Wednesday, November 08, 2023

Two trees in the aires




Two trees I noticed at places we stopped when driving home through France. Even if you get no further than the aires, as we largely didn't,  there's always plenty to look at. (The previous day I was at Aire de Port Lauragais learning about the jazz singer and poet Claude Nougaro,  the day before at Salses where you can walk to Ferdinand and Isabella's fortress and on to Claude Simon's house, as I've mentioned before.)

The first was on 28 October 2023 at Aire de Le Bazadais, SE of Bordeaux on the A62, and it's a 3-needle pine with heavy smooth cones; I'll go with Monterey Pine (Pinus radiata), widely planted in Europe. Not with any great confidence, but at least that ID isn't obviously wrong, though the bark seems a bit untypical.

I collected two of the closed cones on the ground for Laura's grandson, who enjoys shaking out the seeds. 











Here's the other tree, one of a group that I photographed the following morning, after a night of rain. This was at Aire de Saint-Lèger on the A10, just south of Saintes.

The trees are top-grafted mulberries. The naming of mulberries is a highly confusing topic, but I was greatly helped by finding this excellent article on Trees and Shrubs Online:

https://www.treesandshrubsonline.org/articles/morus/morus-alba/

So I will go with this being the plane-leaved variety of White Mulberry (Morus alba 'Platanifolia'). It looks very different from the white mulberry in Mum and Dad's garden. White Mulberry has many cultivars, unlike the Black Mulberry (Morus nigra), which is renowned for its exceptional genetic stability (presumably honouring Thisbe's request to the gods).

The author of the above article says that Morus alba 'Platanifolia' is widely planted as a shade tree in Europe and is usually top-grafted. Lobed leaves are frequent and are not restricted to the youngest growth, but may also occur on 1- and 2-year-old shoots.







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Monday, October 02, 2023

In Europe

 

Trying to capture the sunset gleam on needles of Maritime Pine.


Breakfast: I had Portuguese sardine paté on Finnish rye crispbread. That's really the ends of Europe, Pentti!

European words for "peach" join hands. In Swedish it's "persika", in Portuguese "pêssego". All these words mean "Persian", the supposed origin (actually eastern China). 

Spanish goes off-piste with "melocotón", but anyway there are lots of words once you start looking. E.g. in Catalan:

El préssec, bresquill, auberge a o melicotó és el fruit del presseguer (Prunus persica).


(http://www.benremenat.cat/2012/09/melmelada-pressec.html)






More successfully catching the gleam on the sticky leaves of this Cistus species.

Maritime Pine (Pinus pinaster).


Pinaster: "like a pine", i.e.  pine in the original sense of Stone Pine.

Maritime: I suppose because its native heartland is Europe's southern Atlantic seaboard of Portugal, NW Spain and SW France. However, it is not narrowly or especially a coastal species.

Maritime Pine, a bit later.

The big cones open on the tree, cracking open in hot weather. It's hard to find an unopened one on the ground. 

According to the old tree book I found, it has the longest needles of any two-needled pine.





A pretty grass on this arid granite land.



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Monday, May 15, 2023

I'll be picking bird cherries...

Ripe bird cherries (Prunus padus). Novosibirsk, 24 July 2019.


[Image source: https://vn.ru/news-pervaya-cheremukha-sozrela-v-novosibirske/ .]




From Wild Berries (Ягодные места  - Yagodnyye Mesta, lit. Berry places, 1982) by Yevgeny Yevtushenko, 1984 translation by Antonina W. Bouis. 

It begins up in space, and from this opening my only (unnecessary) advice to the reader is, just go with it. In other words, without stopping to worry about what kind of novel it is or whether this or that section is good or bad. At any rate readers in 1981 can't have been bored and I don't think it would be any different for a reader today. 


'Along the midnight sky an angel flew. . . .'

