If you've got a squawbush, make lemonade

There! I've said it. In case you wondered, the term squawbush is currently not PC. You will not see the term in any modern botanical key, though when we first came to these parts, it was the common name and I have several wildflower handbooks that use the word. My complaint is that in expunging the word from the common vocabulary, a link to the past is deliberately obliterated and only the annointed are allowed to make a connection between great grandma's healing formula using the forbidden word and today's three-leaf sumac. Not good.

Of course, I never knew why the shrub sported that unfortunate moniker in the first place. The term lemonade bush certainly makes a lot more sense: put one of those berries on your tongue as soon as it ripens to red; you'll get a sour zap you'll long remember. In fact, the berries have been used for many years to make a lemonade-like beverage.

The plant is indeed a member of the sumac family, home also to our renowned poison trio -- ivy, oak, & sumac -- known by their three-leafed habit, but also their white berries. Apparently the red-berried lot are ok; if you want to make a sumac wine, you must use the staghorn sumac.

Here you can easily see the three-leaf groups, as well as the berries (above and below, in close-up). The berries are covered with fine hairs. In my experience, the berries quickly lose their flavor soon after they have ripened; much of the juice is on the outside of the fruit, amongst those hairs, which is understandable once you realize that the interior consists almost entirely of a big woody seed. The seed is flavored by tannin. Ugh.

Even if you're not inclined to make lemonade from the three-leaf sumac, there's another good reason to have a bush or two in your yard: this one of a small handful of Arizona native plants that turn a reliable red in the fall.

BTW, if I ruled the universe and found it necessary to drop a word from the vocabulary because it offended some groups, I would ease it out gently, so as not to loose continuity with a past in which people were not as delicate in their language. For example, the popular botanical keys might say, once called xxx, but now known as www or now preferably called www.

Linkages: It turned out that there was an antique/collectible auto show on the Square Saturday which was not announced in the paper, else I would have been there with my trusty Canon. Fortunately, Prescott eNews posted a slew of pictures from that event and the Folk Arts Fair at Sharlot Hall. (Sorry -- it was somewhat hot so I stayed home and produced a letter to my Alaska granddotter who has just clicked with her reading. All about the pelicans I saw in Louisiana.) Also: if you're into hummers (the bird kind), you should take a look at the Magnificant Hummingbird (yes, that's the critter's proper name), which sometimes makes it up to southernmost Arizona.

Trees in Bloom

It is close to the end of the blooming season for our deciduous trees; in fact, the lilacs are about to open big time. Therefore, I'm getting my blossoming tree pictures out in public while the season is still on.

I'm not really sure which brand of tree this is; common enough that it might be an ash. Hoping that a reader may be able to help me out. Since this is a tree matter, I suspect it should be a male reader. Funny. It's been my experience that IDing flowers is a girl thing, while expertise in trees tends to be a guy thing.

Of course, being a civilized little city, Prescott is peopled with folks who have planted many, many ornamental fruit trees with beautiful spring blossoms and no intentions of producing fruit. The flowers above are an exception; I caught these up the hill at the Shrine of St. Joseph. Possibly a peach volunteer from a visitor's lunch. I have a little peach tree that came up from a seed I tossed; it has rewarded me with one peach.

OK, I'm not quite sure just which of the ornamentals this cluster of buds represents. Anyone out there more expert with a suggestion? Mighty pretty in any event.

Once the red-purple leaves have popped, the flowering plum is especially spectacular.

This tree was a huge white presence along Park Avenue. Possibly a flowering pear, very popular in Prescott.

Seeds of the Siberian elm appear early in spring, lending a lovely green to the local scenery. Looking at all those seeds (below), you can understand why this import has turned into an unwelcome guest tree in much of the country. My neighbor has been fighting a losing battle against the Siberian elm.


These small, unpretentious flowers were on a heavily blooming, fragrant squaw bush (three-leaf sumac for the politically correct; lemonade bush for the old-fashioned.) A flock of early butterflies was sipping nectar as I took pictures, but none would hold still long enough for a portrait.

Don't know anything about this red beauty. Tain't local -- something from the nursery.

As is this popular ornamental bush.

And in conclusion, more Siberian elms, because they are simply very photogenic. And green.