Blind Pig & The Acorn

Roosters and Violets

This post was originally published here on the Blind Pig in April of 2010. Since it mentions a game I played as I child I thought I'd re-post the piece.

 

In the gardening world folks either love wild violets with a fierce devotion or hate them and their spreading ways with a passion. Me-I love their little cheerful faces so much that I don't mind if they spread till they're a purple carpet for me to walk about on.

In fact-in Granny's yard that's exactly what they've done. Spread until it's like a real life violet vale.

When it comes to wild violets-there's a long list. Just to name a few: the birds foot, the common blue, the marsh blue, the longspur, and the list goes on. In my world-the color of the flower is enough identification for me. (if you're interested in knowing the name of each violet-go here for a great page of photos with names attached)

Around my house the most common are deep or light purple.

As you look around in the woods, you can find dainty little white ones-some have deep red/pink veins that look smudged around the edges-some have brown veins that look like they were drawn on with a fine tipped marker. The tiniest ones that grow along the creek bank are totally white with no markings at all.

Deeper in the woods you're likely to see this yellow beauty. With their longer stems and high leaves-these yellow violets always make me think of stately ladies watching over the area making sure all is in order.

No one left a comment about my fighting chickens with violets tease-so maybe no one ever played the game I did as a kid.

I can't remember who showed me how to play-maybe an older cousin-maybe an Uncle-maybe even my Mamaw. I do remember exactly where they showed me. We were on a little bank that ran near the bottom of Pap and Granny's driveway-the bank isn't there now-bulldozed away as driveways were needed for new houses.

Look at the photo above-does the violet make you think of a Rooster? See the furry comb like things in the center of the flower-see it's head?

It only takes 2 people to fight chickens with violets-each person picks their rooster. Then you link/cross them over each other and pull.

The toughest Rooster wins-when the looser looses his head in the fight. I'll leave you with 2 questions: 1. Are you a violet lover or hater? 2. Did you ever fight violet Roosters when you were a kid?

Tipper

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Appalachia Through My Eyes - Goldenrod

Is Goldenrod blooming around your house? It's yellow color forms a sort of calling card as you drive along my driveway. I've always heard Goldenrod is an allergy sufferer's worst nightmare. That sums up what I knew about the plant-it's yellow and people say it gives them grief.

After googling around I discovered Goldenrod is KY's state flower and that there are several different varieties of the plant. And while most of the folks in my area consider Goldenrod a weed-folks in England cultivate the plant for their flower gardens.

But the best thing I discovered by googling, was an old legend. Sharran Brown, a native of KY shared the story her Granny Ninna told her about Goldenrod:

"Two little girls were very close friends, one was golden blond and the other was dark haired with beautiful blue eyes. They were afraid that when they grew up they might be parted from each other, so they didn't want to grow up. To solve their problem, the two little girls set out one day to visit the good witch who lived across the field far away. They came to the good witch after a long day of travel and told her of their wish to always be together. The little girls were never seen again, but whenever you see the golden yellow bloom of the goldenrod you will be sure to find the sweet blue aster always beside her."

After reading the old legend, I ran out back to see if there were blue asters by my Goldenrod and just like Granny Ninna said, there was.

Tipper

Appalachia Through My Eyes - A series of photographs from my life in Southern Appalachia.

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The Princess Tree

I'm finally ready to share the secret of my fairly tale with you. If you missed the post about my own secret fairy tale-click here to read it first and then hit the back button to continue reading here.

It's been 3 weeks since I first told you about my fairy tale-in that time it's grown even larger-now casting a large shadow over my kitchen window. 10 feet of growth in one summer-amazing and spooky all at the same time. Jack's beanstalk immediately comes to mind, but this fairy tale comes from a far and distant land-China.

Paulownia tomentosa is the scientific name of the species with the more common names being The Princess Tree or Empress Tree. Even though the tree is not native to any portion of North America, it can be found from Canada to Florida and out west in Washington and California too.

Once the tree matures it has purple drooping blooms which are then replaced by rather large seed capsules that are noticeable from quite a far distance.

