For those of you who are not in ISA, here's an article from the last Arborist News. Real Tree Men DO care for shrubs!
DD: The Case of the Waning Waxmyrtles
It was a warm summer afternoon, just right for musing over the nursery catalogs, looking at new cultivars of shrubs. The aroma of gardenias wafted through the screen door and into my nostrils, latching onto the olfactory bulbs attached to my cerebral cortex. I drifted back to fragrances past—Osmanthus, Jasminum, Illicium… “Rrrrip! Crash!” The noise tore me out of my daydream and away from my desk. I ran down the hall to the back door. There I saw Codit sprawled on the ground, surrounded by a spilled sackful of roots that we’d ungirdled from tree trunks.
The handle of our air excavation tool was painfully placed in his lap, and the business end was stuck through the screen door. “Codit”, I yelled, “How many times do I have to tell you—tools go back in their cases before they are moved.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Dendro”, Codit replied. “I was trying to get the samples into the lab so we could get to dinner.”
“There’s always time for safety” I reminded him. “ANSI Z …” The telephone rang, so I closed the door to keep at least some of the insects out and left Codit to straighten up the mess while I took the call.
“Detective Dendro, I am losing my screen, and I don’t know what to do” the voice on the other end said.
“I know how you feel; I’m losing mine too” I muttered under my breath, still peeved about the torn door.
“My waxmyrtle hedge is dying, and our landscaper doesn’t know what the problem is” she continued. “The two on the far end died a while ago, and now the rest look sad. We cannot lose our hedge; it’s all that protects us from the glare of headlights and marauding dogs and…”
“Give me your address, ma’am, and we’ll be right over”, I assured her.
Report form in hand, I went back to Codit, who had just finished stashing the roots under the dissection table. “Codit, load the tools, and don’t forget our reference books. We are off to see some waning waxmyrtles, Morella cerifera.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Dendro” Codit replied as he packed our gear into the pickup. As we tooled down the road, he asked “Er, isn’t that genus name supposed to be Myrica?”
“Good question, but that genus name has changed to Morella” I told him. “Maybe it resembles a tasty mushroom. I am sure there is a scientific reason for these name changes by taxonomists, but some say they are for their own job security.
“What are we messing around with shrubs for--aren’t we arborists?” Codit wondered.
“Speaking of job security, managing shrubs diversifies an arborist’s services and fills in nicely between tree jobs.” I told him with a wink. Shrubs are an arborist’s business. Our training in tree care qualifies us to handle smaller woody plants, like shrubs and even vines. We can apply that expertise to the benefit of our clients—and our own bottom line.”
“Okay, but why do we have to be late for dinner?” Codit complained
“We are going to the client’s home directly after her call for three reasons. First, her plant problem is at the front of her mind now, so she is primed to tell us all she knows. Second, she is home, so she can give us the site history. Third but not least, she will be willing to pay us well if we show that we are committed to cracking the case.”
We parked along the curb, promptly spotting the problem plants. They were lined up along the sidewalk and blocked the view to the first floor of the house. The shrubs on one end did look the worst. My eye went down the line of plants, noting foliage color and density, bark texture and color and the location of the berries and the dead twigs. My eyes got to the end of the hedge just as the client walked around it.
She was the kind of woman that gave a man 20-10 vision. Her cheeks had a pink blush like mimosa flowers and her bright green eyes sparkled like sunshine on chlorophyll, though they were clearly clouded by her waxmyrtle worries. As we approached, I caught a whiff of bayberry perfume.
“My name is Myra Baymont. Detective Dendro, I presume?” she inquired, grasping my hand. The electricity licked my palm and shocked me back to action.
“Yes Ma’am, at your service.” I smiled back. “This is my assistant, Codit. We see that your hedge is not doing well. Has it always been cut flat like this?”