The cosmonaut recalled the poem and smiled sadly. 'Some angel I make!' His face, reflected in the porthole of the capsule, was tired, no longer young, yet animated with childlike curiosity. He had never been beyond his country's borders before, And suddenly there were no borders; the striped barriers, no-man's-lands, border guards, German shepherds, and customs points all had disappeared. Now they seemed unnatural, ridiculous. Other things were difficult even to imagine: for instance, the idea of mandatory residency registration.

Below, the lights of Paris glittered, a handful of gold dust scattered across black velvet. ...

(Beginning of the Prologue of Wild Berries.)

Lermontov's poem "Angel", published in 1831 when he was sixteen, is mentioned again in the final lines of the Epilogue. Here it is in full:


По небу полуночи ангел летел,
  И тихую песню он пел;
И месяц, и звёзды, и тучи толпой
  Внимали той песне святой.

Along the midnight sky an angel flew
a silent song he sang
the moon the stars the clouds together
heard that holy hymn

Он пел о блаженстве безгрешных духов
  Под кущами райских садов;
О боге великом он пел, и хвала 
  Его непритворна была.

He sang the bliss of pure souls
under Eden's boughs
and he sang the greatness of God
intently, devoutly

Он душу младую в объятиях нёс
  Для мира печали и слёз;
И звук его песни в душе молодой
  Остался -- без слов, но живой.

In his arms an infant soul, bound for
this world's tears and sorrow
and his song remains in the infant soul
wordless but alive

И долго на свете томилась она,
  Желанием чудным полна,
И [звуков]1 небес заменить не могли
  Ей скучные песни земли.

The soul lingers long in this world,
lost in yearning for
the song of heaven that passes
all earth's dull strains


The novel's title hints at two things about it: its accent on youth/freshness/ripeness (the really young, like Lermontov, and the young in spirit, like the cosmonaut); and its setting in the Siberian taiga, at any rate the setting of its central narratives. For (like the cosmonaut, again) Wild Berries has a strongly centripetal temper; it isn't a "local" novel as we normally conceive it. Indeed you might reasonably call it a global novel, though I feel the limitations of "global", the way it's deployed in news media. The novel goes a long way beyond that. 

The novel "Berry Places" (1981) is fascinating and unusual, multi-layered and multi-character. This is a novel about Russia and the planet Earth, about humanity and man, about history and modernity. "Where is the world heading?" - this main question is always relevant, and the literary skill of the author simply cannot but surprise the attention. Yevtushenko remains a true great poet even in prose.

I'm quoting an unpretentious description from https://avidreaders.ru/book/yagodnye-mesta.html , because it saves me the donkey work. And this description seems quite accurate, unlike Google Books talking about "the tale of Soviet scientists on a search for rare ore in the far northern taiga" (the main locations are about the same latitude as York or Hamburg, admittedly a latitude that would feel pretty northerly in Canada).

Anyway I think the description is quite right to see Wild Berries as basically a novel of ideas: that's what makes it all hang together. And yet, maybe paradoxically, it's unquenchably narrative in form. There are no authorial discourses, its chapters never stop telling stories, the Prologue and Epilogue just as much as the rest. 

*

And, of course, the title also means what it says, so let's get ethnobotanical.

"His cheekbones were prominent, like those of many of his fellow Siberians. The teeth were white and strong, probably thanks to 'sulfur' -- a Siberian chewing gum made from leaf resin" (Prologue, p. 10). 

Actually made from the gum of conifers, such as the Siberian Larch (or here, at Zima, the intergrade with the Dahurian Larch). It can also be made with the gum of the Siberian Pine (see below). 

*

"Then he'd send his daughter, Ksiuta, the only other living creature around besides Charlie, down to the cellar for red bilberry juice." (Ch 3, p. 39)

"...the crimson sprays of red bilberry, hardening on dark lacquered leaves..." (Ch 9, p. 116)


I'm guessing this means Cowberry or Lingonberry (Vaccinium vitis-idaea). From what I can see, Siberia has similar berry resources to Sweden: Lingonberry, Bilberry, Northern Bilberry, and the old-world Cranberry. (But Red Bilberry is a western N. American species (Vaccinium parvifolium).) 