Before the tree matures it has amazing green leaves that can grow to be as large as 3 feet wide. After maturity the leaves are smaller and more uniform in nature. The tree can reach heights of between 65 and 125 feet. (hence it can't stay hugged up to my kitchen window)

Unfortunately Paulownia tomentosa is invasive in some places and interferes with the native vegetation of certain areas. If you've ever ridden through the Nantahala Gorge you can see the trees seem to thrive a little to well in that environment.

Just down the road from my house, where Pap lived when he was a boy, there is a lone Princess Tree standing tall in the pasture. There have been a few others here and there around our holler-but I'm not aware of any that have reached maturity. There used to be one in my Uncle's yard-it never got very tall maybe 20 foot. It was right by the road so it was easy to keep an eye on. I made sure to look at it when cold weather arrived in the fall of the year. After the first heavy frost-every leaf on the entire tree would fall off overnight. The leaves would just be laying around the bottom of the tree like giant curled pieces of paper.

Pap's Uncle Blaine brought the tree in the photo above out here with him back in the day.

I say out here-he brought it from the Asheville area. Our family has made their own sort of migration between Brasstown and the Asheville/Canton area over the years. One generation will decide to go back to one or the other-and another will decide to stay where they are-but it's always seemed like we have 2 home bases somehow.

Blaine lived from 1911 till 1959-so I never knew him-but Pap has fond memories of his Uncle. Pap said Blaine loved to fish and hunt-he was even President of a Wildlife Association at one time. Blaine found the fishing especially nice out this way.

Pap said Blaine brought what he thought were Catawba trees to plant around the old home place. Catawba trees are well liked by fishermen-because they attract what is commonly known as a catawba worms-actually they're caterpillars-but either way fish seem to like them.

Blaine thought if the trees grew-he'd have instant fish bait when he came out to visit and fish. But he unknowingly had Princesses Trees-and the only one that survived is the one in the pasture.

After my fairy tale started growing I started asking questions about the tree and Pap told me the story of Blaine and his hopes of ready to go fish bait. I never thought of asking around to see if any of my family had a photo of Blaine until Pap told me the story. Sure enough someone had a picture-I couldn't wait to see Blaine's face-you know to see if he looked like any of us.

In a very serendipitous manner I was sent the picture of Blaine holding the fish, even though the person who sent it had no clue why I wanted a photo of Blaine or anything about Pap's story of Blaine and the fish bait trees. 

So why do I think the Princess Tree growing under my kitchen window is a fairy tale? Because in the 17 years we've lived in this house-not one Princess Tree has come to grow around our place. The tree is magical because it grew over 10 feet in one summer and has 3 foot wide leaves.

But mostly I think it's a fairy tale because-my Great Uncle Blaine, a man I never knew, brought the parent of my Princess Tree to my mountain holler all those years ago. It's like Blaine settled down by the house to wait and then when I was ready he knocked on the kitchen window and told me to come find out who he was.

My fairy tale came full circle once I was sent the photo of Blaine holding a fish-and now I'm sure Uncle Blaine won't mind a bit when I let The Deer Hunter cut the tree down. Pap says all I have to do is stick one of those giant leaves in the dirt and I can grow another Princess Tree just like that.

Tipper

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The Purple Robe Of Fall

This post was originally published here on the Blind Pig in 2010. It's September in Appalachia and the roadsides are once again taking on a purple hue.

Roadsides and fields have put on their purple robe-Ironweed is in full bloom in the southern mountains of Appalachia.

I read somewhere that Ironweed got it's name because it's stalk is too tough for grazing animals to eat. Ironweed spreads easily-and I've noticed it's taken over more than one old field.

There is a low growing Ironweed and a tall variety. The Ironweed that lines my driveway is the tall variety-it must be close to 7 feet tall-as you can see from the photo it drapes over into the road.

The Foxfire 11 book quotes Charles Thurmond on the subject of using Ironweed for medicinal purposes:

"Ironweed is very gentle. You don't really realize it's working. You make a concoction and use it on the surface of the skin for skin disease and things like that."