“Yes, they’ve been shaped like that ever since they started to grow tall” she answered. “That’s how our landscaper does it. We planted them eight years ago, and the two under the trees died soon after. The rest looked all right until recently. They gave us a privacy screen, shade, shelter from storms, erosion and noise, air cooling and purification, and wildlife habitat, and they looked so pretty! Then we noticed dead branches, and asked our landscaper what the matter was. He thought they might need fertilizer, so he fed them…”
“He didn’t really feed them. Fertilizer is like vitamins and minerals. Sunshine makes tree food” Codit interrupted.
“My assistant is learning some things well” I said. “Codit, we cannot prescribe action until a Root Collar Examination is done. First comes the RCX, then the Rx. Please remove those dead inner branches, and remove the leaves and mulch from the bayberry stems, so we can get a good look at the flare. Look carefully for discoloration on the stems.
“Bayberries? I thought these were waxmyrtles” Myra said. “Which are they?”
“Both” I told her. “Common names can be confusing. Scientifically speaking, they are Morella cerifera. The northern species is Morella pennsylvanica. Because it takes nitrogen from the air it grows well in poor soil, so it’s popular in urban areas. Candleberry is another common name. Its berries are waxy enough to make candles, after oils are taken out for other uses. Do you wear that perfume often?”
“It’s my favorite fragrance” she replied. “I never knew it came from my favorite plant. Now, can you tell me what is wrong with my Morella? I do not want to lose them.”
I crushed the leaves and sniffed the aromatic oils. I rolled the berries between my fingers, feeling the wax. I flexed the branches, snapping the dead ones and scratching the bark to check the living ones. I ran my fingertips over the lichens and looked for symptoms on the stems. I dug up a little soil, rolled it in my hands and smelled it. I focused my hand lens on the roots, looking for those nitrogen-fixing nodules and more. I studied the slope of the site, and the sidewalk a slight distance away. I looked at the plants’ form—dense and flat at the top, sparse and narrow at the bottom. Then I thought of having champagne and orange juice with my Saturday morning breakfast, and I knew the answer.
Turn to page one zillion and five for the answer.
can you guess what it is?:monkey:
DD: The Case of the Waning Waxmyrtles
It was a warm summer afternoon, just right for musing over the nursery catalogs, looking at new cultivars of shrubs. The aroma of gardenias wafted through the screen door and into my nostrils, latching onto the olfactory bulbs attached to my cerebral cortex. I drifted back to fragrances past—Osmanthus, Jasminum, Illicium… “Rrrrip! Crash!” The noise tore me out of my daydream and away from my desk. I ran down the hall to the back door. There I saw Codit sprawled on the ground, surrounded by a spilled sackful of roots that we’d ungirdled from tree trunks.
The handle of our air excavation tool was painfully placed in his lap, and the business end was stuck through the screen door. “Codit”, I yelled, “How many times do I have to tell you—tools go back in their cases before they are moved.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Dendro”, Codit replied. “I was trying to get the samples into the lab so we could get to dinner.”
“There’s always time for safety” I reminded him. “ANSI Z …” The telephone rang, so I closed the door to keep at least some of the insects out and left Codit to straighten up the mess while I took the call.
“Detective Dendro, I am losing my screen, and I don’t know what to do” the voice on the other end said.
“I know how you feel; I’m losing mine too” I muttered under my breath, still peeved about the torn door.
“My waxmyrtle hedge is dying, and our landscaper doesn’t know what the problem is” she continued. “The two on the far end died a while ago, and now the rest look sad. We cannot lose our hedge; it’s all that protects us from the glare of headlights and marauding dogs and…”
“Give me your address, ma’am, and we’ll be right over”, I assured her.
Report form in hand, I went back to Codit, who had just finished stashing the roots under the dissection table. “Codit, load the tools, and don’t forget our reference books. We are off to see some waning waxmyrtles, Morella cerifera.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Dendro” Codit replied as he packed our gear into the pickup. As we tooled down the road, he asked “Er, isn’t that genus name supposed to be Myrica?”