*

When Tisha was leaving, Dasha ran out into the yard after him to hold the dog, which had been let off its chain. Unexpectedly she whispered in his ear, 'Come to Crooked Hill tomorrow at noon . . . I'll be picking bird cherries . . .'

The bird cherry trees were a marvelous sight on Crooked Hill. The bushes were weighed down by the black fruit, sprinkled with last night's rain. You could pick a big bunch, toss a handful of berries into your mouth, and using your tongue to separate the flesh from the pits, cover your whole palate with a tart, sweet film. Tisha bent the bushes down to make it easier for Dasha to pick,and she squealed like a child when the rain from the branches showered down on her, creeping in under her neckline and trickling down her back. Two baskets were quickly filled.

'Too many leaves!' Dasha sighed. 'I'll have to pick over them.'

And suddenly she strode over to Tisha, put her hands on his shoulders, and pressed up against him. Her malachite eyes were so close to his that he could see thin veins in them, as if they were real malachite . . .

They lay next to each other between the two baskets filled with berries. A clumsy movement of Tisha's turned over a basket, and the berries fell on Dasha's naked breasts. Tisha kissed the berries from her.

(from Ch 4, pp. 76-77.)

The Bird Cherry (Prunus padus) has a large native range, from Atlantic shores (including the northern British Isles) right across Europe and almost right across Russia. In Europe there's basically no tradition of doing anything with the fruit, but in Siberia it's a different matter. Check out ForagerChef's article on Siberian bird cherry cake. Out in the taiga, Kalya breakfasts on "bird cherry salad and soup with meat and dried potatoes" (Ch 16, p. 225).

Another post about Bird Cherry:

https://michaelpeverett.blogspot.com/2014/06/bird-cherry-prunus-padus.html .


*

[Uncle] personally spread his bear-fur coat for them in the haystack and conjured pregnancy with vagabond's gibberish. He gave them a magic cedar cone to use whenever they started arguing - each had to eat a seed, and the argument would cease immediately. He unexpectedly burst into tears and said he had been a scoundrel to his own wife, and that if his nephew followed his example, he would beat him in front of all decent folk . . .

(from the Prologue, p. 23)

Two pine cone collectors were industriously at work in the taiga ... The Buryat struck the cedar trees with a long hammer-headed pole. The cedar shook, groaning hollowly and reluctantly shedding a sprinkling of cones onto the grass.

(from Ch 20, p. 259.)

This is the Siberian Pine (Pinus sibirica). It has edible seeds which are marketed in Russia as "cedar nuts", and indeed the tree is often called Siberian cedar, to the confusion of translators. 

[Being as Euro-blinkered as I am, I had previously imagined that the only pine with seeds worth eating was the Stone Pine of the Mediterranean (Pinus pinea). However, there are also the "pinyons" of south-west N. America, a group of related species of great significance in Native American food cultures. (Pinus edulis is one of the most widespread species; another, Pinus monophylla is the world's only one-needle pine; and there's about ten others.) But the most important edible species, globally, is the Korean Pine (Pinus koraiensis), native to much of E. Asia; I've read that most of the "pine nuts" sold in Europe and the USA actually come from this species. In fact most pine species have seeds that are technically edible, just too small to be worth the trouble -- normally. Jacob Hunter's useful post explains what's involved.]

*

Chronology

Yevgeny Yevtushenko (1933 - 2017). Wild Berries was published in 1982.

The date of the main narrative (taking that to mean Seryozha Lachugin's time in Siberia) is July-August 1973. We know this because of the abandoned Japanese radio (Ch 21), broadcasting news referring to the imminent downfall of Salvador Allende. What the radio announces in two sentences is also the occasion of the narrative in Ch 22. (Yevtushenko had been a good friend of Allende.)

