Tree Study 799 



4. Where are the cones borne? How long does it take a cone to grow ? 

 Is it heavy? Is there resin on it? Note that the scales are set in a spiral 

 around the center of the cone. Wind a string around a cone following the 

 same row of scales. How many rows between those marked with a string? 

 Look into the tip of a cone and see the spiral arrangement. Sketch and 

 describe a cone-scale, paying special attention to the shape of the tip. Try 

 to tear a cone apart. Is this easily done? Hang a closed cone in a dry 

 place and note what happens. 



5. Describe the seed, ics wings and where it is placed at the base of the 

 scale. How many seeds under each scale? When do the cones open of 

 themselves to scatter the seed? Do you observe squirrels tearing these 

 apart to get the seed ? 



6. The Norway spruce blossoms in May. Find the little flower which 

 will produce the cone, and describe it. What color is it? Is it upright or 

 hanging down? Do the scales turn toward the tip or backward ? Why is 

 this ? Where are the pollen-catkins borne ? How many of them arise from 

 the same place on the twig? Can you see the little scales at the base of 

 each pistillate catkin ? What are they ? Are they very full of pollen ? Do 

 the insects carry the pollen for the Norway spruce, or does the wind sift it 

 over the pistillate blossoms? After the pollen is shed, note if the scales of 

 the young cones close up. How long before the cones begin to droop ? Do 

 you think it is their weight which causes them to droop ? 



7. What use do we make of the Norway spruce? What is it used for 

 in Europe? 



"All outward wisdom yields to that within, 



Whereof nor creed nor canon holds the key; 

 We only feel that we have ever been 



And evermore shall be. 



And thus I know, by memories unfurled 



In rarer moods, and many a nameless sign. 

 That once in Time, and somewhere in the world, 



I was a towering pine. 



Rooted upon a cape that overhung 



The entrance to a mountain gorge; whereon 

 The wintry shade of a peak was flung. 



Long after rise of sun. 



There did I clutch the granite with firm feet. 



There shake my boughs above the roaring gidf. 

 When mountain whirlwinds through the passes beat. 



And howled the mountain wolf. 



There did I louder sing than all the floods 



Whirled in white foam adown the precipice, 

 And the sharp sleet that stung the naked woods, 



A nswer with sidlen hiss. 



I held the eagle till the mountain mist 



Rolled from the azure paths he came to soar, 

 And like a hunter, on my gnarled wrist 



The dappled falcon bore." 



— From "The Spirit of the Pine," Bayard Taylor. 