“Good question, but that genus name has changed to Morella” I told him. “Maybe it resembles a tasty mushroom. I am sure there is a scientific reason for these name changes by taxonomists, but some say they are for their own job security.
“What are we messing around with shrubs for--aren’t we arborists?” Codit wondered.
“Speaking of job security, managing shrubs diversifies an arborist’s services and fills in nicely between tree jobs.” I told him with a wink. Shrubs are an arborist’s business. Our training in tree care qualifies us to handle smaller woody plants, like shrubs and even vines. We can apply that expertise to the benefit of our clients—and our own bottom line.”
“Okay, but why do we have to be late for dinner?” Codit complained
“We are going to the client’s home directly after her call for three reasons. First, her plant problem is at the front of her mind now, so she is primed to tell us all she knows. Second, she is home, so she can give us the site history. Third but not least, she will be willing to pay us well if we show that we are committed to cracking the case.”
We parked along the curb, promptly spotting the problem plants. They were lined up along the sidewalk and blocked the view to the first floor of the house. The shrubs on one end did look the worst. My eye went down the line of plants, noting foliage color and density, bark texture and color and the location of the berries and the dead twigs. My eyes got to the end of the hedge just as the client walked around it.
She was the kind of woman that gave a man 20-10 vision. Her cheeks had a pink blush like mimosa flowers and her bright green eyes sparkled like sunshine on chlorophyll, though they were clearly clouded by her waxmyrtle worries. As we approached, I caught a whiff of bayberry perfume.
“My name is Myra Baymont. Detective Dendro, I presume?” she inquired, grasping my hand. The electricity licked my palm and shocked me back to action.
“Yes Ma’am, at your service.” I smiled back. “This is my assistant, Codit. We see that your hedge is not doing well. Has it always been cut flat like this?”
“Yes, they’ve been shaped like that ever since they started to grow tall” she answered. “That’s how our landscaper does it. We planted them eight years ago, and the two under the trees died soon after. The rest looked all right until recently. They gave us a privacy screen, shade, shelter from storms, erosion and noise, air cooling and purification, and wildlife habitat, and they looked so pretty! Then we noticed dead branches, and asked our landscaper what the matter was. He thought they might need fertilizer, so he fed them…”
“He didn’t really feed them. Fertilizer is like vitamins and minerals. Sunshine makes tree food” Codit interrupted.
“My assistant is learning some things well” I said. “Codit, we cannot prescribe action until a Root Collar Examination is done. First comes the RCX, then the Rx. Please remove those dead inner branches, and remove the leaves and mulch from the bayberry stems, so we can get a good look at the flare. Look carefully for discoloration on the stems.
“Bayberries? I thought these were waxmyrtles” Myra said. “Which are they?”
“Both” I told her. “Common names can be confusing. Scientifically speaking, they are Morella cerifera. The northern species is Morella pennsylvanica. Because it takes nitrogen from the air it grows well in poor soil, so it’s popular in urban areas. Candleberry is another common name. Its berries are waxy enough to make candles, after oils are taken out for other uses. Do you wear that perfume often?”
“It’s my favorite fragrance” she replied. “I never knew it came from my favorite plant. Now, can you tell me what is wrong with my Morella? I do not want to lose them.”
I crushed the leaves and sniffed the aromatic oils. I rolled the berries between my fingers, feeling the wax. I flexed the branches, snapping the dead ones and scratching the bark to check the living ones. I ran my fingertips over the lichens and looked for symptoms on the stems. I dug up a little soil, rolled it in my hands and smelled it. I focused my hand lens on the roots, looking for those nitrogen-fixing nodules and more. I studied the slope of the site, and the sidewalk a slight distance away. I looked at the plants’ form—dense and flat at the top, sparse and narrow at the bottom. Then I thought of having champagne and orange juice with my Saturday morning breakfast, and I knew the answer.
Turn to page one zillion and five for the answer.
can you guess what it is?:monkey:
