Outside my study window is a catalpa tree. It is tall and twisted, a survivor of a lightning strike long ago that left a scarred branch turned in on itself before sprouting new greenery.
Every spring this tree blooms, frilly white blossoms rising above the leaves, tall panicles of blooms like the towers of Khmerian architecture. The flowers have a sweet scent that is barely there. It catches me unaware on breezy days, sudden and unfamiliar, so light that it leaves me certain that lilacs and honeysuckle are merely pushy.
I have wanted to catch a photo of this tree in bloom for you, but it lasts only a few days, and I always seem to miss my chance. This year I was sure I would get the photo just in time, but a thunderstorm blew through, and the next day the blossoms were on the ground, covering the driveway, where they rotted into a brown paste that the rain washed away the next week.
Once, people planted Catalpas all over North America. The tree will grow almost anywhere, and it grows quickly. It was affordable and hardy and tall and inexpensive, a boon to working class families longing for a little green. It was called Catalpa, Indian Bean or Cigar tree.
They were once planted for their wood - a fence post made from a catalpa and set in the ground will grow harder over the years rather than softly rotting away. They are still desirable wood for carvers, but nowadays the wood is hard to find.
I have fallen in love with this beautiful, useful tree and its enormous leaves, smooth and heart-shaped, shady and perfect.
But trees have fashions just like every thing else, and catalpas have fallen out of favor. Catalpas are too inconvenient for the modern homeowner. Their beauty comes at the price of mess and disorder, and treelovers turn their noses up at them.
Catalpas make long bean pods, sometimes 18 inches long. The pods dry and fall and litter the lawn, looking like snakes. At our house, my daughter chooses the straightest to be her playtime swords, racing around the yard, slaying imaginary dragons. When we build campfires, the dried, slightly oily pods make great kindling. The fallen pods seem just one more way to appreciate this lovely old grandmother of a tree.
But to consumers looking for a tree to plant, this tree is sloppy, unnecessary and extra work.
I can’t help but take it personally.
15 responses so far ↓
1 Julie // Jun 18, 2008 at 7:49 am
Ooooh, thanks for expanding my vocabulary again. Panicle: “a compound raceme, a loose, much-branched indeterminate inflorescence with pedicellate flowers (and fruit) attached along the secondary branches (in other words, a branched cluster of flowers in which the branches are racemes).”
2 JMC // Jun 18, 2008 at 8:06 am
We have a large catalpa in our backyard. My husband loves it. When we found a small one growing by the fence, he transplanted it into the backyard as well. So we now have two. The mess is kind of a pain, but the kids do love playing with the pods, so it’s a trade-off.
3 Happy Geek // Jun 18, 2008 at 9:11 am
I remember these from our years in the States. They ARE beautiful. Much like children the finished product makes the mess seem trivial.
LOVE your new header. It’s perfect.
4 Sue // Jun 18, 2008 at 10:01 am
It’s beautiful.
5 Elle // Jun 18, 2008 at 10:04 am
My husband is a forester and would certainly join you in this ode to the catalpa tree. He believes they are one of God’s greatest tree creations. Enjoy it a long time.
6 NOBLE PIG // Jun 18, 2008 at 10:37 am
What a beautiful tree, glad you get to enjoy it.
7 andrea_jennine // Jun 18, 2008 at 10:51 am
I have to say, my only experience with catalpa trees did not instill me with any fondness for them. They line the walkways of the college I attended, and when those pods fell on the sidewalk and were subsequently trampled by thousands of feet - well, they emit a rank odor. But maybe one tree in a yard trampled by 3 little girl feet doesn’t create such a stink?
8 Pieces // Jun 18, 2008 at 11:05 am
I have never seen one of those trees and your post makes me want one. It is strange how trees and shrubs fall out of favor.
9 Pieces // Jun 18, 2008 at 11:06 am
Oh, and I love the changes on your blog–the banner photos are enchanting.
10 Jen // Jun 18, 2008 at 11:25 am
I live in an older part of my town, and there are several of these in my neighborhood. I never knew what those trees with the weird pod things were, and now, thanks to you, I do. Blogging–it’s fun AND educational
11 Tonggu Momma // Jun 18, 2008 at 12:15 pm
Like a few other commenters, your post reminded me of children — messy, but beautiful and oh-so-worth-it. Enjoy your tree!!!
12 bon // Jun 18, 2008 at 1:41 pm
i’d never heard of the tree, but it’s lovely.
13 Robbin // Jun 18, 2008 at 5:37 pm
Oh my gosh! I had a flash of homesickness. These grew everywhere when I was a child. I remember playing with the bean pods, just like your daughter.
Oh, I miss them.
14 Sis // Jun 18, 2008 at 8:36 pm
Beautifully written- as always. The picture painted, however, was a bit tarnished by the fact that I have actually seen your lawn. The tree isn’t worth it.
15 Dewayne // Aug 8, 2008 at 11:19 am
THEY ARE A BEAUTIFUL TREE, OFTEN FOUND ON THE OLDER HOMESTEADS. THE FARM I LIVE ON DIDN’T HAVE A CATALPA TREE, BUT I FOUND ONE A COUPLE MILES AWAY. SO I SNAGED A RIPE BEAN POD AND PLANTED SOME SEEDS. TWENTY YEARS LATER I NOW HAVE A BEAUTIFUL ROW OF EIGHTEEN 25 FOOT TALL TREES GRACEING THE ROAD SIDE! THEIR BEAUTFUL, AND I WOULDN’T TRADE THEM FOR ANYTHING!
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