Mountain Ash (or Rowan)

Wherever I walk I see red mountain ash berries glowing in the autumn sun. Its Latin name is Sorbus aucuparia. ‘Sorbus’ is just the Latin name for mountain ash and ‘aucuparia’ means ‘to catch birds’ (and yes, if you see the way birds flock to eat the berries, you can see it would be easy to catch them). Its English names indicate that its leaves are split into leaflets like ash tree leaves and it will grow high on a mountainside where few other trees are able to grow. In northern England and Scotland it is called ‘Rowan’ because the sacred writing of the Norse was the rune, carved into the wood of this tree.

Within Celtic mythology this was a very powerful tree, with the ability to ward off all kinds of evil, and for this reason it was considered very bad luck to cut one down. Throughout the British Isles until recent times rowans were planted near the house, the barn and the crops in the fields to ward off all evil. Originally this evil was expected to be from witches, the evil eye and sorcery, but with the advance of science the rowan’s good influence became more specifically against crop failure, and illness of people or cattle.

Rowan had power too, over the evils of the deep – a block of rowan wood was nailed to a ship’s keel or a branch fastened to a halyard protested against shipwreck.

So powerful was rowan that it was planted in churchyards to make sure the dead did not arise until the Day of Judgement. In Scotland a hoop was made of rowan twigs and sheep and lambs driven through it to ensure their health and protection. Inside the house butter and cream were churned with a rowan paddle to be sure that evil spirits would not sour or steal it.

One of the reasons rowan was believed to have such power was the tiny pentagram, or five-pointed star (actually the remains of the flower) on each berry. Like many pagan symbols it was adapted by Christianity (if you can’t beat them, join them) and it was said that the Cross of Christ might have been made of rowan, and small crosses of rowan became the family protectors.

More practically, this is a great tree for attracting birds – they flock to the berries. You can make a tangy jelly to serve with game or chicken from them and use the wood to make bows or walking canes.

This tree is not native to North America but it has spread widely, thanks to the birds. You’ll find it has frothy heads of white flowers in spring and will make an attractive (and protective – you can never be too careful) addition to a garden.

An Autumn Day

This morning, when I opened the blinds I was surprised (almost shocked) to see that the berries on the pyracantha bush had turned orange. Yesterday they were green, I swear it. This morning, without warning they are definitely orange. Not a deep, wild orange yet, just a touch of orange. Suddenly the season turned. It’s a bit much to get used to befoe my first cup of coffee.

Later, when I took the dog up the hill, I looked over to the wide expanse of Burns Bog and saw mist lying in all the dips and hollows of the bog. It burned off quite quickly, but left another taste of autumn.

The dew on the spider webs nad the tips of the blades of grass was another tip off to the turning of the season. It only took the early sunset to complete the picture.

Summer or Autumn

This week we seem to be on the cusp between summer and autumn. Some days we have the warmth and humidity of summer; the wheat stands tall in the fields and tansy covers the roadsides with gold. Some days you have to break out the fleece you haven’t worn for a couple of months; the wind rises and rain reminds us that muddy paws will soon be tracking through the kitchen.

Meanwhile the thistle heads show off their white down, sunflowers nod drowsily as their heads become heavier and the bella donna flaunts purple flowers and scarlet berries. Brambles arch ever higher with a few late flowers and a burden of blackberries. There is still time to pick your own blueberries too, to make pies or crumbles.

The corn is high now, taller than I am. Some potato plants are still in flower, others are wilting as the potatoes swell underground beneath the tired leaves. Huge fat cabbages, their leaves almost purple are being harvested and boxes appear under apple trees, waiting to be filled.

The red-winged blackbirds are as fussy and self-important as ever, chasing each other and a flock of tiny finches from the preferred feeding areas. This years mallard males are sitting around, wearing what looks like mini-mohawks – that presage fine green head plumage to come. Swallows and swifts swoop and gather, twittering as they discuss travel plans.

The final best of summer, the early promise of autumn. Two seasons in one day.

Dark purple berries

As I was walking through the trees the low morning sun illuminated the almost-hidden berries of the Oregon grape bushes. These prickly leaved little bushes hide in the shadier parts of the woodland, nestled companionably against the lower trunk of huge Douglas firs. The berries look like small dusty dark grapes, inviting, but with a very sharp, tangy flavour. I’m told they make a tasty jelly with enough sweetening.

While in the woods it is called Oregon grape, in the garden centres you’ll find it called Mahonia. It has small yellow flowers in early spring, followed by these lovely dark berries that birds like. Its leaves are both prickly and shiny, much like holly leaves. Their Latin name Mahonia aquifolium honours first of all Bernard Mahon who first cultivated the plant brought back as a specimen by Lewis and Clark. ‘Aquifolium’ means that has shiny leaves (presumably looking as if they have been watered). It grows wild down the Pacific coast from British Columbia down to northern California.

This is a useful plant. In the garden it makes a prickly hedge to deter invaders and will grow under trees where the soil is poor and most plants die. You can make jelly from the berries and use the leaves in flower decorations. Recent research has found the plant has anti-bacterial properties and its root may have anti-cancer properties.

But it doesn’t have to be useful to us. It can just delight the eye as a slant of sunlight catches it, share ground cover to protect tiny creatures and supply birds with food in winter.