Retama (Parkinsonia aculeata): A Seasonal Look

Posted on October 8, 2015 by Tina

As I close out the year of learning about the Retama, Parkinsonia aculeata, for Tree Following at Loose and Leafy, join me for year-round look-see at this fascinating native tree to parts of North and South America. Indigenous to Texas and westward to California, as well as to large areas of Central and South America, this beautiful small tree is a boon for wildlife and native plant/wildlife gardeners alike.

This October of 2015, my Retama tree is green, leafy, and full of life.

There is little change from my September and August Tree Following posts, except that there are few flowers left to complement the feathery foliage.

Interestingly, there aren’t many seed pods on my tree this year, either. Seed development varies from year to year and I’m betting that there are fewer because the mass of late spring blooms were knocked of during our heavy May/June rains: fewer flowers, fewer seeds.

In October, with summer continuing its hold of warm (not hot!) afternoons, arid breezes, and no rain, the Retama presides, lush-n-lacy, over my back garden.

Retama foliage is a series of leaflets aligned opposite one another along paired leaf stalks.

As the days shorten and the temperatures cool significantly, the leaflets adorning the paired stalks begin dropping off.

The stalks will be left, for a time, as a spidery remembrance of the elegant and unusual foliage.

If or when there is a hard freeze (after all, Retama flourishes in tropical and semi-tropical climates), all manner of Retama foliage–leaflets and stalks–vacate the tree, joining with other deciduous leaves–either on the ground as mulch, or in the compost bin for future soil nourishment. Here in Austin, that will typically occur in late December and January.

The limbs and trunk of the tree remain green throughout winter. This adaptation is valuable for survival and stunning to observe. The transfer of the photosynthesis process from foliage to limb allows Retama to continue feeding during times of drought, and to maintain vigor during the relatively short, but temperature variable, winter months.

In the deep of winter (such that it is in the Southwest U. S. and other regions where Retama is native), the green of the limbs and trunk provide life-affirming color and are an attractive feature in the winter landscape.

Without foliage, the thorns on the branches are more noticeable. Be careful, they bite!

As spring approaches in March, the Retama responds with green,

…green,

…green foliage.

Retama is a member of the Fabaceae, or legume family. Other Fabaceae plants are nicknamed “broom”, if they sport slender stems with tiny leaflets. The unusual leaf or “broom” arrangement of Retama lends a soft, verdant look to the tree throughout its growing season.

By May or June, clusters of bright yellow flowers form and will flower continuously, causing pollinators to visit regularly and, no doubt, eagerly.

The Retama flower is an interesting one, because the petals are bright yellow, except for one which is called the “honey” petal. The honey petal is pale to deeper orange.

Once pollinated, the colored petal deepens and remains on the tree longer than the other petals. The flowers adorn the plant in response to rainfall and can bloom for a long period of time–late spring, all through summer, and into the fall. My particular Retama does not grow in full sun, so it’s never achieved the mass blooming that a Retama in blasting sun would produce.

In this year (2014-2015) that I’ve Tree Followed the Retama and profiled it for A Seasonal Look, the tree experienced a range of extremes–not that unusual here in Texas, as this is a land of extremes–but noteworthy. We enjoyed a “normal” spring with mild temperatures and average rainfall. However, in May and early June, we received nearly 20 inches of rain, temporarily halting an 8 year drought. Known as a “rain bomb,” that type of flooding has always occurred in Central Texas and is often, though not always, a drought-buster. The Retama’s response to the heavy rains was to drop its first flush of glorious flowers that had opened in May.

For the latter part of June and into July, my Retama was flower-less, but it did produce more clusters as the summer months progressed. Once the rain stopped in early June and the Texas summer temperatures and dry conditions settled in for the duration (and duration and duration…), it took a little time for the tree to set out its signature bloom sprays. I didn’t water my gardens until mid-July and have only watered four times as of this post. After the flowers were pummeled by the May rains, the tree bloomed up again, much to the delight of the bees, butterflies and hummingbirds.