After reading the book and being thrown around to so many scenes and times, I was surprised to find how many of its chapters are, at least nominally, set at this date: 1, 2, 4 (only the frame: the rest is Tikhon by the Lena river about forty years earlier, during the era of dekulakhization (1929-34)), 5, 7, 8, 9, 12 (though it also includes Sitechkin's early life), 16, 17 (though it's mainly war narratives from WW2 and Vietnam), 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, and 23. 

To which list -- though it isn't explicitly stated -- you can reasonably add the Prologue (i.e. the cosmonaut in space), and Ch 13 (The Tails' first gig in Honolulu).

Yevtushenko himself was 41 in August 1973, so he (rather unusually) makes his young hero belong to a younger generation than his own; most novelists shy away from this. We think about the author a lot, of course. Young Seryozha sometimes embodies Yevtushenko's own experience (for instance in Kazakhstan); but so does the expedition leader Kolomeitsev, who is around fifty, that is, around Yevtushenko's age when he was actually writing the novel. And actually I suppose Yevtushenko himself makes a brief covert appearance, in the story about the "famous poet" that Gagarin unintentionally places in peril (Prologue, p. 8) -- besides being explicitly dismissed as "passé" by Kostya Krivtsov (Ch 10, p. 125; that must have been back in the mid-1960s). Yevtushenko is writing about, not just Seryozha, but Seryozha's whole generation (Krivtsov, Seleznyov, The Tails). That's why the novel becomes a question about who we can be, what direction the world might go in. Its optimism and idealism, not at all cheaply assumed (think of e.g. Chs 17, 22), is something to ponder, to envy, maybe even to be inspired by. Because, forty years on, it feels like the light reflected by Yevtushenko has gone, we pretty much need to start all over again, idealism and youth have been neutered and repurposed by technology, profit and exploitation. 


The other chapters:

3, at Belaya Zaimka the previous summer (July 1972). 

6, the mushroomer's biography, covering the whole 20th century up to the time of the novel. 

10. Leningrad: begins with Seryozha's parents marrying (c. 1933?) and his grandfathers, both presumably purged by Stalin before WW2; then shifts to Seryozha's adolescence (mid-late 1960s)

11. Kazakhstan, Seryozha's first geological expedition (c. 1970?)

14. Krivtsov and Leningrad's literature circles (several years up to, presumably, 1973).

15. Leningrad: Selezhnyov and his father, c. 1970.

Epilogue. Mostly set in Kaluga, concerned with Konstantin Tsiolkovsky (1857 - 1935). From his conversation with Semiradov (p. 294), it must be mid-1914, just before the start of the First World War. 


*

Geography

In the Prologue the cosmonaut comes from Zima; Ch 1 starts in Zima, and we revisit it in Ch 19.  Zima (Zima Station, Zima Junction) is a town in Irkutsk. It's the subject of Yevtushenko's most famous poem.  Yevgeny was actually born in Nizhneudinsk (3.5 hrs drive away), but the family moved to Zima soon after his birth and (when he was still only one year old) to Moscow. However, Yevgeny and his grandmother returned to Zima as evacuees for several years during WW2.

If you try looking for Shelaputinki or Belaya Zaimka (where Belomestnykh lives) you won't find either, but you can maybe take a hint from Belaya Zima, two days walk to the SW of Zima. 

It is around 40km from Belaya Zaimka (via Shelaputinki) to the expedition campsite (Ch 9, p. 113). 

"..sent to the upper reaches of the Lena River to rid the taiga of rich peasants, called kulaks" (Ch 4, p. 72). The river Lena flows north from L. Baikal. Its source is not far from Irkutsk, 180 miles SE of Zima. 

"During his first field expedition in Kazakhstan..."  (Ch 11, p. 143). This is based on Yevtushenko's own experience, though it would have been twenty years before Seryozha's. After being expelled from school, the young Yevtushenko joined a geological reconnaissance expedition to Kazakhstan where fifteen unescorted convicts turned out to be under his command. 