This time of year-always feels old to me. The brightness of flower and vegetable gardens have mostly faded-and even the trees take on a lackluster look as they get ready for their show of fall color. I think of Ironweed as the last hurray of summer. It's warm purple robe hugs the curvy roads I drive. It almost seems to be warning me:  Old Man Winter is on his way-store up the beauty and warmth that's left from Summer-so you can pull it out on a cold winter's day and know summer will surely return again.

Tipper

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Queen Anne's Lace

Queen Anne's Lace has dotted the roadsides and fields with white where I live. According to legend-Queen Anne was tatting lace when she pricked her finger and left a dot of blood in the center of the lace-hence the dark spot that can be found on some Queen Anne's Lace flowers.

I always associate Queen Anne's Lace with chiggers. I swear when I was little Granny told me to never touch them or I'd get chiggers all over me. Maybe she was just warning me to stay out of the grassy fields or I'd get chiggers-but in my mind I thought she said Queen Anne's Lace = chiggers.

Earlier this summer, I was reminded of an old craft/project we used to do with Queen Anne's Lace blooms. I decided to see if it was still as fun as it was when I was young.

All you need is-water, a few vases/bottles, food coloring, and of course Queen Anne's Lace.

First mix your choice of food coloring with water-then add Queen Anne's Lace blooms to the water. As the flower takes in the water-the blooms will begin to change color to the hue of the water.

I only had red and green food coloring on hand-so I colored a red bottle of water-a green one-and a mixed up one that looked sorta purple.

The white Queen Anne's Lace looked so pretty sitting in the vases of colored water-that I almost didn't want them to change color.

After 2 days-I ended up with a lovely barn red Queen Anne's Lace;

the sweetest mint green;

and a dusty pink color.

A very simple project-but lots of fun to try with small children-or mother's of teenagers like me.

Check out Dave's Garden for more interesting information about Queen Anne's Lace.

Tipper

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Ghost Flowers

This post was originally published here on the Blind Pig in June of 2010.

Indian Pipes (also called-Ghost Flower, Corpse Plant, Death Plant, and Fairy Smoke) grow deep in the forest. They are often found near old stumps or rotting logs.

If you've ever seen them growing in the woods-it's easy to see where they got their common names. The white almost translucent look of the spindly nodding plant is eerie enough to conjure up the images of Ghosts or even Death. And the shape of the narrow stem with a nodding head does indeed resemble an Indian's smoke pipe. 

Indian Pipes are typically white-although sometimes they have a pinkish cast to them. The plant's strange white look is due to the lack of chlorophyll-in other words the plant doesn't use the process of photosynthesis that most plants do.

Some folks think Indian Pipes act as a sort of parasite feeding on the the nutrients that have all ready been digested by tree roots or nutrients from decaying plant matter in the form of rotting logs or stumps. While others say they actually feed on the nutrients from a specific type of fungi that populate tree roots. 

Once the plant finishes it's growing season-the pipes turn completely black-almost looking like burnt matchsticks-another part of the plant that adds to it's mystery or creepiness. Also-if you pick an Indian Pipe-it will soon turn black as well.

The nodding flowers of the plant amazingly raise their heads to the sky in a last hurray of sorts-to make sure their seeds are broadcast to ensure the next generation of Indian Pipes are born the following year.

As you would assume-there is much folklore surrounding the strange plant.

• The plant was used in medicinal remedies ranging from curing colds and fevers to removing warts. 
• Interesting in relation to the alternate names of Corpse or Death plant-the plant was said to heal the broken heart of those mourning the loss of a loved one.
• A Cherokee legend tells the story of Indian Pipes being created due to the selfishness of people-you can read it here.

I found the following about the Indian Pipe/Ghost Flower in a book from 1917-it was written and Published by Neltje Blanchan-Wild Flowers Worth Knowing. The author thought the plant was indeed evil:

"Among plants as among souls, there are all degrees of backsliders. The foxglove, which is guilty of only sly, petty larceny, wears not the equivalent of the striped suit and the shaved head; nor does the mistletoe, which steals crude food from the tree, but still digests it itself, and is therefore only a dingy yellowish green. Such plants, however, as the broom-rape, Pine Sap, beech-drops, the Indian Pipe, and the dodder--which marks the lowest stage of degradation of them all--appear among their race branded with the mark of crime as surely as was Cain. No wonder this degenerate hangs its head; no wonder it grows black with shame on being picked, as if its wickedness were only just then discovered! To think that a plant related on one side to many of the loveliest flowers in Nature's garden--the azaleas, laurels, rhododendrons, and the bonny heather--and on the other side to the modest but no less charming wintergreen tribe, should have fallen from grace to such a depth! Its scientific name, meaning a flower once turned, describes it during only a part of its career. When the minute, innumerable seeds begin to form, it proudly raises its head erect, as if conscious that it had performed the one righteous act of its life."

