The Micocoulier (Celtis australis)
It is called nettle tree, Mediterranean hackberry, lote tree, or honeyberry in English.


General description
Ornamental tree today (it easily reaches 25 m for 1 m in diameter), it lives easily up to 500 years. Its leaves, quite small, are reminiscent of those of nettle.
It produces small fruit in the form of balls, the micocoules, which were macerated in alcohol to make a alcoolhic digestive.
You can eat them as they are, they have a floury and sweet taste.


There are 70 species of Micocouliers around the world. This tree seeks light and deep soils. It needs heat and resists dryness well, but it fears frost and dies at -12°, which is why it is quite rare in northern regions.

Its use
It was once used for its many advantages. Its white and hard wood, flexible enough to be used for many crafts (handles, canes, and fork).
Hackberry wood is strong and flexible: coopers used it to strap barrels.
Its leaves were used as fodder; its resin, roots and bark were used to extract a yellow dye. The leaves have medicinal properties.

A tree with mystical virtues
For the peoples of antiquity, the micocoulier was a sacred tree. The priestesses offered their hair as an offering (for example, the micocoulier/perlaro, bagolaro tree near Diana's temple in Rome). Funeral urns were made from the wood of his roots. The Gauls found in him virtues of eternal strength. In Occitan it is called "fanabreguier": temple tree. The suffix "bréguier" refers to "brogilum", a Gallic word meaning wood from sacred trees.
Currently in Provence and Languedoc, it is not uncommon to observe a bouquet of these trees near a very old church which itself was built on a Roman temple. In addition, given its height, the tree was used as a bell tower where bells were hung on its highest branches. They say he was hunting the devil and the curse.

The hackberry of the Saint Etienne cathedral in Toulouse

credit:krapo arboricole

Kind regards,
Abelard

There are also a lot of nettle trees around here in the French Pyrénées-Orientales (btw Abelard, where are you in France?) although mostly on the hotter, drier, more fertile Roussillon plain between here and the Mediterranean. I have a couple growing in my garden, although at 550m altitude in the foothills to the mountains, I'm probably at about the limit of their range (those two were planted: the natural forest around me is mostly oak and sweet chestnut, with pines on higher, rockier ground). Having felled some mature nettle trees in the past, I can confirm that the wood is indeed very dense and hard. It also has a high calorific value so accordingly it is often used around here as a substitute for European hornbeam (Carpinus betulus, known in French as charme) which as firewood is one of the best types of timber for use as domestic heating and so is generally more expensive than say birch, hazel, oak or chestnut.

It's interesting what you say about the association of nettle trees and churches. In England of course (and also Normandie) it is the common yew (Taxus baccata) which has a close association with churches, again often originally being associated with pre-Christian religious practices (although I doubt many existing yew trees in churchyards are that old despite yews being capable of living for a couple of thousand years or so). Being a very long-lived but not generally a very common tree (in England it now usually grows naturally only on exposed chalk or limestone), I believe the presence of a solitary mature yew tree is sometimes all that marks some English villages that were abandoned following the Black Death of the 14th century.

Another lesser known tree, superficially similar to the nettle tree (although it's not closely related) and which I have seen occasionally growing wild, both here and in southern England, is the service-berry or June-berry, also more specifically called the snowy mespil (Amelanchier ovalis) or snowy mespilis (Amelanchier lamarckii) - the latter being the North American species, but which I think has now become naturalised in Europe alongside its native European/North African cousin (I'm not sure but they may even cross-fertilize).



I have one in the garden and it's in full flower just now ... a blizzard of small, five-pointed, brilliant white stars; which will be followed by small dark red/purple fruits; and finally a blaze of bright red/gold Autumn foliage. The fruit is edible but rather tart and not particularly interesting so I usually leave them for the birds, however I did once macerate them in alcohol, just like you mentioned for the fruit of nettle trees, and so produced something very similar to sloe gin, itself made from the fruit of the common blackthorn, Prunus spinoza, a species of wild plum, which also grows abundantly around here. These are the fruit of the snowy mespil:



I think it's a lovely small tree for a garden.

This could be a hugely interesting topic - I immediately thought of trees in mythology and, rather more down to earth, literally, the tree in which Charles II is said to have hidden.

But I do not know if it is worthwhile posting anymore: I need - against my better judgement to speak honestly about things that have been said this week - hopefully to clear the air and my head - or, if that is not possible, to offer to fall on my sword. I shall take a deep breath (that in itself is an indication of how ridiculous things have become) and take myself to the Other Elephant In the Room Thread.

I may be gone some time. If I disappear for good, hail and farewell, Abelard and, MM, please stay in touch.

Meles meles wrote:

(btw Abelard, where are you in France?)

I give you two clues:
Lavender and Mediterranean scrubland

M.M wrote:

Another lesser known tree, superficially similar to the nettle tree (although it's not closely related) and which I have seen occasionally growing wild, both here and in southern England, is the service-berry or June-berry, also more specifically called the snowy mespil (Amelanchier ovalis) or snowy mespilis (Amelanchier lamarckii) - the latter being the North American species, but which I think has now become naturalised in Europe alongside its native European/North African cousin.

Interesting small tree (no more than 3 meters high); there are some in some forest massifs in the middle mountains, where I live.
Kind regards,
Abelard

Abelard wrote:

Meles meles wrote:

(btw Abelard, where are you in France?)

I give you two clues:
Lavender and Mediterranean scrubland

[pic]

Ah ha! That's the Abbaye Notre-Dame de Senanque en Provence ... et donc je pense vous êtes provençal, neh?

Regards from MM in (French) Catalunya.

Abelard, I sometimes get accused of derailing threads (i.e. going of the topic of the thread).  That is a gorgeous abbey, Abelard.  In the UK a lot of our medieval buildings have been either destroyed or been reduced to ruins - some of it was down to the Reformation, some to the Civil War (Roundheads v Cavaliers) but that's not the whole story, in my own hometown some of the older buildings were knocked down during redevelopment in the 1960s.  There was a nice half-timbered row of shops but it was allowed to become dangerous so it was knocked down on safety grounds and now we have a generic 1960s row of shops next to a (partly) Norman church.  It's not wholly Norman because it's had to be restored over the years.

Let's get back to trees, shall we? Try to stay focused on the topic, LIT and be a dear.

Human bonding to trees is a fascinating subject - perhaps well explored also. I was reminded of that recently in an early English cathedral where the very high fan vaulting and the long nave brought to mind research into that style originating from ancient cults. Is that notion believed elsewhere or just in Britain? I am thinking perhaps of the Druidic processionals of ancient oaks.  Caesar made a point of chopping sacred oaks for an invasion fleet - one source said the green wood brought about dodgy hulls.

The Great Green Wall of Trees planted across the width of Africa to help stop desertification:

Dear Triceratops,
Interesting.
With regard to the criticisms mentioned in your source, I would like to say that at the risk of sounding a little dreamy and naive, I think that humans plant trees instead of polluting or spending extravagant sums on weapons is a good thing anyway.
Kind regards,
Abelard

Meles meles wrote:

Abelard wrote:

Meles meles wrote:

(btw Abelard, where are you in France?)

I give you two clues:
Lavender and Mediterranean scrubland

[pic]

Ah ha! That's the Abbaye Notre-Dame de Senanque en Provence ... et donc je pense vous êtes provençal, neh?
Regards from MM in (French) Catalunya.

Dear Meles meles,
Ha,ha! You cheated a little by researching the origin of the photo and not by trying to make a deduction from the clues provided.
And yes, you did find it right.
Kind regards,
Abelard

Priscilla wrote:

Let's get back to trees, shall we? Try to stay focused on the topic, LIT and be a dear.

Human bonding to trees is a fascinating subject - perhaps well explored also...

Dear Priscilla,
What you write can lead to further investigation.
Perhaps on the sacred trees of the Celts.

The tree in Celtic culture is sacred, it is the main link between the three worlds: terrestrial, celestial and underground. It is the symbolism of the universe.
At each change of season, it signals the continuous regeneration of nature, the Cosmos....
In short, the tree is simply the icon of life, therefore the tree of life.
Wood represents wisdom and superhuman sciences.

Used by the elders in some rites, we find the preferences for some trees, especially among the druids who appreciated more: the yew, the hazelnut tree , the rowan tree, the oak tree.

The apple tree was the tree of the science of good and evil.
The sacred trees and especially the Yew of Mugna are echoes comparable to the Cosmic Tree Yggdrasil, from northern cosmogony, Mugna alone has the virtues of apple, hazelnut and oak.

The Battle of the Shrubs is a Welsh story where men transform into trees to form an invincible army. It is one of the keys to Celtic symbolism through the function of trees in instruction and esoteric initiation .

A mythical tree that opens the way to the exploration of an unfamiliar civilization.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yggdrasil


credit wikipedia

Kind regards,
Abelard

LadyinRetirement wrote:

Abelard, I sometimes get accused of derailing threads (i.e. going of the topic of the thread).  That is a gorgeous abbey, Abelard.  In the UK a lot of our medieval buildings have been either destroyed or been reduced to ruins - some of it was down to the Reformation, some to the Civil War (Roundheads v Cavaliers) but that's not the whole story, in my own hometown some of the older buildings were knocked down during redevelopment in the 1960s.  There was a nice half-timbered row of shops but it was allowed to become dangerous so it was knocked down on safety grounds and now we have a generic 1960s row of shops next to a (partly) Norman church.  It's not wholly Norman because it's had to be restored over the years.

Dear LadyinRetirement,
You pushed me to document myself and unfortunately it seems that what you write is often true.
I confess shamefully that I am not very knowledgeable about the history of England and the religious civil wars you mention.
I heard about it briefly, of course, but no more.


Kind regards,
Abelard

This is appertaining to trees - I know a boycott by one old lady isn't going to make much difference but a few years there was a local newspaper article to the effect  supermarket (not the one in the centre of my hometown which is newer) was built in the outskirts of my town and some trees protected by a Tree Preservation Order were cut down.  Some of the local people brought it to the workers' notice (i.e. the fact that the trees were covered by a Preservation Order) and a phone call was made and the workers were told to carry on.  I suppose big supermarket chains have enough funds to pay any fine that might be levied for cutting down protected trees.  But I won't buy stuff from that supermarket.  I have to be careful what I say - I don't want to name the supermarket to be on the safe side.

Priscilla wrote:

Let's get back to trees, shall we? Try to stay focused on the topic, LIT and be a dear.

Human bonding to trees is a fascinating subject - perhaps well explored also. I was reminded of that recently in an early English cathedral where the very high fan vaulting and the long nave brought to mind research into that style originating from ancient cults. Is that notion believed elsewhere or just in Britain? I am thinking perhaps of the Druidic processionals of ancient oaks.  Caesar made a point of chopping sacred oaks for an invasion fleet - one source said the green wood brought about dodgy hulls.I 

I made a previous post which seems to have disappeared into cyberspace (not the one above).  I didn't wholly go off topic, Priscilla, because half-timbered housing does include wood in its structure (and there is wood in our modern houses - just it isn't visible once the houses have been completed (save on the doors and window frames).

I mentioned this in my "lost" post - I know that the importance of holly trees circa Christmas is based on an earlier pagan tradition (I personally couldn't care less).  Some people say don't bring holly berries inside at Christmas because they are pagan.  I have a couple of self-seeded holly bushes in my back garden.  I left the berries on the tree at Christmas time but that was more so they could be a source of food to the birds if they wanted to eat them than for any religious reason.

Researchers have reported that trees can communicate with each other when stressed - being pruned or cut down? Mark you, others have also reported that the scent of new mown grass is a stress alarm. What the vegan world will do about that I'm unsure..... for all I know sweet potatoes might  really be enraged. I also wonder what all those reearchers do with their Phd's for jobs in the real world. ….. I have time for idle wondering.

