These urns hang upside down (upside down for an urn, that is) and are white, blushed with pink. (Autumn olive also made it in.) Let’s start in spring, when cute, little urn-shaped blossoms dangle singly or in clusters near the ends of the thin, semi-woody stems rising less than a foot high. I planted it both for its good looks and its good flavor, which got it a chapter in my book Landscaping with Fruit. I grow this fruit and am now enjoying the fruits of my labors. Most everyone else only knows this fruit as a jam sold by Ikea. A fair number of these berries are, of course, just popped into appreciative mouths. If you are Scandinavian, you probably just smiled and a dreamy look came into your eyes.Each year, thousands and thousands of tons of lingonberries are harvested from the wild through out Scandinavia, destined for sauce, juice, jam, wine, and baked goods. That’s lingonberries ( Vaccinium vitis-idaea). Noncontroversial is another red berry that I am now picking and enjoying. That might spell disaster for our aesthetic or economic sensibilities, but is not “better” or “worse” for our planet. No doubt, humans have altered many natural successions. Natural landscapes and their associated natural communities aren’t static. Plants take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen, sequestering carbon, blanket the ground to limit soil and water erosion, and help support micro and macro communities of organisms. So Bad(?) Yet So GoodĪre invasive plants really bad? Or just bad for us? Planet Earth likes plant growth. That window of good flavor is fleeting, lasting only a couple of weeks.Īnd eating the berries, seed and all, will slow the plants’ spread, pleasing invasive plant people. Don’t mind the single seed inside each berry. Right now around here, some plants are offering their dead ripe berries that are neither tart nor astringent, but sweet. The berries are high in lycopene and other goodies so most sources tout the health and healing benefits, after admitting that the berries are astringent and tart.īut, for most autumn olive plants, that’s only if they’re eaten underripe. As such, autumn olive has been planted to, for instance, reclaim soils of mine tailings, and, as interplants, to spur growth of black walnut plantations (by over 100 percent).īut let’s get back to me - and you - eating the berries. The soil near plants becomes richer, all to the benefit of nearby other plant species. The plant isn’t stingy with its garnered fertility. about 200 yearsĪgo for their beauty and to provide shelter and food for birds, deer, bees, racoons, and other wildlife. Native to Asia (where the plant is not considered invasive), autumn olive was introduced into the U.S. That ability to make its own fertilizer is just one reason this plant was loved before it was hated. An actinobacteria ( Frankia) at its roots takes nitrogen from the air and converts it into a form that plants can use. In spring, about the middle of May around here, the plant perfumes the air with a deliciously sweet fragrance. “It threatens native ecosystems by out-competing and displacing native plant species, creating dense shade and interfering with natural plant succession and nutrient cycling.”īut there is a lot to love about this plant, in addition to its beauty. What’s to hate? The plant is considered invasive (and banned) in many states in northeast and midwest U.S. Many people hate this plant, which I’m sure a lot of readers recognized from my description as autumn olive ( Elaeagnus umbellata). The timing was right they were delicious. I know this plant and, as I always do this time of year, popped some of the berries into my mouth. The plants’ beauty was further highlighted by the abundant clusters of pea-size, silver flecked red (rarely, yellow) berries lined up along the stems. The leaves - green on their topsides and hoary underneath - were coming alive as breezes made them first show one side, then the other. As I was coming down a hill on a recent hike in the woods, I came upon an open area where the path was lined with clumps of shrubs whose leaves shimmered in the early fall sunshine.
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