Stop! There’s a tree in the rock in the road

But is it wild or urban?

The plant featured in this Street Plants post was a tough call. Is it urban or is it wild? It must be wild as it grows on the crest of the Laramie Range at 8500 feet elevation, enduring winds to 75+ mph and temperatures to -30º F (not counting wind chill). It got its start long before Euro-Americans arrived in southeast Wyoming. Yet it’s very much an urban plant, for it grows in the middle of Interstate Highway 80, one of the main arteries of America.

I-80 between Laramie and Cheyenne, Wyoming. Thin white bars on highway are trucks. Google Earth view.

Back in the spring of 1868, a Union Pacific rail gang laid track past a small limber pine growing out of some granite rocks. They were in a hurry but took time to divert the tracks slightly to avoid the tree. Then they rushed on, laying one mile of track per day! They were bound for Promontory Point, Utah, where the Golden Spike was driven on May 10, 1869, completing the United States’ first transcontinental railroad.

The small “struggling” pine by the tracks took on several names: Tree-in-the-Rock, Tree Rock, and Lone Tree. For 35 years, engineers would stop their trains to “give the tree a drink” in the form of buckets of water. But this tender loving care was not to last.

About ten miles to the west was a terrifyingly steep descent off the Laramie Mountains (and a tough climb going the other direction). In 1901-02, the railroad was moved to easier terrain a short distance south. The abandoned grade became a wagon road, and in 1913 it was designated part of the Lincoln Highway—our first transcontinental highway for automobiles:

“The Lincoln Highway was created to free automobile travelers from the confines of their urban environments, providing them a way, and a reason, to venture out toward distant horizons.” (source).

Distant horizons are common in Wyoming, so leave the confines of your urban environment and venture here!

The Lincoln Highway in 1916.  Added arrow points to the Tree-in-the-Rock's approximate location.

The Lincoln Highway honored the great Abraham Lincoln, our 16th President, most famous for the emancipation of slaves. About nine miles west of the Tree-in-the-Rock, he looks down on Interstate 80 at the Summit Rest Area.

Post card of “Tree-in-the-Rock, The Famed Landmark of Wyoming” (ca 1927 based on similar dated photo). From Wyoming Tales, no source given.

In the late 1920s, the Lincoln Highway became US 30. It was upgraded to Interstate Highway 80 in the 1960s. But the Tree-in-the-Rock survived. It had become so beloved that highway construction crews were forced to accommodate it. East- and west-bound lanes pass on either side, and there’s a small park for those with time to stop.

As I mentioned, Interstate 80 (New Jersey to California) is a major artery. In southeast Wyoming, it's dominated by trucks carrying goods to those in need. These are the red blood cells of America.

Sometimes the artery gets clogged; from WYDOT webcam near Laramie.

When I visited the tree last week, I struck up a conversation with a truck-driver, starting with what I was sure would be a good ice-breaker: “Would you like to see the tree in 1927?” I asked, showing him the old post card. It worked.

We chatted about the tree, railroads, trucking, how scary I-80 is in winter, and whether those were mountains (his opinion) or rocks (mine) on the horizon. He lives on Chicago’s South Side, and was east-bound from Salt Lake City, Utah, to Des Moines, Iowa, and then back to Chicago. He covers 2400 to 2900 miles per week! Do we ever think about the folks that drive the trucks that bring us what we need, or more often want? I do—on cold snowy days when the roads are closed, or even worse, still open but with traffic at a crawl. What an awful but important job!

A different view of I-80 near Lone Tree (WYDOT webcam).

This driver stops to learn something of the country he passes through. “If you don’t stop, you never will,” he advises—words as pithy as any Yogi-ism.

Truck driver in center of photo; his rig is the red one.

The photo above was the best I could do at replicating the old photo (note matching rock ridges on the skyline). Any further away and I would have been on the highway. The limber pine has a healthier canopy now. Maybe travelers still stop to "give it a drink."

Limber pine (Pinus flexilis) in late Proterozoic (1.4 billion years old) Sherman granite.

It’s producing cones, a good sign.

Limber pine cone on grüs—disintegrated Sherman granite.

The coarse-grained Sherman granite, with Abe Lincoln for scale.

Lincoln Highway marker on left. Are those rocks or mountains on the horizon?

The tree-in-the-rock-in-the-road is on the “crest” of the Laramie Mountains. It’s an odd crest—a flat tilted plain with scattered towers, ridges, walls and rock piles, all made of giant granite blocks. It looks like a playroom for a giant's children, where no one has cleaned up and put the blocks away. These are the Sherman "Mountains"—geologists call them “tors.” I’ve written multiple posts about them as they’re fascinating and irresistibly photogenic.

This will be my contribution to the Street Plants gathering on October 21. Have you had a recent encounter with urban wild plants? Consider joining us (stay tuned).

Cracks

Two months have passed since my report on the few street plants tough enough to survive in Laramie in February.  But now it’s spring, and I’m sure that a strong urge to grow is swelling in many seeds hiding in cracks and crannies in concrete and asphalt.  Probably fresh young shoots are already out, determined to enjoy their moment in the sun.

But I’m not there to see it.  Instead, I’m in Grand Junction, Colorado.  Of course street plants are just as common here as in Laramie, and the growing season is much further along, so I had no trouble finding material for Lucy Corrander’s April street plants gathering.  [In fact I had too much. See Urban Plants, Urban Rocks: Premiere!]

This post is special – it's a collaboration.  My host wrote a poem for the occasion!

Cracks

by Danny Rosen

Between signing the agreement—and implementation

stands a gulf where persistence reigns. In a dry land

awash in weapons, things work out best

when the day listens to the Sun.

