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How to Know the Trees in Winter: November

You didn't find it any great trick to get so you could tell most of the common trees by their leaves, did you? Then, each in its appointed season, we will learn to know them by their flowers and their seeds. But when, beginning in November, we can learn to tell them when they have neither leaves, blossoms, nor seeds, but stand stripped like athletes for their long struggle with the winter winds, we can feel that we are entitled to high rank among Uncle Sam's Tree Scouts.

You're lucky, of course, if you live in the country, because you're right in the native land of trees and know all those in your own wood-lot and many more; but, then, the city boy has an advantage too. He can first see the trees in the parks with their labels on and afterward, on Saturday hikes, find their counterparts.

This hide-and-seek among the trees wouldn't be so much fun if it were too easy. And it won't be. You needn't fear! There are a great many thises and thats to put together.

And some of the identification marks are as mysterious to the uninitiated as the hidden birthmarks in the stories of stolen princes. I. THE COMPARATIVE ANATOMY OF TREES First of all, speaking of royalties, let's take the kings of the wonderland of trees -- the Oaks. The shape of an old king that has lived in the open all his life and had his way is so individual that he can easily be identified from far across the fields; and most of the Oaks are very accommodating about keeping their calling-cards, their leaves, hanging on far into the winter. This is also true of the Hornbeam and the Beech. Another thing worth knowing in this "detective" work is that, among all classes of trees, saplings hang on to their leaves longer than the older trees.

The White Oak is specially noted for the tenacity with which it clings to its leaves. In the forest it grows to a height of eighty to one hundred feet, straight as a ship's mast, with a trunk three to four feet in diameter. In the open it develops into a massive, broad-topped tree, with great limbs striking out at wide angles. It resembles the famous English Oak more than any American species. Both get the "elbowing" habit more and more, as old age comes on, because the central shoots are then apt to fail, while the lateral shoots are the ones to develop, so causing the limbs to take a zigzag course. But don't one of these veterans of the wars with time and the winds, in its attitude of iron resolution and stern defense, remind you of some grim old knight bidding defiance to his enemies? That one, say, who when called upon to surrender his castle, replied: "Here I am and here I remain!"

The bark is most often a light gray, from which it gets its name of "white." What is known as the Post-Oak, because it is used for fence-posts, among other things, presents a striking contrast to its lordly white brother, seldom reaching a height of over fifty feet, and often not getting beyond the proportions of a shrub. Look for it on dry, sandy soil and gravelly uplands. The bark is grayish brown, deeply fissured and with broad scaly ridges. The bark of the Burr-Oak is similar to that of the Post-Oak, but its average height at maturity is 80 feet, although it has been known to reach 160. A feature that will help you identify it is the fact that it grows little cork wings on its twigs. These wings remain until the twigs have developed into young branches, then they fall off. The Sweet-Gum, the Cork-Elm, and a few other trees have the same habit.