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| Ulmus glabra (public domain image) |
But the point I want to make to potential winter twig collectors, is that you don't have to wait until the leaves have fallen before you get your eye in. It's not cheating in my book, because it's expanding your ability to recognise trees generally. Plus, if you're looking for lots of different species to make your collection excellent, spotting more unusual things as early on as possible is sensible, as they may not be so obvious once their leaves have gone. And then at least you know whereabouts to look.
It was because there were still a few leaves about that I noticed some of the understorey shrubs looked a bit different. And they turned out to be Wych elm (Ulmus glabra), which I was rather chuffed about (it's one of those species I still have to get straight in my head). I found some English elm (U. procera) last year, and that was in a hedgerow (as one would expect), but this Wych elm was in a wood (also as predicted by the books). So that was nice (and the sort of thing you could write about in your field diary).
Wych elms, incidentally, aren't connected with witches. You might have heard of the ghastly unsolved murder "Who put Bella in the Witch Elm" but really they're just words that sound the same. Wych is an Old English word meaning 'pliant and bendy' and Welsh bows were traditionally made from wych elm (Giraldus Cambrensis mentions it in a description of his trip around Wales in the 1180s).
Anyway, before I diverge too far - that's my tip. Go for a walk along hedges and streams and in woods, and see which native species you can identify now. You might be able to collect some relevant fruits and seeds at the same time. The crazily neon spindle berries are looking great at the moment.
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CC image by Derek Harper |
Jim, Emma (our new GIS specialist, whom you may meet soon) and I have just been wading through knee-high wet grass in the parkland by the big yellow house near the motorway. Not particularly for fun, but to put out some 'refugia' (tiles under which snakes, lizards and slow worms might like to hide) for students to monitor the local reptile population. While out there I spotted some ash seeds - they'd be a good addition to your ash twig.
They're called 'ash keys' because I guess they hang together in bunches like keys. The seed itself is at the top end, and the bottom is a slightly twisted thin wing. The wing presumably helps the seed flutter a bit further away before it starts to grow. Various species use such a device: perhaps it would be fun to also include winged seeds from field maple, sycamore, and elms (if you can find any at this time of year).
If you collect ash keys very early in the year and pickle them, they're supposed to be quite delicious. I suppose it depends how keen you are on pickled things. I keep forgetting to have a go, unlike the blogger of Country Skills for Modern Life.
The other things I brought back were some hawthorn fruits ('haws'). They're mostly seed with only a thin layer of fruit, so not that tempting unless you're a hungry bird. Though I have read that they make a better hedgerow gin than the traditional sloe gin (and that is something you can make at this time of year).
There are two native hawthorns in this country, the common one (Crataegus monogyna) and Midland hawthorn (C. laevigata). You can tell by the scientific name of Common hawthorn that it has one seed (mono-gyna). The Midland hawthorn has two. Kevin Widdowson has a good comparison here. I don't think I've ever knowingly seen a Midland hawthorn, as otherwise the two species look very similar. It's one of those things that would give me a nerdy buzz. They're not particularly common in this part of the world (see the distribution map on the NBN Gateway) but if you don't find any and are heading to other parts of the country at Christmas, you could keep your eye out.
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