Although I'm not quite sure how plants could be considered backsliders-the quote sounded so old world Appalachia I had to share it with you.

Have you ever seen Indian Pipes? Do you think they're creepy?

Tipper

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Jewelweed



Jewelweed grows in a ditch at the bottom of my driveway. Generally the plants grow in shady damp places and can reach 2-3 feet tall. The juice of the plant is said to be a natural cortisone and is an old time remedy for poison oak, poison ivy, bee stings, and bug bites.

Jewelweed is sometimes called Wild Touch Me Not-because once the plant begins to produce seed pods the slightest touch will send seeds flying in all directions.

According to my favorite old book about wildflowers, Wildflowers Worth Knowing by Neltje Blanchan, Jewelweed is also called Spotted Touch Me Not, Silver Cap, Wild Balsam, Lady's Eardrops, Snap Weed and Wild Lady's Slipper.

Blanchan also has this to say about the plants:

Distribution--Nova Scotia to Oregon, south to Missouri and Florida.

These exquisite, bright flowers, hanging at a horizontal, like jewels from a lady's ear, may be responsible for the plant's folk-name; but whoever is abroad early on a dewy morning, or after a shower, and finds notched edges of the drooping leaves hung with scintillating gems, dancing, sparkling in the sunshine, sees still another reason for naming this the Jewel-weed. In a brook, pond, spring, or wayside trough, which can never be far from its haunts, dip a spray of the plant to transform the leaves into glistening silver. They shed water much as the nasturtiums do.

Jewelweed is a plant I've been familiar with my whole life. When I see the striking orange blooms I'm reminded of small children placing their hands in mine to go for a walk.

I was one of those little girls who was born wishing she was a Mother. I loved my baby dolls more than some folks love their children-sad but true. I was no more than 12 when I started babysitting. I had a natural instinct when it came to entertaining kids-one of my never fail secret weapons was to take them on a walk. If Jewelweed and its rocketing seed pods were in season-it made the walk all the better.

I wish I could see far back enough in time to know who taught me about Jewelweed and its entertaining seeds pods but I can't. I'd like to think it was Pap's Mother since I stayed with her when I was small but I can't say for sure.

I can say for sure, she walked the same paths I do.

Tipper

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Looking For Rich Pine

On a chilly morning a few days ago the Blind Pig family headed up the ridge to look for rich pine.

Just in case you don't know-I guess I should show you what rich pine looks like first. As you can see from the photo above-it looks like an old rotted log.

But once you cut into it-you see its not rotten after all. Oh and it smells so good-sorta like pine-some folks say it smells like turpentine.

Now that you know what it looks like-we'll continue our search. Even though the morning was cold-the sun soon came out to warm things up and we grew warm with walking. More than a few layers had to be shed.

Along the way we noticed a squirrel that had met with an untimely end and

bemoaned the destruction caused by pine beetles. The folks who own this land had the pines logged before the beetles got to them. The ones on our land-they've been eaten and are now taking turns falling every time the wind blows.

After a short break...

we continued up a narrow holler where...

Chatter found a snow encrusted funny pine cone and The Deer Hunter found a funny feather.

He grabbed ahold of this rotted log-which turned out to really be just a rotted log not rich pine. Once the top came off in his hands he saw the tiny feather. We both wondered if something took the bird inside to eat it or if the bird went into the log to get away from something that wanted to eat it. There was no sign of a nest-just the feather.

The ridge above the little holler was full of rich pine-we actually found too much to carry home.

If you believe you've found a piece of rich pine-the easiest way to check is to see if it feels solid-and then shave a few pieces off with a sharp knife. You can see the bright color a few hits with a knife uncovers-and the smell is a good indicator too.