Oh, and the gardener too.

In more typical years, the Retama is a solid bloomer during the toughest months of our growing season and with minimal rain or irrigation. After the wet spring and then with no rainfall until late August/early September (and not much then), many plants succumbed. Even some native plants that are evolved to withstand the capriciousness of the Texas climate, struggled this summer. The Retama? It flowered and foliaged along just fine, thank you very much:

In July,

….August,

…and September.

It was green, blooming and gorgeous. What’s not to love about that?

Birds are constant companions of this tree.

As the flowers fade and the seed pods form, first green,

…then brown,

…the tree adds other delectables to the landscape besides pollen and nectar: small mammals and birds (in particular) enjoy feeding on the seeds. In areas of the world where Retama is invasive (parts of Africa, India and Australia), it is most likely birds who’ve spread Retama to problematic levels. I don’t want to blame birds for Retama’s invasiveness–that’s squarely on people and lack proper management for introducing non-native and potentially harmful species to new areas without first experimenting with natural controls. Where Retama is native, it’s an excellent plant: water wise, wildlife friendly, and beautiful. Where it’s an introduced aggressor in the landscape, it’s proven a serious problem for indigenous flora and fauna, requiring great efforts to remove. For example, Australia has banned the sale and planting of Retama.

Have I mentioned that it’s always best to plant native?

Here in Central Texas, the Retama is a plant which needs little, if any, supplemental watering. It grows remarkably fast, reaching to “tree” height in a matter of a few years. I mulched it when it was a baby tree (I think I purchased it as in a one gallon pot), but I don’t mulch established trees. Retama is commonly available at locally owned nurseries, especially in late summer and fall, which are good times of the year to plant perennials and trees here in Texas. Retama has a graceful natural form and doesn’t require pruning, except if a branch dies–or perhaps if the gardener is weary of getting dinged on the head by a formidable Retama thorn.

Retama trees aren’t particular about soil types, so no amendments are necessary. If much irrigation or rainfall is the norm, Retama will seed out, but in its 12 or 13 years in my garden, I’ve only found a half-dozen seedlings from my tree.

If you live in Retama’s native range, you’d be hard-pressed to grow an easier or lovelier tree to accent the southwestern garden.

In Spring,

…Summer,

…Autumn,

…Winter,

…Retama is a stunning tree: hardy and reliable, wildlife friendly, and darned pretty to look at. Who doesn’t want plants with those descriptors?

Hummingbird Horseplay

Posted on September 24, 2015 by Tina

Hummingbird wars–that’s what I call the zooming, zipping, and general territory defending that the teensy winged wonders engage in, especially toward the end of their time here in Central Texas. Hummingbirds are now preparing for their fall migration (some have already left), and their wintering in Mexico and Central America. This summer, I’ve observed both a male and female Black-chinned Hummingbird, Archilochus alexandri, in my garden, though I was never able to get clear captures of either. Here,

…a female Ruby-throated Hummingbird, Archilochus colubris, rests while surveying her territory, also known as my back garden. The literature about the Ruby-throated suggests that the male is the main aggressor, defending his territory and food sources with great vim and vigor, but I’ve noticed that both genders appear enthusiastically antagonistic to encroachments by critters, especially when those critters are other hummingbirds. Though it isn’t always other hummers that are chased; in July I witnessed a female chase a Carolina Chickadee around the garden–that was a hoot!

I employ in a bit of eye-rolling when I hear people exclaim how “mean” hummingbirds are, as if human beings can pass judgement on any other creature in the nastiness quotient. I usually respond to the hummingbirds-are-mean comments with a you’d be mean too, if you were tiny and vulnerable, traveled alone for hundreds to thousands of miles, back and forth, attempting to locate enough food to survive and thrive while doing so. The hummingbird’s migration is a feat that requires a certain level of courage and I’m certainly not going to pass judgement on any critter with that kind of chutzpah.

This is the same (?) or perhaps another, female Ruby-throated enjoying a quick junk-food snack of sugar syrup.

I haven’t hung a hummingbird feeder for quite a few years, but bought one this year in a weak moment. I grow lots of plants that hummers love: Turk’s Cap, Malvaviscus arboreus, is a huge favorite,

…but they also love Yellow Bells, Tecoma stans, as well as most plants in the salvia family. But when these adorable birds are feeding, they’re often far across the garden and not easily seen as they move about the shrubs and around the limbs of plants. For purely selfish reasons, I hung a feeder on the back patio cover to better observe and enjoy their visits. They chase one another from the feeder, buzzing past the astonished and thrilled gardener. Hummers also demonstrate possessiveness with their favorite plants, too. Throughout August and into September, one male Ruby-throat claimed three Turk’s Cap shrubs in my back garden as HIS! He spent lots of calories defending his particular nectar-loaded buffet.

To augment their liquid diet with protein, hummingbirds eat a variety of insects like mosquitoes (not nearly enough, if you ask me), flies and even aphids, which are plucked off of plants.

The Ruby-throated is so named for the brilliant red feathers adorning the throat of the male of the species. This male Ruby-throated Hummingbird, rested in my Desert Willow, Chilopsis linearis,

…but wasn’t situated quite right for the show of scarlet feathers. At off angles, the feathers appear rusty-brown to dull red. After this photo was taken the bird flew away from the tree and toward me in hot pursuit of another hummer which I didn’t see at first. That ruby-red throat came directly at me, in brilliant, flashing color. You’ll have to take my word for it because I wasn’t quick enough with the camera to capture a bird flying that fast.

Bummer.

As cool fronts move through Central Texas over the next few weeks, the remaining hummingbirds will wing their way south, surfing blustery winds. I’ve notice fewer hummingbird antics this past week; Mr.That-Turk’s-Cap-is-mine-Mine-MINE!! is no longer around and I think one or two of the female visitors are gone. There are the occasional hummers who overwinter here, but mostly they reside in sunny Mexico until spring migration northward. They’ll be back in my garden next spring for their courting, during summer for raising chicks, and in early autumn, careening around the garden, chasing each other and providing entertainment for this gardener and backyard birder.

And since I think the hummingbirds are looking good in my garden, I’m joining with Gillian at Country Garden UK and her new Looking Good in the Garden meme, which will be a regular Friday feature. Pop on over to read about what’s looking good in her garden, as well as other gardens.

Bee Hunters Are Back

Posted on September 17, 2015 by Tina

Bee hunting season is open!

Grrr. I’m not happy about my honeybees ending up in this bird’s tummy,

…but she and her offspring(?) or BFF, are fun to watch as they hunt for buzzy meals and sip from the baths.

Summer Tanagers, Piranga rubra, have returned to my garden in search of honeybees for their main course and wasps and native bees à la carte, since those insects are also on the Tanager menu. I wrote about the visits from a male, female, and immature male Summer Tanager last May. That crew hung around snatching bees for a couple of weeks. I didn’t spot any Tanager action during the summer months, though they breed in this area. However, this past weekend I saw two females bee-hunting in my back garden. I imagine the two golden beauties are fueling up for their migration to Mexico and South America.

I observed as one of them flew to the landing board of my beehive Scar, plucked a bee from its hive, then rested on a branch of the overhanging Shumard Oak. She proceeded to bang the bee on the branch, quickly dispensing it down her gullet when it was sufficiently dead and stinger-less. Another time, one perched on a different branch of the same tree looking rapidly this way and that, as bees buzzed past her on their foraging way. So many bees, so little time! The bees were completely oblivious of the danger posed by the observant, seasoned, and accurate bee hunter. I’m bummed that the Tanagers eat my bee girls and would certainly be glad to offer them a peanut butter and honey sandwich instead, but I don’t think that would go over too well.

This one hopped along a pathway, looking for…I’m not sure what. Bees crawling on the ground? Maybe she was eyeballing the big, weird critter in front of her on the pathway, perched on the pink chair–the one with the black eye in front of her face.