike.
“Make it new.” That was the simple, overarching directive given by one of my favorite professors each time he’d assign the writing of a poem or other composition to the class. The idea was that darn near everything in this world has already been written about to some degree. Our task was always to do so in a way that had not been done before.
In “The Road Not Taken,” poet Robert Frost wrote about the common happenstance of arriving at a fork in the road, and it became one of the most beloved poems of all time. I’m sure hundreds if not thousands of folks have jotted down a line or two about the same situation, each composition cast in a color all its own. It can be a really great exercise to look at something you see every day and search for something new or describe it in a different way.
Sometimes, as I’m traveling the entirely familiar territory of my daily commute up and down the Holmes County Trail, I entertain myself by specifically trying to “make it new.” I speed to a sprint in one spot or slow to a crawl in another. Once in a while I’ll put my foot down and just stare off into the brush to see if something moves. While this is mildly entertaining (if maybe a bit chilly) in the dead of winter when the snow provides maximum contrast, it can be almost maddening in the summertime as so much is going on in that one straight-ahead, infinitely green viewscape, and it’s tough to focus on just one thing.
I had stopped along one of my favorite stretches of the trail in long-shot hope of catching a wood duck family making its “drop” to the water from the fiberglass “woody box” I’d seen “Mom and Dad Duck” hanging around a few weeks before. Wood ducks are cavity nesters and will choose a natural hole, oftentimes one excavated by a woodpecker, when such sites are available, but much like the eastern bluebird or purple martin, the wood duck also will readily nest in man-made structures of the right size, hole diameter and height range.
While conservation-minded hunters, birders and others place these boxes all about in marshy spots, wet woodlands and river banks — and they are occupied at a startlingly high rate each season — the odds of watching the one-and-done drop of ducklings to the water below are similar to your chance of winning a million bucks in the lottery. That’s why I’ll stop for a few moments each day and each way, both going to work and coming home, in hopes of tilting the odds in my favor.
Anyhow, while making one of these twice-daily stops, I noticed the strangest blossom on a tree that literally stood between me and the woody box — a tree I’d looked past or through a hundred times before. Now, right in front of me, it seemed brand new.
The flower was that of the shagbark hickory, but I wouldn’t have known that without looking it up. (I’ve been an “animals” guy since birth, but my “plants” game is admittedly weak. I’m trying though.)
The shagbark hickory is known for both its fruit and its wood, the former having been collected by Native Americans and stored for its tasty white nut and the “hickory milk” produced by crushing the same. The latter has long been a top choice for tool handles and other implements because of its lightweight strength and resiliency. The tree grows slowly and lays down a tight, straight grain perfect for these applications. As firewood, hickory also finds fame as a very efficient energy producer, and its tangy smoke has been used in curing meats for centuries.
Pleased that I had found something new, I snapped a few photos and rolled off along my way with the intention to research further and write about it. Imagine my surprise when just a few days later, before I’d even had a chance to pursue the subject, up popped a photo on Facebook of that very same blossom on the very same tree. It was made by a longtime friend, Becky. She had happened by the spot probably within hours of me and noticed what was “new.”
I could laughingly say, “Great minds think alike,” and leave it at that, but the greater takeaway here is that if you make a conscious effort at truly opening your eyes, there is always something new and interesting to be found along the way.
Remember, if you have comments on this column or questions about the natural world, write The Rail Trail Naturalist, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email jlorson@alonovus.com. You also can follow along on Instagram @railtrailnaturalist.