Priscilla wrote:

... I also wonder what all those reearchers do with their Phd's for jobs in the real world. ….. 

 

Why the snide follow-up comment? I should probably just ignore it but ... you do realise that nearly all PhD's are funded - mostly by companies or governments - because they think the subject is of interest or important, or at least the findings might become important in the future. And largely because they get good research, very cheap. PhD researchers, at least in the UK, are appalling badly paid and so it's hardly the route to riches. And PhD's while under-taking their contracted work do - unlike some people apparently - still have to live in the "real world", whatever that is exactly. 

I have a PhD, also a couple of patents in my name, have written a good number of scientific papers in a variety of subjects, and have done specialist work for the MOD and GCHQ (for which I was required to sign the 'Secrets Act'). Yet in the "real world", as you flippantly call it, even when I was head of scientific services for a major British manufacturing company (with twenty specialist staff, including three PhD's reporting directly to me, plus a functional respnsibility over some 300 people) I earned only about 30% more than my own secretary. Meanwhile the wide-boy sales' reps in the same company were on at least 50% more than me! That's the "real world" that you so glibly refer to ... and it's also partly why I now live and pay all my taxes outside Britain.

Sorry P , but with your (probably) throw-away comment, you touched a very deep, and very, very raw nerve.

But I don't want to divert this thread over some casual, ignorant comments ... indeed I have things I want to say about yews, rowans and Yggdrasil.

Toss away remark. M.M. I do snide much more thoughtfully - it's just that I am surrounded by family with degrees some to the highest level who wrote papers ( some still being quoted and used) who are doing really top level responsible jobs and nothing like the same stuff but using their trained minds - and we laugh about it all in the context of their current work. Perhaps those who do the sensitivity of plant life will get a sustainable career out of it. A friend who did the sex life of sea anenomie had to consider other options. It is very difficult to assess sensibilities here, sometimes. 

Back to trees, yes.  Rowans will do nicely. My neighbour who is into fey, planted one but it had not read its label and was a different sort of ash altogether. Over to you.

Priscilla wrote:

Researchers have reported that trees can communicate with each other when stressed - being pruned or cut down? Mark you, others have also reported that the scent of new mown grass is a stress alarm. What the vegan world will do about that I'm unsure..... for all I know sweet potatoes might  really be enraged. I also wonder what all those reearchers do with their Phd's for jobs in the real world. ….. I have time for idle wondering.

Roald Dahl came up with something similar:

Sorry P - I was rather sharp and snide myself back there. Thankyou for taking it with tolerance and good humour.  

Anyway back to trees ... and in particular yews.

According to 'Flora Britannica' (Richard Mayby, 1996); "At least 500 churchyards in England and Wales alone contain yew trees which are certaining as old as the church itself, and quite likely a good deal older. Yews of great age are rare outside of churchyards, and no other type of ancient tree occurs so frequently inside church grounds. ... It is obviously a meaningful association... ".

I've seen it frequently suggested that yews were planted in these protected plots to provide wood for long-bows and, therefore of necessity, to keep their poisonous foliage out of the reach of browsing cattle. The association of yews with churches certainly occurs most frequently in England and Wales ... but also in Normandy. This geographic distribution might well suggest a medieval origin for the practice, although actually medieval 'English' long-bow staves were usually made from imported Spanish or Portuguese yew, as the wood of British-grown yews was generally thought too brittle. Another common suggestion for yews in churchyards was simply that they were to provide suitable decoration for the church ... as symbols either of mortality and death itself; or of immortality and the resurrection.

Part of the problem is that it is difficult to establish exactly how old ancient yews are. After 400 or 500 years almost all yews begin to lose their heartwood and become hollow, making dating by ring counts impossible. They also enter long  periods of suspended growth when they put on no extra girth at all. Yet circumstantial evidence in the form of their relation to ancient earthworks, old records and local legends, certainly suggest ages for many church-yard yews as up to at least 2000 years. This clearly predates their associated  Christian churches by a considerable margin, and so suggests deliberate but pre-christian planting. And the yew certainly seems to have been a sacred tree in some pre-Christian 'Celtic' religions.

I wonder is there any consensus yet on the origin of churchyard yews?

I can't help about the churchyard yews, sorry MM.

I was thinking of a poem by William Wordsworth that I studied for A level English Literature:

"Nutting" by William Wordsworth (which I've copied from "Poetry Foundation" website - which I think is okay as it's Wordsworth's copyright not the Foundation's, though I imagine it's out of copyright by now.

"—It seems a day
(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps
Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame—
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,
More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks,
Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets,
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation; but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung,
A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet;—or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,
And—with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep—
I heard the murmur, and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage: and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past;
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.—
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods."

From memory, the boy regretted damaging the branches of some of the trees with his nutting-hook while getting the nuts.  I don't suppose Mr Wordsworth really believed in a female spirit in the woods because he was a Christian (CofE I think) but there is a mystical tone to the poem towards the end.  (Don't all shout at me at once).  I've a few thoughts about I want to add about our practical interaction with trees (dead trees or parts thereof) in house building but I need to compose my thoughts properly for that so will return later.

I'm having a bit of a problem with my usual (on this computer which isn't the MacBook) browser Firefox, so I used Microsoft Edge browser instead.  The suggested page from Microsoft was something about "SilviaTerra" which is supposed to be something about AI (artificial intelligence) "Transforming how conservationists and landowners measure and monitor forests." - I haven't really examined it but I thought it was a bit of a coincidence that I'd been looking at the "trees" thread on Res Hist and something about forests popped up when I opened my computer browser.

Quote :

LadyinRetirement" I can't help about the churchyard yews, sorry MM.

I was thinking of a poem by William Wordsworth that I studied for A level English Literature:

"Nutting" by William Wordsworth (which I've copied from "Poetry Foundation" website - which I think is okay as it's Wordsworth's copyright not the Foundation's, though I imagine it's out of copyright by now.
.....

