Pussy Willows

It was a goat willow tree that launched My Year in Flower project back in 2008 when it dropped a spent blossom on my head as I walked past with the dog. At first I thought it was a caterpillar and recoiled in disgust. The sidewalk at my feet was littered with hundreds of little squishy yellow items. And when I looked up, I discovered they came from a spindly tree with bare branches growing close to the sidewalk. And on the lower branches of the tree, I recognized the white fuzzy buds of pussy willows.

Pussy willows had always seemed mythical to me. They didn’t grow wild in Southern California. We only saw them when we went to the Farmers Market in downtown Los Angeles which we only did when relatives came to visit. The pussy willow branches came wrapped in plastic. When brought home and put in vases, they remained frozen in their fuzzy bud stage.

But on this tree, I saw all the stages in their development. First, tender milk-white buds. Bristling green catkins came next, which were gradually frosted with yellow pollen before dropping from the tree to litter the sidewalk in soggy clumps like so many used condoms. And, as I thought about it, I realized this tree was in a constant wave of orgasm as each little flower puffed out its pollen and then collapsed, spent.

It amazed me that I had walked past this tree for years (I’ve lived in my neighborhood for 14 years) and never noticed this miraculous transformation. (To give me credit, this whole cycle is over in one month; for the rest of the year, the tree is rather boring:either bare branches or green leaves.)

The goat willow tree surprised me again this year when I realized there is another stage in its development. Before the milky white buds appear, the ones we think of as pussy willows, they have to push through the brown caps that have protected them through the winter. Right now the sidewalk is covered with those light brown husks, like so many tiny insect shells.

It is only necessary to behold the least fact or phenomenon, however familiar, from a point a hair’s breadth aside from our habitual path or routine, to be overcome, enchanted by its beauty and significance…. To perceive freshly, with fresh senses is to be inspired. Thoreau.

Signs of Spring

Click on the comments to see all the great submissions from readers on 3/15/2010.

From Ginny Lang, Bellingham, WA
Last week I was walking Coco, our enthusiastic German Shorthair Pointer, and she was enjoying the smells in our neighborhood, wagging and wiggling as she nosed the ferns and ground cover and watched, very carefully, the fat robins in the yards. I’m never quite sure who is the walker and who is the walkee, but I’m pretty sure Coco knows. We live in the hills above Bellingham, WA and Lake Whatcom so it’s about 8 to 10 degrees cooler up here than in town down by the Bay. There, we’re seeing daffodils and forsythia in full bloom – earlier than usual – and the cherry blossoms are glorious already. Up here, the forsythia is just beginning to show yellow flowers and I’ve noticed little red buds on the salmon berry trees. The tulips are showing their tips above the ground and it looks like they will bloom well before their usual April arrival.

As we walked, I began to hear a racket. This wasn’t a scolding squirrel, circling crow or an airplane over the lake…it sounded like metal on metal, and it was close. Coco heard it too, and we headed back toward our house and the unusual sound.

There on the dead end sign was a woodpecker, pecking for all he was worth on the bottom corner of the sign. Trying to attract the ladies, I’d suspect. I laughed and got out the camera. Coco pointed. All sorts of puns, practically limericks, come to mind about this fellow’s effort to attract a mate: his big….sound…. ringing through the woods, the age old woodpecker equivalent to a dating site. He’s been back, so I guess he’s checking to see if there have been any responses to his posting.

From Jane Grant in Baltimore, Maryland.

A photo from a hike in the woods along the Gunpowder River in central Maryland on January 18, 2010. In my zone, Skunk Cabbage is due to appear in February, but I found these a bit earlier, poking up through the leaf litter in the otherwise brown, bare woods. A beautiful sign of Spring!