Solved, the mystery of my pines

Part two: I’ll be wearing kilts from now on when I visit them

In my last missive — "My mysterious pines" — I asked for your help resolving an arboreal mystery.

Readers, you came through bigtime.

I now have a definitive answer, though not initially a unanimous one. And some of the guesses and other thoughts you were kind enough to send my way were also inspired. For example:

Laurie, checking in from northern New Mexico, said they looked a lot like jack or red pines she sees out there.

Adam, newly settling into the Cape, agreed.

Paul L, a Maryland guy, sent me toward Ponderosas, while Paul R, the first person ever to take me clamming, thought maybe Austrian pines, though his alternative choice nailed it.

Peter wanted a closer look at the bark though advocated for pitch. Patricia headed toward Japanese red pine, pinus densiflora, and her friend Beth followed suit, while David and Nora as well as Binda flagged me on apps that can take a cellphone photo and within minutes, maybe seconds, identify just about anything that grows. Fred showed up at a board meeting with a beautiful oversized resource book – remember those? – that details every conceivable pine tree in North America (and sure enough there it was, page 162). 

Meanwhile, more testimony and evidence was mounting.

Jingles knew, and he was going to email his conclusion but his son Gui said, Screw that, call him, you guys haven’t talked in awhile and this is a good excuse.

They both were right.

Fran was on it, and that was a tipping point because she knows this place so well, and in all our years I’ve never heard her say something that isn’t true. Eileen was sure. So were John, and Lee. Peter was in the “probably” category but that’s because he’s accustomed to allowing for legal loopholes and uncertainties – probably.

Then came Nat, whose work and passion is Cape plants and birds, so with his input and reference I was on the home stretch. He was buttressed by Mark, who has tromped more conservation land than anyone. He informed me of his final judgement, adding a curmudgeonly warning:

“And don’t call them Scotch pines!”

So I won’t.

But I will call them Scots pines, pinus silvestris. This linguistic distinction seems akin to the difference between “Canadian geese,” which I’m told is wrong (they aren’t Canadian citizens after all), and “Canada geese,” which is right. Being a word guy, I accept nuance.

Donning my kilts, I did some research:

Scots pines are considered to be the most widely distributed conifer in the world. They can be found from the Artic Circle to southern Spain, from western Scotland to eastern Siberia. They can live at sea level as well as 8000 feet up. Native to northern Europe, pollen study says they first showed up in southern England about 9000 years ago, then onto Scotland, where they became the national tree. They first arrived in North America alongside the earliest European settlers in the 1600s.

They can live for as long as 300 years, and grow from 40 to 60 feet – which I’ve seen. The looping, bending, wild-ass look is natural for wild trees, but for centuries they have been cultivated and pruned to grow straight-trunked enough to be ship masts and spars, regular enough to become the first Christmas trees. From Ontario to Nebraska, they also were used to replant and replenish eroded lands.

They aren’t much seen anymore in places like Nebraska because of what is called pine wilt, likely caused by a pine wood nematode (a small worm) that can and does kill big trees. This has happened many times in many places, and I much fear and suspect it is happening on Cape Cod right now. Mark reports a grove in Truro that is dying like mine; it seems that only our native pitch and white pines are all but invulnerable around here (though locust are contenders).

So my appreciation is tinged with the bittersweet of mortality.

I knew none of this a week ago; I owe you all a big debt only a little repaid by passing along this information.

When I look at Scots pines now I’ll be reminded of my selfish motives for resurrecting this Cape Cod Voice – to connect and reconnect with so many great spirits out there, who have so much to share.

NEXT: WHEN ONE FIRE CREATED A CAPE FULL OF ‘OWNERS UNKNOWN’

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