ON THE SHADBUSH AND JUNEBERRY—and fish.

April 19, 2020 

  

I call them the “ghost trees” of April—their white flowered  branches grow in an irregular and loose pattern —seeking sun below the taller trees—and reach to only twenty feet or so.  In summer, they lie hidden and all but forgotten  in the thick greenery.  One knows of them only if one cruises in the forest of the heady early days of spring.  It’s on these days in late April.  they appear like winter’s ghosts-white wisps of drifting fog  on wooded hillsides and bottom lands among the leafless, dark and tangles branches outlined against the sky.  Their  snow-like flowers stand in contrast to the pervasive dull brown of brush and tree.  

These “ghost trees” are the  Shadbush of North America (Amelanchier canadensis)   The common name, Shadbush is derived from the fact that the tree’s flowering period coincides with the seasonal run of the shad a fish like the salmon which lives much of its life in the ocean and swims up rivers all along the east coast to breed.  The association of the blooming  Shadbush and the run up river of the Shad was important to the early colonist and Native Americans both.  Both were important food sources for the Native Americans gathering foods in the forest who would mentally record the location of the blooming Shadbush so as to know just where to revisit the site in June when the trees would be inconspicuous but the berries would have ripened.  And that coincidence of timing must have been one reason for the common name used by our early colonists—who also exploited both the fish and the berries of this tree.   The tree has a native range from Canada all through the eastern half of  North America from Main to Alabama. And as one might expect with a species with such a diverse and wide range of occurrence, many different folk applied names that stuck so it is called: Shadbush, Serviceberry, Bilberry, and Juneberry and all suggest its usefulness.  

By early May—in our woods— the white petals fall and drift with the breezes like a remarkably late woodland snow fall.  A special sight for only those who tramp the woods can enjoy.  The local bees, wasps and other insects have helped pollinate the flowers and by June the fruit—a tiny reproduction of an apple (the tree is a member of the Apple Family (Rosacea) reaching the size of a good sized blueberry forms where the flowers had bloomed.  The fruit ripens in June thus its other name “Juneberry”.  

The purple berries when ripe are are tart with a variable sweetness.  They are rich in vitamin C, fiber, and pectin and were collected by the native Americans as an important food source.  But one caveat—you must reach them when they ripen or lose them to the Robins, Bluejays, grackles and other species which quickly consume the fruit.  Some claim the local natives used the  mashed fruits to make pemmican—mixing the berries with other nutritious substances—often animal fat—to make what might be termed a Native American nutrition bar useful on long trips.

The flowers and leaves of the tree are said to have been used as a tea.  I have not tried that. But I do know that the wood is hard—like applewood—-and will burn to form  a nice bed of coals.  The wood is claimed to be useful for basketry, arrow shafts and other wood working purposes suitable for a hard, light colored wood. But the trees are small and its wood was probably only circumstantial use

So when you see the ghost trees of the forest in April, mark their location and revisit the site in June when the berries should be ripening.  You must get there before the birds do.  Then collect as many of the small reddish purple ripe fruits as you can.  Its likely that you will have to visit several trees to get enough to make a Juneberry Pie but the effort and the unique taste would be worth it.   But even if you simply have an opportunity—after the birds—to taste a few of the ripe fruit—like I have—and enjoyed the beauty of the tree in early Spring that would be enough.  But one can still be pleased to know that the avian exploitation of fruits insures that the seeds will be spread  far and wide through the forests and make certain that the ghost trees of April will continue to grace our hillsides with their white  blooms and remind us of the coming warmth of Spring. The white petal fall of late April and early May gives us pause —as the season warms and we have forgotten the snow and cold of winter—to give thanks for what has finally past and the sun and warmth that lies before us in July and August.  

In regard to the namesake of this tree the Shad—a fish. 

Yesterday (April 18, 2020) I found a fish—a Shad ( Alosa sapidisima)— a form of herring washed up on our Long Island Sound beach.  Not far away I spotted a Great Black-backed Gull in the swash zone of the beach pecking at another stranded Shad.  The fish was too big for the gull to consume whole so as I approached it was forced to pick up the limp, silvery fish and fly off awkwardly a short distance to another landing place—as it tried tear open the fish—its skin well armed with large thick scales .   So—I thought—“the shad run is on”!.  The Shad was an important food source for our native Algonquian peoples. During the Spring run they would construct weirs and traps that directed the large schools of these fish into traps woven of vines and brush where they could be collected.  The fish could be cooked and eaten fresh or dried and smoked over fires for consumption in the winter.