Sources: 

Yevtushenko's entry in ru.wikipedia.org:  https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%95%D0%B2%D1%82%D1%83%D1%88%D0%B5%D0%BD%D0%BA%D0%BE,_%D0%95%D0%B2%D0%B3%D0%B5%D0%BD%D0%B8%D0%B9_%D0%90%D0%BB%D0%B5%D0%BA%D1%81%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B4%D1%80%D0%BE%D0%B2%D0%B8%D1%87 .)

This page, with biography and photos: https://uznayvse.ru/znamenitosti/biografiya-evgeniy-evtushenko.html .

*

Love relationships and sexual behaviour

Naturally they play a large part in a novel about youth and ripeness. But not just youth: Kolomeitsev, leader of the geological expedition, is an inveterate womaniser even in his fifties. The trail of destruction that he and others like him leave behind is one of the book's recurrent concerns. Anyway, here's a list of some of the main entanglements, running the gamut from idyllic to horrific. 

Prologue: Uncle's infidelities; the cosmonaut and the girl he falls for and marries (both unnamed). 

Ch 1: The handsome Grisha and the hopeful storekeeper; Ksiuta and the unknown father of her child (Was it Grisha? Tikhon?)

Ch 3: Ksiuta and her one-time lover: it was Kolomeitsev. Her father (Belomestnykh) and mother. 

Ch 4: Tikhon (Tisha) and Dasha. 

Ch 7: Belomestnykh and his wife, again. 

Ch 10: Volodya and Irina (Seryozha's parents). Seleznyov and the village singer Tonya.

Ch 11: Seryozha and Grunya (the beekeeper). Nakhabkin and his wife. 

Ch 12: Kesha and Kalya. Kolomeitsev and Yulya Vyazemskaya. Yulya's marriage to the "sad-faced dentist" Dodik. Sitechkin's parents.

Ch 14: the drunken man (Vasya) and the woman (presumably his wife). 

Ch 15: Seleznyov senior and his wife.

Ch 16: Kesha and Kalya again; Kalya's many men (including Kolomeitsev).

Ch 19: Tikhon and Darya; and their daughter. 

Ch 20: The old man (February) and the woman he kills (in his story); his "old woman". 

Ch 22: Allende and Hortensia. 

Epilogue: Tsiolkovsky and his wife Varvara Evgrafovna. 










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Saturday, January 28, 2023

Twenty Lambert


Probably Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana)


Picked up in the car park of Holiday Inn on the edge of Swindon. I think this might be Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana), first raised at Westonbirt (not far from here). But if it isn't then it's one of the parent species, whose homelands could hardly lie further apart: the Bhutan Pine (Pinus wallichiana) and the Mexican White Pine (Pinus ayacahuite).

I included a table knife to show how big the cone is. 

The ripe cone is quite light and flexible, as pinecones go. You wouldn't fear it falling on your head. It may be different with the unripe cones (e.g. when they are chewed off by squirrels). Sugar Pine (Pinus lambertiana) is the tallest pine (to 60m) and its unripe cones can weigh 2kg. On another Californian pine, the Big-cone Pine (Pinus coulteri) the unripe cones can weigh 5kg: plantation workers wear hard hats.

I suppose my long-latent interest in pines has started to emerge on this blog, manifested in two relatively recent posts:

This one is the third. 

Pinus lambertiana is named in honour of Aylmer Bourke Lambert (1761 - 1842), an early luminary of the Linnaean Society. He was a typical botanical enthusiast of the time, born in Bath to inherited wealth (partly founded on estates in Jamaica, worked by slaves I assume). In 1803 he published A Description of the Genus Pinus, a splendidly illustrated publication that must have been aimed at other wealthy amateurs: it will cost you a fortune to buy today. Further editions, with added content, came out over the next twenty years. The 1803 one, happily, is available to read online:

https://archive.org/details/mobot31753003472476

[If you're using a UK phone, you might not be allowed to see archive.org (for no apparent reason). Laptop access works fine.]