Slowly, men continue to learn how to speak

to women, and develop new capabilities to achieve

a competitive edge; new modes of perseverance.

Cracks form – even where the Sun shines only

three hours a day in late Spring. Weeds peek, climb,

suck vague moisture, move minute nourishments

through peristaltic pressures that, squeezing for light,

widen cracks in sidewalks and life. Cracks

cracked by a fibrous yearning and racing

against Summer’s descending clock; green

shoots break apart hard rock: Persistence

is a helpless choice; first comes water, then comes ice.

Danny Rosen is a poet in Fruita, Colorado.  His poems have appeared recently in San Pedro River Review, Comstock, Fruitapulp, Pilgrimage, Santa Fe Literary Review, and Malpais Review.  After working in geology, astronomy and education, Danny decided that making books would be a most useful endeavor.  He lives among dogs in the desert of western Colorado, where he runs the Lithic Press.

Laramie Street Plants (in February???)

These don’t count.

On a cold dreary Sunday with snow and rain falling, I walked the sidewalks and alleys of downtown Laramie looking for street plants – feral waifs of the urban landscape.  They grow where cracks in concrete provide access to the earth below, or in crevices and crannies where dirt and debris accumulate, overlooked.

I’m not alone.  Others do this too, and every few months we report our findings.

Dreary day, dreary town.

Another Laramie alley.

Street plants thrive in downtown Laramie – we have a rich urban flora in summer.  Most are ruderals, the first plants to grow on disturbed or otherwise bare soil.  They’re tough survivors, and often surprisingly fecund for their size and situation.

Common Wyoming ruderals – cheatgrass, dandelions and kochia (left to right).

Our street plants are tough, but I didn’t expect to find any live ones in February.  How can small herbaceous plants grow when temperatures stay below freezing for days at a time? Even though I was skeptical, the botanical detective in me rose to the challenge.  Maybe the urban environment includes warmer microsites where plants can grow – steam pipes, kitchen vents, south-facing protected walls.  I went searching.

I found remains of the dead.  Some made interesting compositions ... or so it seemed at the time.  I guess was desperate for photos:

Then a flash of green stopped me in my tracks:

See it? … it's in the small white patch where the building meets the sidewalk.

Amazing!  A plant was growing in debris and snow at the base of a north-facing wall.  And of course it was … (can you guess?)

... a dandelion.  A block away I found another:

... and then another:

Dandelion habitat is where the low wall and sidewalk meet.

Dandelions are consummate ruderals, able productive pioneers.  A single head may bear 150 seeds, a single plant more than 5000, all without sex.  Offspring are cast to the wind, travel far, and germinate and grow in almost any kind of soil (or lie dormant for years in the seed bank).  If there’s enough habitat, dandelions soon become abundant (source, including photo).

Photo courtesy Dan Poelma.

Lots of people consider dandelions loathsome pests, but I love them.  They’re among the first flowers to bloom in spring and among the last in fall.  Their sunny heads seem so cheery on those dull gray and brown days.  Indeed, I smiled when I saw scrappy little dandelions growing amid debris, concrete and snow.

Is that a young flower head in the center?  Wow!

On the way home, my theory about warm microsites was finally validated, in the alley behind the brewery.

Grass thrives thanks to periodic warm showers.

Another favorable urban microsite.

It's true – the scenery was dull and the vegetation meager.  Yet it was a fascinating outing, and in fact hunting for street plants is always interesting.  Would you like to give it a try? Our adventures are kindly organized by Lucy of Loose and Leafy.  There's more information here and here.

“recognise in it a spirit of adventure usually lacking in a road of unexceptional suburban housing, along with a spirit of genuine scientific enquiry.”  — Lucy

Street Plants in Laramie in December?!

From asphalt and snow, some grass will grow.

When Lucy suggested we post about street plants four times a year, I was not optimistic for December.  We live at 7000 ft elevation in the continental interior, far from the equator.  I set out looking for an escaped juniper or pine tree, that seemed my best bet.  I didn’t find any, but in the process I learned that I hadn’t given our herbaceous plants enough credit.  Some stay green through the winter.  I wonder if they photosynthesize on sunny days, when they’re not covered with snow?

The Easter daisies (Townsendia hookeri) in my garden and out on the prairie keep their leaves through the winter.

An Easter daisy’s version of green.  Plant is six inches across.

There’s still a bit of green grass along the Laramie River bike path.

Green grass tips (look close).

The willows are dormant now, but come spring they will keep working to break up the asphalt and reclaim their habitat.

Yesterday afternoon I made a reconnaissance around the old packing sheds across from my house, thinking there might be a protected spot where a plant waif could grow.  But no, everything was dead ... except ...

... in a driveway a flash of green stopped me.  Not only were there green leaves, there were flowers too!  But the light was low, the wind was howling, and I left photo-less.

This morning was calm, not even a breeze.  About a half inch of snow had fallen overnight, so I brushed it away until I relocated the knotweed.

Prostrate knotweed, Polygonum aviculare.

Prostrate knotweed is a very common weed, quick to colonize disturbed habitat.  Several sources note that it’s adept at colonizing cracks in sidewalks and streets.

Sometimes prostrate knotweed grows upright too.

Optimistic (green) knotweed and grass.

The snow was not helpful in shooting closeups, so I collected a sprig of knotweed to take home for portraits.

It's called “knot”weed because the stem nodes are swollen (click on image above).  The Greeks called them “many knees” – hence the name of the genus:  Poly-gonum.

Short branches at base, with green and white flowers.

Swollen stem nodes, each with a leaf and flowers.

Prostrate knotweed flowers are 4-5 mm long.

For more on street plants and their fans, check out Lucy’s December street plants gathering.  And rejoice! the days are getting longer :-)