GIANT AND NUT PINES
Great was the surprise of Edith when
Miss Harson gave the little sleeper a gentle shake
and told her that it was time to be up. But the
birds without the window told the same story, and
the little maiden was soon at the breakfast-table
and ready for the day’s duties and enjoyments,
including their “tree-talk.”
“Are there any more kinds of pine trees?”
asked Malcolm.
“Yes, indeed! more
than we can take up this summer,” replied Miss
Harson. “There is the Norway pine, or red
pine, which in Maine and New Hampshire is often seen
in forests of white and pitch pine. It has a
tall trunk of eighty feet or so, and a smooth reddish
bark. The leaves are in twos, six or eight inches
long, and form large tufts or brushes at the end of
the branchlets. The wood is strong and resembles
that of the pitch-pine, but it contains no resin.
The giant pines of California belong to a different
species from any that we have been considering, and
the genus, or order, in which they have been arranged
is called Sequoia. They are generally
known, however, as the ‘Big Trees.’
In one grove there are a hundred and three of them,
which cover a space of fifty acres, called ‘Mammoth-Tree
Grove.’ One of the giants has been felled a
task which occupied twenty-two days. It was impossible
to cut it down, in the ordinary sense of the term,
and the men had to bore into it with augers until
it was at last severed in twain. Even then the
amazing bulk of the tree prevented it from falling,
and it still kept its upright position. Two more
days were employed in driving wedges into the severed
part on one side, thus to compel the giant to totter
and fall. The trunk was no less than three hundred
and two feet in height and ninety-six in circumference.
The stump, which was left standing, presented such
a large surface that a party of thirty couples have
danced with ease upon it and still left abundant room
for lookers-on.”
When the children had sufficiently
exclaimed over the size of this huge tree, their governess
continued:
“It is thought that these trees
must have been growing for more than two thousand
years, which would make them probably two hundred years
old at the birth of our Saviour. Does it not
seem wonderful to think of? There are other groups
of giant pines scattered on the mountains and in the
forests, and some youthful giants about five hundred
years old.”
“I suppose they are the babies
of the family,” said Clara; and this idea amused
Edith very much.
“There is still another kind
of pine,” said Miss Harson “the
Italian, or stone, pine. It is shaped almost
exactly like an umbrella with a very long handle.
The Pinus pinea bears large cones, the seed
of which is not only eatable, but considered a delicious
nut. The cone is three years in ripening; it
is then about four inches long and three wide, and
has a reddish hue. Each scale of which the cone
is formed is hollow at the base and contains a seed
much larger than that of any other species. When
the cone is ripe, it is gathered by the owners of the
forest; and when thoroughly dried on the roof or thrown
for a few minutes into the fire, it separates into
many compartments, from each of which drops a smooth
white nut in shape like the seed of the date.
The shell is very hard, and within it is the fruit,
which is much used in making sweetmeats. The
stone-pine is found also in Palestine, and is supposed
to be the cypress of the Bible. The author of
The Ride Through Palestine speaks of passing
through a fine grove of the stone-pine, ‘tall
and umbrella-topped,’ with dry sticks rising
oddly here and there from the very tops of the trees.
These sticks were covered with birdlime, to snare
the poor bird which might be tempted to set foot on
such treacherous supports; and if the cones were ripe,
they would be quite sure to do it. Here is the
picture, from the book just mentioned. Italian
pine is a prettier name than stone-pine, and this is
the name by which it is known to artists, who put
it into almost every picture of Italian scenery.
“’Much they
admire that old religious tree
With shaft above the
rest upshooting free,
And shaking, when its
dark locks feel the wind,
Its wealthy fruit with
rough and massive rind.’”
“But how queer it sounds to call fruit wealthy!”
said Malcolm.
“It is odd,” replied his
governess, “only because the word is not now
used in that sense; but the fruit is wealthy both because
of its abundance and because it can be put to so many
uses. Let us see what is said of it:
“’The kernels, or seeds,
from the cones of the stone-pine have always been
esteemed as a delicacy. In the old days of Rome
and Greece they were preserved in honey, and some
of the larders of the ill-fated city of Pompeii were
amply stored with jars of this agreeable conserve,
which were found intact after all those years.
The kernels are also sugared over and used as bonbons.
They enter into many dishes of Italian cookery, but
great care has to be taken not to expose them to the
air. They are usually kept in the cones until
they are wanted, and will then retain their freshness
for some years. The squirrels eagerly seek after
the fruit of this pine and almost subsist upon it.
They take the cone in their paws and dash out the
seeds, thus scattering many of them and helping to
propagate the tree.
“’There is a bird called
the crossbill that makes its nest in the pine.
It fixes its nest in place by means of the resin of
the tree and coats it with the same material, so as
to render it impervious to the rain. The seeds
from the cones form its chief food, and it extracts
them with its curious bill, the two parts of which
cross each other. It grasps the cone with its
foot, after the fashion of a parrot, and digs into
it with the upper part of its bill, which is like
a hook, and forces out the seed with a jerk.’”
The children enjoyed this account
very much, and they thought that stone-pine nuts which
they had never seen, and perhaps never would see must
be the most delicious nuts that ever grew.
“What nice times the birds have,”
said Clara, “helping themselves to all the good
things that other people can’t reach!”
“They are not exactly ‘people,’”
replied Miss Harson, laughing; “and, in spite
of all these ‘nice times,’ you would not
be quite willing to change with them, I think.”
No, on the whole, Clara was quite
sure that she would not.