It's well worth a look; and, like most old scientific books, it's as revealing of ignorance as of knowledge. One inference from this is to feel smug about the greater knowledge of our own time; another is that science is the illusion that you almost understand something. 

Lambert's book takes us back to a time when Pinus embraced other coniferous species; thus his Pinus nigra means the N.American Black Spruce (Picea mariana) and not, as it does today, the Black Pines of Europe (Austrian, Corsican etc), which surprisingly are absent: surprising, I mean, as these are now the most commonly-seen alien pines in the British Isles.

Today there are reckoned to be around 120 pine species: Lambert describes only 18 true pines (though I suppose some more were added in the later editions) -- only 17, really, as he knew hardly anything about Pinus occidentalis, the Hispaniolan endemic. A lot of the names have changed. His Pinus inops is what we now call Pinus virginiana; his Pinus variabilis is now Pinus echinata. (These are pines from eastern N. America, like five more of his inclusions: Pinus taedaPinus resinosaPinus rigidaPinus palustris and Pinus strobus.) Pinus longifolia (from the Himalayas) is now Pinus roxburghii. Pinus pumilio ("The Mugho, or Mountain Pine") is Pinus mugo or uncinata. Lambert calls Pinus cembra the "Siberian Stone Pine" but for us it's the Arolla Pine of the Swiss Alps; the admittedly similar Pinus sibirica is usually considered a separate species. He calls Pinus pinaster the Pinaster or Cluster Pine; it is, he tells us, "frequent in English plantations". On the other hand what he calls Maritime Pine, with the Latin name Pinus maritima, is a tree he knew only from a single small specimen at Sion House, and from samples in the Sherardian herbarium: he evidently considered it a different species. 

Some of the best reading comes at the end, in the supplements on "Medicinal and Other Uses" (by William George Maton) and on timber by Thomas Davis (of "Hommingsham, Wiltshire" -- which I think must mean Horningsham)  and the Rev. William Coxe (on "Christiana Deal", i.e. from Oslo), an extract from his Travels in Poland, Russia, Sweden, and Denmark (1784). I'll quote the latter, with Lambert's additional paragraph:

"The planks and deals are of superior estimation, to those sent from America, Russia, and from the different parts of the Baltic, because the trees grow on the rocks, and are therefore firmer, more compact, and less liable to rot than the others, which chiefly shoot from a sandy or loamy soil. The plan[k]s are either red or white fir, or pine. The red wood is produced from the Scotch Fir, and the white wood, which is in such high estimation, from the Spruce Fir. This wood is the most demanded, because no country produces it in such quantities as this part of Norway. Each tree yields three pieces of timber, eleven or twelve feet in length, and is usually sawed into three planks; a tree generally requires seventy or eighty years growth before it arrives at the greatest perfection.

"The environs of Christiana not yielding sufficient planks for exportation, the greater part of the timber is hewn in the inland country, and floated down the rivers and cataracts. Saw-mills are used for the purpose of cutting the planks, but must be privileged, and can only cut a certain quantity. The proprietors are bound to declare on oath, that they have not exceeded that quantity; and if they do, the privilege is taken away, and the saw-mill destroyed. There are one hundred and thirty-six privileged saw-mills at Christiana, of which one hundred belong to the family of Anker. The quantity of planks permitted to be cut amounts to 20,000,000 standard deals, twelve feet long, and one inch and a quarter thick."

In Scotland, they distinguish the wood cut in the native forests from that obtained in plantations, by calling the former Highland Fir, and the latter Park Fir. The Highland Fir is most esteemed, on account of its greater durability, being frequently found undecayed in ancient buildings, when the other sort is entirely wasted. This striking difference in the same species is probably to be attributed to the mountainous and rocky situations in which the native timber is found, and where the trees being of slower growth the wood is consequently of a harder texture; the latter may be readily distinguished from that of the Park Fir by its much deeper yellow colour.

