It’s still officially winter, but the bulbs are emerging and the trees are in bloom… Spring is in the air. Give it another week or two the bees will be about, pollinating the flowers and providing a structure for thousands of parents preparing to talk with their kids about sex. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? The flora is getting it on.

While flowers are beautiful, I’ve always preferred the trees. I prefer blossoms to bulbs, and actually the leaves of trees also trump flowers for me… in some cases even the bark. I’m odd in this way (as well as other ways), but I have a special place in my heart for trees. I find such peace amongst them. I love shapes of the leaves, the intricacy of their lacy framework. I love the ferns and moss that grow on the branches of trees. I love the rustling of the leaves in a breeze… It’s the essence of tranquility for me. Conifers or broad leaf, evergreen or deciduous, there’s no tree that rises above the rest. Fir, Apple, Alder, Walnut… they’re all perfect. There is but one exception… Cottonwood… I don’t care for Cottonwood trees.

 

Aside from being abundant in my back yard, Cottonwoods are proliferate along lakes, rivers and creeks. You can tell where a source of water is by looking for groves of these trees. Cottonwoods are known for their quick growth. Their cousins, the poplars, have similar traits which they’ve marketed and are now being grown on tree farms for a harvestable source of wood.

 

Unfortunately, as a result of their quick growth, the Cottonwood is weak and often can’t support its own weight. They’re short-lived trees and they are constantly dropping off limbs and branches. This tree drops everything… In addition to the customary autumn disposal of its leaves, cottonwoods are also famous for their seeds, which are -get this- cotton-like! Every spring, the ground around our city is fluffy from the seeds of these trees. In some places, it appears to have snowed.

 

But my complaint against these trees, isn’t their cotton. Being the time of year where every plant is in the mood, the four trees in my back yard all suddenly think they’re Barry White. They have shed their buds and are all dangling about their catkins waiting for some action. My entire back yard is covered in catkins and the petals of the discarded buds. I sweep my back porch every day, but within minutes it’s covered again. The buds are covered in sap, which not only make it hard to sweep, but also get stuck to shoes and tracked into the house. To top it off, the sap leaves a yellow residue on our skin, clothes and floors which we’re constantly trying to scrub off before it stains. Dealing with Cottonwood bi-products is too large a part of my life. And although I don’t want to sound too much a prude, I have to admit that I find myself uncomfortable in constantly dealing with the sticky droppings of a horny tree.

 

If last year is a good example, I estimate that I’ll be sweeping and scrubing the sappy pods for another few months. The cottony seeds are expected shortly, and I wonder how this will interact with the sappy resin, can I expect to be tarred and feathered regularly? I anticipate some relief mid-summer but the autumn leaves will follow shortly thereafter. After I rake all the leaves up, winter will come again and the wind storms will tear another few branches off for me to cut up. This tree is pathetic! It’s the leper of the hardwoods.

 

In that light, it’s hard not to have some pity for the poor Cottonwood. His magestic bretheren sit strong and beautiful as he tries to stand tall while his seeds float to the ground like dandruff and his limbs crack and drop.

 

Cherry won’t even look at him, she busies herself, fluffing her blossoms and admiring her iridescent bark.

 

“Can’t believe he has the nerve to call himself a hardwood!” Maple spouts.

 

“The gall!” Oak echoes.

 

“Just look at him over there, using all the space along the water bank.” Willow complains, flipping her tresses irritably. “Who wants to rest in HIS shade, I mean really!”

 

Birch, in his polished white suit, smirks. “It looks like he’s just lost another limb.”

 

Cottonwood turns from them in shame. On his other side, he sees Holly wink at him. “Don’t sweat it, handsome,” she says, “you’ll grow another branch in no time.”

 

Cottonwood considers this. Sure, she’s a little prickly, but he heals fast and he likes her style. He imagines the two of them together, their offspring… hundreds of downy thistles. Yeah. Yeah, this could work. He smiles back at her.