Nice poem.
Wordsworth seems to be a poet involved in the relationship with nature.
He is the only poet I know from English literature.
I remember a poem about daffodils
It is I think very well known but it only refers to flowers.

Here is a nice passage of Victor Hugo on a tree used as a parable of love. .

“Love is like a tree: it grows by itself, roots itself deeply in our being and continues to flourish over a heart in ruin. The inexplicable fact is that the blinder it is, the more tenacious it is. It is never stronger than when it is completely unreasonable.”

― Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame

and this one too from the website poetica.fr
https://www.poetica.fr/poeme-889/victor-hugo-aux-arbres/

To the trees

Trees of the forest, you know my soul!
At the whim of the envious, the crowd praises and blames;
You know me, you! - you've seen me many times,
Alone in your depths, looking and dreaming.
You know, the stone where a beetle runs,
A humble drop of water from flower to flower fallen,
A cloud, a bird, keeps me busy for a whole day.
Contemplation fills my heart with love.
You've seen me a hundred times in the dark valley,
With these words that the mind says to nature,
Question your exciting shoots low,
And with the same look continue at the same time,
Thoughtful, forehead down, eye in the deep grass,
The study of an atom and the study of the world.
Attentive to your noises, which all speak a little bit,
Trees, you saw me flee the man and seek God!
Leaves that twitch at the tips of the branches,
Nests whose wind in the distance sows white feathers,
Clear, green valleys, dark and soft deserts,
You know I'm calm and pure like you.
As in heaven your perfumes, my worship of God springs forth,
And I am full of oblivion like you of silence!
The hatred on my name spreads its gall in vain;
Always, - I attest to you, O beloved woods of heaven! –
I have driven away from myself all bitter thoughts,
And my heart is as corny as my mother did!

Trees of these great woods that always shiver,
I love you, and you, ivy on the doorstep of other deaf people,
Vessels where we intend to filter the living sources,
Let's bushes that the birds loot, happy guests!
When I am among you, trees of these great woods,
In everything that surrounds me and hides me at the same time,
In your solitude where I enter into myself,
I feel someone great who listens to me and loves me!
Also, sacred coppice where God Himself appears,
Religious trees, oaks, mosses, forest,
Forest! It's in your shadow and in your mystery,
It's under your august and lonely branch,
That I want to shelter my ignored tomb,
And that I want to sleep when I fall asleep.


- Victor Hugo

Kind regards,
Abelard

Meles meles wrote:

In England of course (and also Normandie) it is the common yew (Taxus baccata) which has a close association with churches, again often originally being associated with pre-Christian religious practices (although I doubt many existing yew trees in churchyards are that old despite yews being capable of living for a couple of thousand years or so). Being a very long-lived but not generally a very common tree (in England it now usually grows naturally only on exposed chalk or limestone), I believe the presence of a solitary mature yew tree is sometimes all that marks some English villages that were abandoned following the Black Death of the 14th century.

Yew trees are very elusive in the written record. The poet Thomas Gray does mention a yew in the churchyard in his famous Elegy written in the 1750s but then again he also mentions elms too. Another 18th century writer, James Woodforde in his extensive Diary of a Country Parson doesn't mention yew trees once despite his diary spanning 44 years from 1758 to 1802. And he certainly had an interest in gardening as he mentions pruning apple trees etc. This is odd in that I know that one of his residences, the Vicarage at Castle Cary in Somerset, has a venerable old yew tree in its grounds adjacent to All Saints Church in the town.

A spectacular avenue of yews can be found at Aberglasney near Court Henry in Carmarthenshire in South Wales:



Spooky!

Vizzer and MM, more prosaic and to the actuality. I had in the cold (8 degrees C°) with a small handspray to protect all my Taxus Baccata, with the same product as the year before. The partner was that afraid as we saw already Taxus contaminated at 5 km from here. And she demanded that I did it first of all this evening...
We discussed it last year also on this board...
Kind regards from Paul.

A half-timbered house (this one in Germany)[or should this be more properly called a timber-framed house].  We have them in England but they tend to be historical houses (survivors from medieval times or thereabouts).  Though I suppose the Globe Theatre (the modern one) in London was built in the old-fashioned style.  Of course, most houses are timber framed, it's just that nowadays (in the UK anyway) we usually can't see the timbers.  I can't remember what kind of joist it was - but one type of wooden component of a house used to be used as a line-prop in the 1950s (it was in my neck of the woods anyhow).

I've never worked out the art of inserting a picture so will provide a link.  The picture of the yew tree avenue shown by Vizzer reminded me of the dark hedges in Northern Ireland (used as a location in episode 2, season 2 of "Game of Thrones").  Unfortunately some of the trees were uprooted in Storm Gertrude though I think some of them are still standing.  http://ccght.org/darkhedges/

The arbutus tree
It is a tree 5 to 15 meters high.

Its toothed-edged leaves, about ten centimeter long, are persistent oval, dark green shiny above and pale green below. They are rich in tannins.
The greenish-white flowers, in the shape of white bells, hang in clusters and appear in September-October.

The fruit
It is called arbutus (or Chinese strawberry), orange-red at maturity, is a fleshy, spherical, rough-skinned berry covered with small conical tips. It is an edible fruit, without particularly pronounced taste, which is ripe in winter.  The flesh is soft, slightly floury, sour and sweet, and contains many small seeds. The fruit takes a year to mature.


There are many arbutus trees in the south of France and especially on the Mediterranean coast, in Corsica and in the South Atlantic, In Spain.
The coat of arms of Madrid


The banzai  arbutus tree


Fruit consumption
The fruit can be consumed raw, used to make jams and pastries, or fermented to produce an alcoholic beverage.
They are appreciated in Spain where they are used in the composition of some cakes.

Of medical interest
Red-brown bark is diuretic. In a decoction, its root is used against hypertension. It is attributed anti-inflammatory properties, it is also effective against rheumatism.
The arbutus tree also attracts the attention of many researchers around the world, mainly for its nutritional and medicinal values. The vitamin C concentration of its fruits is 30 times higher than that of orange, 25 times that of strawberry and 5 times that of kiwi.