As many of you pointed out yesterday-it doesn't take much rich pine to start a fire-just a little dab will do you. And you certainly would not want to build an entire fire with rich pine.

All in all we had a good day in the woods-got some needed fresh air and exercise-and found a load of rich pine to boot.

Stick around-the rich pine talk isn't over yet.

Tipper

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Firewood When Pap Was A Boy

Me and The Deer Hunter only have to worry about wood for our heat. When Pap was a boy wood was needed for heat in addition to every time you cooked, washed clothes, took a bath, and the list goes on.

I'm sure you've heard the old joke-in fact Kenneth left a comment about it a few days ago-where a man says he thought his name was Git Wood until he was nearly grown.

Pap said when he was a boy some folks planned ahead and cut wood for the future with it ricked up in cords around their house and barns. When they needed wood it was already cut and stacked ready to be used. Other folks, like Pap's family, got their wood from day to day. They had a wood pile near by, but someone had to go out and split what was needed for the day and carry it in the house or at least onto the porch.

There were still native Chestnut trees when Pap was a boy-not living ones but skeletons of Chestnut trees that were killed by the blight. Pap said wood from them would burn even if it was wet with no kindling to get it started-women especially liked chestnut wood because it was so easy to start a fire with it. Back in those days, Pap said, every once in a while he'd come up on a big dead Chestnut back in the mountains. He said he always thought they looked like white ghosts shining through the woods.

Much like today, when Pap was a boy, oak was one of the top choices for wood to burn. Oak burns hot and doesn't burn too fast. Other top choices when Pap was a boy were locust, hickory, and just any other wood that was handy.

The Deer Hunter likes to use locust-which is almost impossible to find around here, oak, and hickory. He thinks poplar burns too fast to do any good and pine is full of creosote.

A few months ago someone had me ask Pap what was the best wood to burn for heat. Pap rattled off a list much like the one above and then said "But the answer to that question really depends on how cold you are."

What wood did you or do you like to burn?

Tipper

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Appalachia Through My Eyes - Holly Trees

From songs to decorations-Holly is all over Christmas. I've never given any thought to where holly trees grow until the other day. I over heard someone saying since they left the north east they sorely missed seeing the red berries on the holly trees this time of the year.

I assumed everyone in the US got to enjoy holly trees-so prettily decorated by nature. The woods surrounding my mountain holler are chock full of holly trees. The Deer Hunter has told me for years-the biggest holly tree he's ever seen is up the creek in the Tom Cove.

There are 3 holly trees on my road that never fail to catch my eye during the holiday season. Each tree is only a hop skip and a jump from the other. In fact as I write this I do believe you could draw a diagonal line between the 3 and it would be fairly straight. 

The first tree is in the yard of the first house on my road-a big white farm house-which is also by far the oldest house on my road. I've known the folks who lived there my entire life-first the elder couple-then their Grandson-now their Great Grandson. Now as I think about where holly trees grow-I wonder if their tree was left by chance-or if Clarence and Ruby, the elder couple, loved the red berries as much as I do and made sure the tree grew unhindered.

The second holly tree is just up the road, but out in the pasture. A little set of woods that breaks up the large pasture is home to that very large holly tree.

The third holly tree is a little further up the road-around the curve. It's not as large as the first 2 trees and it grows just outside the fence-all close up to the barb wire like it wishes it was in the pasture too.

As I was trying to find the natural growing range for holly trees-I found this page-you can jump over to see a map highlighting the growth areas. Also especially fitting was this quote from the page:

H. E. Grelen

When the Pilgrims landed the week before Christmas in 1620 on the coast of what is now Massachusetts, the evergreen, prickly leaves and red berries of American holly (Ilex opaca) reminded them of the English holly (Ilex aquifolium), a symbol of Christmas for centuries in England and Europe (13,26). Since then American holly, also called white holly or Christmas holly, has been one of the most valuable and popular trees in the Eastern United States for its foliage and berries, used for Christmas decorations, and for ornamental plantings.

Do Holly Trees grown naturally around your place?

Tipper

Appalachia Through My Eyes - A series of photographs from my life in Southern Appalachia.

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