A collection of photographs of Missouri trees and shrubs surrounding Rachel’s prairie, a one acre patch of ground with a pond.
Even though the focus of this journal is on a prairie, I have to concede that the life I witness on the prairie is framed by the trees and shrubs that surround it. While I often observe birds dancing over the grasses snatching insects and nabbing tiny seeds, they soon return to the limbs of a nearby tree. Ever since the prairie has been recovered, the nearby grove of oaks is alive with vireos and flycatchers, gnatcatchers and titmice. Often, as I sit beneath a maple tree, I will lean back in my chair and gaze at the limbs above, and be gifted by the presence of a small bird, wondering what that strange creature is beneath it.
So the two worlds have a symbiotic relationship.
Trees are posted in order of their flowering.
Serviceberry
It is amazing the things that you overlook in life. I grew up here and I was a “woodsy” sort and rather familiar with the plants around the pond. But somehow I failed to notice that my father had planted several serviceberry trees. But after returning from Alaska in 2023, I heard a lot about serviceberry and I really wanted to plant some along the edge of the prairie. Much to my surprise, I need not bother. The first bright white clusters of blooms in Spring are that of the serviceberry, or shadbush.
Dogwood
As a child, the “dogwood” was a unique tree. It was only while in college did not I learn that the aggravating shrubs that I had to wade through to go trout fishing in Canada were also “dogwoods.” So I must now qualify the Missouri tree as a “flowering” dogwood.
My memories reach deep with this tree, as deep as our 24 acre forest. For in early Spring they appear before most other trees, presenting their glorious white blooms. They are scattered throughout our forest and especially near the house. My guess is that someone, possibly my father, planted these trees near the edge of the yard. The birds did the rest.
Some of you may know the story of the flowers. They are sometimes referred to as the Easter flower because they emerge near Easter (I saw one today open up, just before Palm Sunday). The stamens in the center represent the crown of thorns, the four pedals the cross, and the ocre spots on the tip of the pedals the pierced hands and feet of Jesus.
Black Haw
My father planted hawthorns around the pond when I was very young. I remember getting poked by their thorns and wondering how it was that this tree that produced tiny white flowers was a State Flower while the dogwood, which had very large white flowers, was the State Tree. All that to say that the hawthorns must have perished years ago. Yet I keep looking for one.
Haws are not hawthorns. While their limbs can be somewhat pokey, they are mostly harmless. Their flowers are also much different from hawthorn. It was while searching for the hawthorns that I discovered a large population of haws surrounding the pond. First, it was the flowers. But then I learned to identify their fruit. Black haws produce black berries. A cousin, the possum haw, produces red berries.
Autumn Olive
Autumn Olive is one of my favorite “invasives.” It is amazing how this introduced shrub has multiplied. No doubt, it is a lot of work on the part of landowners to try to control the thing. But for my corner of the Earth, I have found it not only manageable, but useful.
The flower is one of the first to appear in the Spring, about the same time as the dogwood and the haw. It is scarcely noticeable because it is a tad greenish in color and can blend well with the leaves.
One thing I discovered about autumn olive was that it does not provide a hospitable environment for cattails. Cattails can be a major problem for small farm ponds. But one thing cattails do not is shade. Shrubs and trees that encroach the shore line tend to be free of cattails. I realized this when I cleared out two large autumn olive shrubs from along the pond, only to discover a shoreline free of the pesty cattails. So I decided to encourage the growth of autumn olive.
Another major benefit is the fruit. While naturalist are skeptical of the nutritional value of the fruit, birds do love it. It was several years ago that I read that the fruit was useless, but I observed considerable bird activity in the fall. Coupled with the propagation of the shrub from birds depositing their seeds everywhere, it was clear that birds liked the fruit.
Further research indicated that the fruit was edible for humans. So I harvested a batch last fall. Granted, the fruit is largely pit, but smashing the flesh in a colander produced this red pulp. Adding sugar and the skins of green apples, I produced one of the most amazing jams. A lot of work for a jar of the stuff, but well worth it. I extended the use of the jam by blending it with various pie fillings.
Burning Bush
Ah — another “invasive”. The concern is that this introduced shrub tends to spread beyond control. But it inhabits a center position on the pond dam. It is a singular plant, sharing space with a possum haw. It’s flower is quite modest in spring, hardly noticeable. The plant appears, at a casual glance, similar to the Japanese honeysuckle, so it can be easily overlooked for much of the summer. But then comes Fall and this shrub will just explode in rich, red folliage.
Sassafras
The roots of the sassafras tree are where we get the flavor of root beer. Originally called sassprorella, it was the licorice flavor of the root that provided the unique flavor for this beverage. Alas, it was discovered that sassafras roots were carcinogenic and it was substituted. Probably a good thing, because the tree is now all along Missouri’s roads and prairie borders.
Japanese Honeysuckle
Smells lovely. And it is terribly invasive. Yet if you have read my thoughts on Autumn Olive, you will appreciate my lack of anxiety over the plant. Yes, if I had unlimited time and energy (something hard to claim at the age of 70), I would eradicate this curse from the prairie and much of the forest. But I make due with selective cutting, usually as I am doing something else. I don’t make a crusade out of it.
Despite the doomsday claims I heard over the years from conservationists, the plant is not without some virtues. Alas, its berries are edible to birds and other creatures. Like the autumn olive, it was claimed that the invasive was either of no use to birds and animals, or was bad for their health. Birds don’t seem to mind. Deer like hiding behind it.
Poison Ivy
I moved up to Alaska in 2003 and the most distinct things we did not mind leaving behind was Missouri’s heat, chiggers, ticks, snakes and poison ivy. It is a rite of passage for anyone who has lived in Missouri and spent any amount of time outdoors to have a nasty encounter with poison ivy. Even though I am quite aware of the plant, I usually find myself with a boil or two emerging on my hand or wrist. Fortunately, I am not radically allergic to the sap.
As the designated yard keeper, I was assigned the task of keeping the poison ivy away from our yard (all six acres of it). We did not use chemicals around our house, so I would put on heavy gloves and pull them out of the ground or trim at ground level. Despite my caution, I seemed to pick up a rash.
But there was one vine that got my attention. It wound its way up the side of a huge white oak tree that grew beside the pond. It was so big! The leaves were massive. And it had these large white berries. I decided to keep this one.
60 years later, the tree and the vine still live!
© Copyright 2025 to Eric Niewoehner