It has always seemed strange to me that box elders are so named, because they rarely get old. For every mature box elder I encounter, I observe hundreds upon hundreds of saplings that die without ever getting more than a few inches in diameter. Apparently that is the point of box elders: they sprout to die.
Generally considered to be a trashy tree, the box elder, or Acer negundo, grows quickly, prduces weak and brittle wood, and has smooth new growth that takes its time forming mature bark. The tree often grows in a contorted form, suckers freely, and bursts out in bristly clumps in many spots along the trunk and limbs. It seeds itself aggressively and attracts boxelder bugs. While harmless, these insects are often repugnant to insectiphobes as they arrive in hordes and occasionally invade homes.
To the average homeowner with space in the yard for a tree, the box elder has little to recommend it. To someone who is interested in restoring degraded land, however, this pioneer species is a super star. The Morton Arboretum website states that boxelder is tolerant of dry sites and occasion drought, wet sites and occasional flooding, as well as clay, acidic, and alkaline soils. There's no need to plant them: their ability to seed themselves means they show up by the thousands, often the first tree to grow in disturbed sites here in Ohio.
In the part of the farm farthest from the house, there's piece of flood plain that sits slightly higher than the surrounding land. This spot is referred to as the "back forty" because my father's sense of humor dictated that a plot barely an acre in size that lies in the far front of the property should naturally be called this. I inherited his sense of humor, so the name makes complete sense to me. Only slightly more than a decade ago this area was corn field. Now the Magical Box Elder Forest grows here.
Composed of thousands of box elder saplings, all close in age and size, the MBEF lies between the silver maples that line the river, and the juvenile sycamores that are colonizing the sunny middle of the field. Here the box elders have succeeded in establishing themselves in a near monoculture, allowing only a carpet of grass, a lone sumac tree, and a few black cherries to share the space.
Here the name box elder makes sense: they are the ones who come first to prepare the way. They seemingly grow extra branches for the express purpose of letting them die and fall to the ground. This decaying biomass on the forest floor rivals that which is created by leaves dropped in autumn. Living only about 60 years, none will become elders if by that word we mean very old beings. The oaks, beeches, and hickories that I hope will show up in the coming years will play that role. For now the box elders are here, doing the ground work so to speak, preparing the land so it's ready when the youngins arrive.
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