In Europe and Asia, arbutus oil preparations are used in hospitals to treat burns, wounds and other skin complications. About ten drugs have been designed from oils. Arbutus is used for the treatment and prevention of cardiovascular diseases such as high blood pressure and coronary heart disease.


Kind regards,
Abelard

I think we have this tree in our present garden (though as you may have seen we are only in this house for another day or so). We have something we call a strawberry tree, and my son has picked the berries on it, though I thought they looked more like ordinary strawberries than the ones pictured, though it is a while since I have seen the fruit.

Caro, good luck with your moving house.  We had a chat (virtually) about arbutus/ (arbutuses/arbuti?) strawberry trees on (I think) the community thread a few months ago.  Somebody from the French conversation group I go to had brought in copies of a leaflet about walks local to where he goes on holiday in France (near Calmette I think) and there was mention of strawberry trees in the leaflet, only in French.  I think MM has one in his garden - so you have that in common with MM - for the next day anyhow.

A different version of the song "My Love's an Arbutus" to the one I linked before.  We used to sing this in primary school.  

I know not everybody clicks on links but I am linking the words of "My Love's an Arbutus" - they are at the bottom of the blog post linked.  The reason for linking and not posting is that I am not certain if the words are in the public domain.  www.fosterhillroadcemetery.co.uk/my-loves-an-arbutus

Thanks for that link LiR. Food for thought.

Years ago Mrs V and I were holidaying in the west of Ireland and stopped off on the shore of Lough Gill in County Sligo to look across at the lake isle of Innisfree (made famous by William Butler Yeats' poem). Nearby I seem to recall seeing what looked like strawberry trees but thinking that they couldn't be because it was too far north. But now it seems that they quite possibly were.

Thinking of songs about trees, another one we learned at school was "The Ash Grove".  There are a few versions - I chose this clip by a singer called Laura Wright because she has a lovely quality to her voice (though I couldn't distinguish the individual words).  From what I can glean on the internet (which I know isn't  perfect) it seems to be based on a Welsh air and there is no one official set of English words.  www.songfacts.com/facts/traditional/the-ash-grove though all versions seem to embody a mood of sadness remembering times past and departed friends.

I'm fairly sure that the ash tree was equated to the mythical Yggdrasil (mentioned above) and wasn't Yggdrasil known as the "tree of life"? The ash tree was certainly involved in all aspects of rural life: its foliage is readily edible by livestock and indeed in extremis by humans; and it can be coppiced and regrows quickly to produce a constant supply of firewood (it will even burn 'green' ie freshly cut). When burned it makes a lot of clean ash, "ash makes lots of ash" is an old English saying, and excessive ash (ie the residue from a wood fire) far from being a nuisance was of great benefit as it was used to make lye. Before industrially made detergents and alkalis, lye was very important as a degreasant and as a mordant in wool dyeing, or just as a household cleaning agent. Coppiced ash trees also produced long straight poles, whether for use as pea-sticks, bean-poles or more substantial fence posts, and the wood itself is very strong, tough and resistant to splitting when bent, and so it is is good for making the handles of hammers, axes, spades, spears and ploughs. It can also be easily split along the length, at least when green, and then 'woven' to make hurdles or the walls in 'wattle-and-daub' buildings.

So while oak was used to build great ships and grand cathedrals, the more humble ash was equally vital at a more domestic level for the regular running of society. But coppiced and then made into charcoal it was, along with hazel, the fuel that first fired the English industrial revolution, before it was replaced by coal.

MM, that's an interesting summary and I remember our discussion of last year from Vizzer about for instance the Buxus diseases and also the ash tree. I mentioned then the "esdoorn" as used in handles of shovels. I put even a photo of a such a shovel and some comments about it...
And now by looking to the etymology
https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/esdoorn
ash-thorn
that it is a "maple" (is that the "maple" from the Canadian dollar?) and even another tree than the ash tree...
Then sought for the difference between "es" (ash tree) and "esdoorn" (maple)
http://www.differencebetween.info/difference-between-maple-and-ash


But now saw that "maple" is mostly used as furniture in a Dutch language site, but also for shovel handles   What then the difference is in ash tree handles and maple tree handles...? Perhaps in flexibility (spelling? pliability?)

Kind regards form Paul.

Their woods might have similar properties (as does that of the North American hickory tree - also used for similar purposes) but botanically ash and maple trees are not at all closely related and as living trees they can readily be told apart: compare Viz's avatar of an ash leaf with the maple leaf on the Canadian flag. Incidentally the Canadian maple leaf symbol does not represent any specific type of maple but is just a generic stylized maple-like shape. I suspect most maple used in the European furniture business, if indeed it is true maple, is common sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus). Sycamore certainly was used extensively for furniture in Britain: when my secondary school got rid of all the old-style wooden desks in the 1970s, all the broken up desks, benches, work tables and chairs kept the school woodwork shop supplied with timber - which was nearly all sycamore - for many years (I still have a bow-saw entirely made from this recycled sycamore, including the turned handles, which I made in about 1974).

Sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus):


Sycamore spreads easily and grows quickly so that is often considered a nuisance: it is usually sycamores growing extensively alongside railway lines that are responsible for "the wrong type of leaves" that cause the southern British rail network to skid to a halt every Autumn. The name sycamore probably derives from a case of mistaken identity. 'Sycomore' is properly a Middle Eastern species of fig (Ficus sycomorus) celebrated as a shade-tree in the Bible. The common sycamore, no mean shader itself, may have been popularly believed to be the same species when it arrived in medieval Britain (probably naturally as it had been speading gradually outwards from its original Central European home).

Britain's native maple is the field maple (Acer campestris) which I don't think has ever been particularly common, and so its wood was usually reserved for high-quality carved or turned work, such as in musical instruments or especially the medieval drinking bowls called 'mazers'. The word mazer, which possibly shares its etymology with that of the disease 'measles' originally referred to the pathalogical bosses which grow on some trees (not just maples) and which were prized for making turned bowls because of the intricate patterning and very dense nature of the 'diseased' wood. Although such bosses occur on several species of tree, the name 'mazer' has come to be specifically associated with the maple-tree.