(p. 84)


Probably Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana)




A bunch of five: needle tips of (probably) Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana)


Probably Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana). Swindon, 26 January 2023.

Probably Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana). Swindon, 26 January 2023.


Probably Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana). Swindon, 26 January 2023.


Probably Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana). Swindon, 26 January 2023.

Probably Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana). Swindon, 13 November 2023.


Probably Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana). Swindon, 13 November 2023.

The foliage swinging about on a blowy day, a very engaging sight.


Unripe cones of probably Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana). Swindon, 13 November 2023.

Two unripe cones that were lying on the ground. They were too sticky to put down anywhere, hence the paper napkin.

The other pine-cone in the photo is probably Dwarf Mountain Pine, Pinus mugo (see below).


Unripe cone of probably Holford Pine (Pinus x holfordiana). Swindon, 13 November 2023.


Probably Dwarf Mountain Pine (Pinus mugo). Swindon, 13 November 2023.


There was also this dramatically different pine, a shrub with short needles and small cones (about 4cm). I think this is the Dwarf Mountain Pine (Pinus mugo), native to mountains of SE Europe. But if I'm wrong please say, I'm only a learner.

Probably Dwarf Mountain Pine (Pinus mugo). Swindon, 13 November 2023.

Probably Dwarf Mountain Pine (Pinus mugo). Swindon, 13 November 2023.

Probably Dwarf Mountain Pine (Pinus mugo). Swindon, 13 November 2023.

Probably Dwarf Mountain Pine (Pinus mugo). Swindon, 13 November 2023.

Probably Dwarf Mountain Pine (Pinus mugo). Swindon, 13 November 2023.



Probably Dwarf Mountain Pine (Pinus mugo). Swindon, 13 November 2023.

The ripe cone from two different angles....

Probably Dwarf Mountain Pine (Pinus mugo). Swindon, 13 November 2023.




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Wednesday, November 09, 2022

Aleppo Pine (Pinus halepensis)

Some pictures I took along the Mediterranean coast of Spain. The most common pine here is Pinus halepensis, the Aleppo Pine. 

It was first described from an Aleppo specimen, but actually the Levantine population is an outlier; the heartland of the species is the western Mediterranean, and especially eastern Spain. 




Mature bark, with bits of red.

(The bole may start out straight, but it soon becomes wavy and tortuous.)



Aleppo Pine is usually a smallish pine. The crown is rounded, but less regular in shape than the Stone Pine (Pinus pinea). 

The most common Spanish names are pino blanquillo and pino carrasco or pincarrasco. The former means "white pine" (pale foliage?). Carrasco, according to the dictionary of the Real Academia Española (dle.rae.es), means a large expanse of land covered in woody vegetation. The same word is also one of the alternative popular names for the encima (holm oak). So I suppose it refers to the Aleppo Pine tending to cover substantial areas with scrubby forest. It is adapted to arid climates, and the cones release their seeds after wildfires. 


Compared to other Mediterranean or northern pines, the needles are relatively short, very straight, and a fresh apple-green colour. 


New cones, cinnamon-coloured. Whether new or old, they are always on recurved stalks which are very distinctive. The cones are much smaller than Stone Pine or Maritime Pine.

The cones contain small pine-nuts. They aren't used much as a food source, compared to the valuable pine nuts of the Stone Pine, but local traditions do exist in Morocco and Algeria. 





An Aleppo pine in the old fortress of Oropesa. The fortress was Moorish originally. When the Christians displaced the Moors, they built a walled town around the fortress to deter incessant raids by pirates. 


Old cones.


Old fallen needles snagged on lower shoots.


Aleppo Pine growing as ground cover on coastal cliffs.


Shoot very divided here.


Aleppo Pines in Paul Cezanne's garden in Aix-en-Provence. (The Big Trees, 1902-1904.)

[Image source: https://www.nationalgalleries.org/art-and-artists/17490/big-trees . In one of the National Galleries Scotland.]










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