A turned maple-wood mazer from around 1380:

Thank you very much MM for this very detailed explanation about the maple...and even with personal anecdotes as:
"(I still have a bow-saw entirely made from this recycled sycamore, including the turned handles, which I made in about 1974)." I see it for me...

Kind regards from Paul.

I've been reading the Wikipedia article on stave churches (a stave church having featured in the answer to one of Vizzer's "Phoenix and Ashes" quiz).  They seem interesting and apparently all the surviving ones (bar two are in Norway.  Maybe to nordmann who lives in Norway it's a case of "Oh look, just another stave church over there" - but I'm being naughty really because I don't know nordmann's thoughts.  One of the survivors outside Norway apparently is in Poland at Karpacz and that church was originally Norwegian and was transferred in 1842 (and then Karpacz was German and known as Krummih¨ubel [I thought my alternate keyboard would put the umlaut above the appropriate u there but no luck]).  Anyway, does anyone know if there was a tree of choice for building a stave church?  Or was it just a case of using what was growing in the locality?

Tomorrow is May Day when the true hawthorn - May tree - bursts into blossom. I have one - not a hedge shrub and its fronds will be all white tomorrow.

Rituals abound all over Britain for this special day. I was the local May Queen for several years as a child - being blue eyed blond, beautiful - and possibly also for being the only girl for half a mile in any direction. Three unwed daughters of the neighbours where all this happened went off before dawn, through the water meadows to the only proper May tree in the area. They cut long boughs and it is rumoured frolicked around the tree - so the local poachers told my mother who had asked for detail. "I jess sed we gew an wotch evry yer," was all Sid had to say on that one. Kitted out in white I had to sit on a flower decked stool in the garden with a court of several people who took it all very seriously. I wore a white dress and sheets and lace curtains were draped about The main show was the procession of the 3 unwed girls bearing fronds of May with ribbons and bunches of primroses and such tied onto lengths of string to twirl about. They sang a chant too of some sort. The dew-wet crown was carried by the son of one of the girls, David, my best friend - and  he said much more important than I was as he was crown bearer. The great grandma of that lot did the crowning. And it was not too be worn long, either because May blossom stinks of putrification and why it brings bad luck indoors. This happened after school and the three women had had a rest after the early morning exertions. I told my mother of it at tea the first time, and all she said was, 'I hope you kept your vest on and your hair's all wet.'
 I recall David once saying with glee that the May Queen was not expected to live out the year. Perhaps that's why there were no other contenders. The custom stopped when the old gran died.

Ah yes the May-tree or hawthorn ...

"N'er cast a clout ere May is out", almost certainly refers to the opening of the flowers rather than the end of the month, particularly as the saying seems to predate the change from the Julian to the Gregorian calender, which in Britain occurred in 1752 and led to the "loss" of eleven days ... ie the 1st May 1753 was just 354 days after 1st May 1752, but the country's May-trees didn't realise that. (After the calender change in 1752 hawthorn trees were subject of widespread superstitious attention to see if they would bloom according to the old or new calender). There's certainly a lot of superstition concerning hawthorns, perhaps most widely being about the dire consequences of bringing the flowers into the house. Isolated hawthons, which are often little more than modest bushes and as a species is not particularly long-lived, are apparently the most frequent trees mentioned in Anglo-Saxon boundary charters. In Ireland hawthorns, especially lone, isolated ones, are commonly associated with faeries, and so cutting them down is likely to incur their wrath.

And of course there's the famous Glastionbury thorn supposedly sprouted from the staff of Joseph of Arimathea after he thrust it into the ground while visiting Glastonbury in the 1st century AD, or, in a variant of the legend, from a fragment of Christ's Crown of Thorns, carried to Britain by Joseph. The tree is first mentioned in an anonymous poem, 'Here beginneth the lyfe of Joseph of Armathia' [sic]. The poem describes three thorn trees growing on Weary-All Hill, just south of Glastonbury, which

Do burge and bere greene leaves at Christmas
As freshe as other in May when ye nightingale
Wrestes out her notes musycall as pure glas.

Incidentally it is quite possible that the tree was brought from the Middle East at some time as there are Mediterranean populations of common hawthorn that do put out blooms in early winter and indeed some that flower twice.

During the 16th and 17th centuries pieces of 'the' Glastonbury tree were repeatedly cut off, either as souveniers or cuttings to grow on. In one way this was fortunate as the Glastonbury tree received a more drastic and eventually fatal hacking from Puritans, who abhorred idolatry, especially of tress. But a cutting was soone established in its place, as were similar cuttings all over England. Thorns are not long-lived trees and so the Glastonbury thorn at Glastonbury has had to be replaced several times, most recently in 2010 when a 1951 replacement was cut down by vandals.

I'd heard of the superstition that it was unlucky to bring mayflower into the house from my late mother though I never knew the reasoning behind it.  I was never blonde enough or beautiful enough to be a may queen though!  Well I was never blonde full stop.

I always thought the "clout" not to be cast was a weighty garment.  It's been a mostly overcast mayday in my part of the midlands with intermittent rain so I'm still wearing fleece indoors (the modern polyester type - not Dollie the Sheep's coat).  I think some of the local hawthorns are in bloom but I'll look more attentively (have been typing most of today so not paid a lot of attention to the world outside).

Priscilla wrote:

Tomorrow is May Day when the true hawthorn - May tree - bursts into blossom. I have one - not a hedge shrub and its fronds will be all white tomorrow.

Rituals abound all over Britain for this special day. I was the local May Queen for several years as a child ....

Triceratops wrote:

Wed 01 May 2019, 11:54  
Ah yes the May-tree or hawthorn ...

"N'er cast a clout ere May is out", almost certainly refers to the opening of the flowers rather than the end of the month, particularly as the saying seems to predate the change from the Julian to the Gregorian calender, which in Britain occurred in 1752 and led to the "loss" of eleven days...

Dear all,
The origin of the lily of the valley on May 1st or the " Beauties of May " is distant and is expressed in many traditions, in which the mistletoe plant parasite of some trees sacred to the Celts has an important place.
Lily of the valley is called louzaouenn an hañv in Breton, literally summer herb.
credit,www.nhu.bzh



May 1st marked the feast of Beltaine: it marked the transition from the dark to the bright season, the resumption of hunting and war. This "rebirth" is linked to god Belenos (incarnation of light). According to the texts, druids lit fires to symbolically protect cattle from epidemics. This feast was therefore opposed to Samain - the ancestor of the Catholic feast of " All Saints " - which marked the return to darkness of god Lug. Traces of these practices remain on the night of Walpurgis, a Christianized pagan celebration: large fires were lit in Germany, Sweden or Central Europe.

Beltaine, the Feast of Renewal marked the transition from the dark season to the season of light, of agricultural work and rural activities. But also hunting and conquests, raids and wars.
Small branches of sacred trees are burned there:

LadyinRetirement wrote:

Wed 01 May 2019, 18:39  
I'd heard of the superstition that it was unlucky to bring mayflower into the house from my late mother though I never knew the reasoning behind it....

The origin of this tradition, dear LadyinRetirement, could be the fear of provoking and thus attracting the spirits of the night by offering them something to move.
In Lorraine and Lower Alsace, we speak of "night of the witches" (Hexennacht). The children patrolled in the evening - until twenty years ago - to steal all the objects found in the gardens and gather them in the centre of the village, suggesting a supernatural intervention. Today, the main trace of these celebrations is the May Tree - the Maibaum - particularly present in southern Germany. In the villages of Bavaria, Swabia or the Rhineland, tradition has it that a wooden mast is erected with a weather vane or coats of arms. One of the attractions of the festival is to steal the tree of the neighbouring village at night.

Do not hang anything on your doorstep or you could attract them and the misfortune on your family.


Other nearby regions had similar traditions.
The tradition of the "branches de mai" is known in the Champagne region.
Young people would cut down young trees and hang them at night at the doors or fences of houses where girls lived "to be married". They were offered drinks. (sometimes beyond reasonable). It was also customary for them to move anything that could shift: garden furniture, agricultural or gardening equipment and even shutters or gutters. On the eve of May 1st, we knew that nothing should be left lying around at the risk of finding our property at the other end of the village.  Generally, eight days later, the girls, distinguished by their "May", offered an evening to the boys. We called it the "return of the May".


Kind regards,
Abelard

A propos of your mention of lily-of-the-valley, Abelard, I'm surprised you didn't also relate the tale of the French Dauphin, the future Charles IX, who popularised the giving of small posies of the flowers to friends and family on 1st May when he supposedly presented lily-of-the-valley/lys-de-vallée/muguet to all the ladies at court on 1st May 1561 ... and then for many years after.

Its current association with Workers Day however really only goes back to the early years of the 20th century when the May Day holiday was only just becoming enshrined in law. Some company owners, principally those of sweatshops in the garments trade based in Paris, having accepted the requirement for a mandatory day’s paid holiday, started to build upon this by giving each worker (which in their businesses were mostly women and child labourers) – a small posy of muguet as a symbolic gift. Even nowadays the sale of muguet on this one day is exempt from all tax, hence the numerous impromptu flower stalls at the side of roads throughout France. In France the 1st May, as la Fête de Travail, is a national holiday – and actually its the only national holiday enshrined in law as the right of every citizen (exceptions made of course for the emergency services and those that work in hospitals, air traffic control, and nuclear power plants etc). 

I have lily-of-the-valley growing in the garden, but it's been so chilly here of late that they are still not yet not flowering.

Meles meles wrote:

A propos of your mention of lily-of-the-valley, Abelard, I'm surprised you didn't also relate the tale of the French Dauphin, the future Charles IX, who popularised the giving of small posies of the flowers to friends and family on 1st May when he supposedly presented lily-of-the-valley/lys-de-vallée/muguet to all the ladies at court on 1st May 1561 ... and then for many years after....
I have lily-of-the-valley growing in the garden, but it's been so chilly here of late that they are still not yet not flowering.

Dear Meles meles,
Well, you mentioned it, it's now done.
About lily of the valley some details:
Family: Liliaceae
Origin: Northern Hemisphere undergrowth
Flowering time: April, May
Flower colour: white, pink
Type of plant: flower
Vegetation type: perennial rhizomatous
Type of foliage: deciduous
Height: 30 cm

A plant not as innocent as it looks
Despite its pleasant appearance, it is a very toxic plant: a steroid called convallarine has effects similar to those of digitalis. Its red berries, tempting for children, present a particularly high risk, but simply chewing a sprig of lily of the valley can cause serious digestive and heart problems.

Kind regards,
Abelard

I'm enjoying the scent of a lilac bush in my garden - I may bring some cuttings into the house (I don't think there's any rule against having lilac in the house).  I don't know how long ago people decided it might be nice to have lilacs in their gardens but I suppose that as with any bush with sweet-smelling blooms it goes back to when...people realised they had sweet-smelling blooms.

Lilac in flower - especially on a splendid spring evening like today, with the fading sun slanting through the trees and the blackbirds, and then later the nightingales, giving their all fit to burst - always makes me think of 'A Man for all Seasons' and the scene when Henry 'unexpectedly' calls upon Thomas More; "No ceremony, Thomas, just happened to be on the river. Look, mud!":


What a grand entrance! But then, after the pleasantries ...

Henry: "What an evening, a man could fight a lion, eh?"
More: "Some men could your Grace".
H: "Thomas, touching this matter of my divorce, have you thought of it since we last spoke?"
M: "Of little else."
H: "And do you see your way clear to me?"
M: "That you should put away Queen Catherine, sire? Oh alas as I think of it, I see so clearly that I can not come with your Grace, that my endeavour is not to think of it at all."
H: "THEN YOU HAVEN'T THOUGHT ENOUGH!!! ... Hmm, Lilac, we have them at Hampton. Not so fine as this though."

A great scene ... but unfortunately for the lilac it was only introduced to western Europe, outside of its native Balkans, in about 1560 (via cuttings obtained by the Holy Roman Empire's ambassador to the Ottoman court), while the first reference to them in England is in the garden of the herbalist John Gerard in 1597. And I don't think the all-white cultivar, depicted in the film, existed before the 19th century.

MM, did look two times for the lilac in the youtube and had to search for the whole film before I understood that you were speaking about  a later scene and thanks for the film. I have never seen it. Just after all these years still need subtitles to follow it completely. But their English is well pronounced.
https://gloria.tv/video/VkksZHPiQaSy1REpbKPCt47rU
And I saw in the Sixties the stage play in the theater of Bruges...in English with British players...and no costumes only "stylized?" clothes...it is the dialogue which counts...and I didn't understand English in that time as I understand it now...

Have a lot of questions about lilac trees and "seringen" (Dutch) in my garden, but as I perhaps will add pictures I ask it in an addendum...

Kind regards from Paul.

Well spotted Meles. I wasn't aware of that anomaly in the film.

The fabulous screenplay, insightful direction, sublime photography and superb acting have rightfully earned A Man For All Seasons its place as one of the masterpieces of British cinema. Such was its impact that for 30 years after the film's release in 1966, Thomas More became not just a catholic saint but also a 20th century secular saint too. During that same period Thomas Cromwell was similarly demonised as being the villain of the piece. Only very slowly, however, over the last 20 years has the pendulum begun to swing back the other way somewhat.

Addendum.

MM,Abelard and LiR,

I am really a nil at names of plants in my garden. We just buy them because we find them nice. I asked my partner if she knew what plant it was in the border of our garden. It all started with LiR's lilac. Looked to the lilac tree and found similarities with our "sering"...
https://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sering
OOPS and now I see that "sering" is "lilac" in English


But now an even more difficult question. We bought the plant because we had received some present "vouchers? as present for a dinner given by me. And I remember we had to pay more for that plant in flower than the amount in vouchers. I planted it in the border and each year it produces such bunch of white flowers in the shape as the lilac, therefore I think it is a lilac, but I have to wait for the flowering to check.
And the odd thing in the front garden at the house opposite us, they have such plant as ours but with ball shape bunches of white flowers. Does there exist lilacs with such ball shape bunches?
As this one:


Kind regards from Paul.

That picture certainly isn't lilac - completely wrong leaves for one thing (lilac leaves are soft, heart-shaped and deciduous while those look tough, oval-shaped with a toothed edge, and evergreen). It looks like it might perhaps be a white/pale-blue variety of Ceanothus. Although commonly called American or Californian lilac, ceanothus is completely unrelated to Old World lilac, Syringa sp. Lilac/Syringa should be in full flower now (as LiR's above post says) - Ceanothus usually flowers around June.

There again if the plant you're thinking of is flowering now and is superficially similar to lilac but with fist-sized balls of small white flowers, it may well be a 'snowball bush' or 'boules de neige', which is a cultivar of the wild plant known as the guelder rose (Vibernum opulus) although it isn't a true rose as it's a type of vibernum (or viorne in French).

Vibernum opulus, the variety called 'boules de neige':


Or there's another very similar and closely-related plant, Vibernum plicatum (originally from the far East) which has similar ball- or flat saucer-like masses of white flowers, depending on the cultivar, and which is also in flower now (many other vibernum species flower in late winter/very early spring):

Vibernum plicatum - this is a cultivated form with dense ball-like flowers, known as the 'Japanese snowball bush':


... or another variety of Vibernum plicatum but with a more 'wild-type' flower head, this one is called 'summer snowflake':


Hope that helps, Paul. I'm no expert but am just thinking of the plants I have growing in my own garden.

Meles meles wrote:

Lilac in flower - especially on a splendid spring evening like today, with the fading sun slanting through the trees and the blackbirds, and then later the nightingales, giving their all fit to burst - always makes me think of 'A Man for all Seasons' and the scene when Henry 'unexpectedly' calls upon Thomas More; "No ceremony, Thomas, just happened to be on the river. Look, mud!":


What a grand entrance! But then, after the pleasantries ...

Henry: "What an evening, a man could fight a lion, eh?"
More: "Some men could your Grace".
H: "Thomas, touching this matter of my divorce, have you thought of it since we last spoke?"
M: "Of little else."
H: "And do you see your way clear to me?"
M: "That you should put away Queen Catherine, sire? Oh alas as I think of it, I see so clearly that I can not come with your Grace, that my endeavour is not to think of it at all."
H: "THEN YOU HAVEN'T THOUGHT ENOUGH!!! ... Hmm, Lilac, we have them at Hampton. Not so fine as this though."

A great scene ... but unfortunately for the lilac it was only introduced to western Europe, outside of its native Balkans, in about 1560 (via cuttings obtained by the Holy Roman Empire's ambassador to the Ottoman court), while the first reference to them in England is in the garden of the herbalist John Gerard in 1597. And I don't think the all-white cultivar, depicted in the film, existed before the 19th century.

Superb extract from the movie and a lovely bit of historical sleuthing there, MM - I am very envious that I did not spot the lilac error. But I suppose we should forgive Fred Zinnemann his faux pas as he was - quite accurately - letting Henry display his nasty narcissicism in this seemingly trivial incident with the lilac spray (not, alas, shown in your clip). Narcissists can't stand it when you show them up - revealing to the world their inadequacies - be they intellectual , theological or horticultural. Never try to better a narcissist - they'll have you on toast for breakfast if you do. And what a vandal Henry was - ripping off the branch of  More's lovely lilac blooms like that: if anyone did that to my lilac (now just coming into flower) I'd thump them - narcissists or not. But then, I'm an idiot - like More. Cromwell would have given Henry a cutting.