March is about one thing for me: anticipating spring. Every day I listen to more and more avian voices, thrilled by the steady increase in volume, stretching my ears to hear the first swallows and warblers. But mostly, I spend the days leading into spring anticipating the breaking of buds to reveal the season’s leaves and flowers.
For many, there is no better embodiment of this anticipation than the members of the genus Prunus, known as cherries.
Unless you live under a rock, you know that cherries are famous for their blossoms. Across the world people flock to bask in their annual profusions of all flavors between white, pink, and purple. The University of Washington Quad is locally famous for their Yoshino cherries (Prunus × yedoensis), which bear brilliant blooms before their leaves even hint at emerging. Of any country in the world, Japan takes cherry worship to unmatched heights with the number of cultivars they claim (several hundred depending on your definition), the tradition of Hanami (gathering to picnic and enjoy the blooms each year), and the use of the sakura (cherry blossom) as an important cultural symbol.
The quad at UW in March 2020, which now feels like an ominous photo despite it being before Covid officially struck. It was just a quiet moment on my way to work. (Image: Brendan McGarry)
It should be no surprise that with strong connections to Japan, Seattle has a wealth of cherry trees.
Many arrived as diplomatic gifts or through plant boosters spreading their love of cherry blossoms, but it’s not hard to see why these beautiful trees would be universally adopted for their ornamental stature. According to local geographer Nat Henry, who collated public data sources to create a map of all Prunus species across Seattle, there are over 44,000 members of the genus in Seattle (that number doesn’t include many trees on private property). At least 17,000 of them are flowering cherries. (Take a look at this resource and plan your next spring walk!)
Yoshino blossoms (Image: US Department of State via Flickr)
While there are hundreds of flowering (and fruiting) cherry cultivars, most originate from a handful of wild Asian species, like Prunus serrulata, the Japanese Cherry. These have been manipulated into the various forms we see along our streets and in ornamental gardens by dedicated horticulturalists for centuries. (However, flowering cherry plantings in the US have only been a thing for a little over 100 years.) There are only about a hundred “true cherries” in the world with their diversity centered in Southwestern China and Japan (included in this group are the species and resulting cultivars we associate with the cherries we eat). Closely related are the cherries in the subgenus Padus, which includes some notable native North American species including Chokecherry, Prunus virginiana, and Black Cherry, Prunus serotina.
Chokecherry blossoms grow on a long stem or raceme, which are very visually different from “true” cherries. (Image Jim & Robin via Flickr)
Washington has two native cherry species, both of which are mostly overshadowed by the focus we put on flowering cherry varieties.
Bitter Cherry, Prunus emarginata is the more tree-like of the two natives but certainly doesn’t tower over us or shock us with their blooms. They have a habit of sprouting new stems from their root systems, forming dense, shrubby stands of genetically identical, connected trees.
The other species, Chokecherry, Prunus virginiana, grows into a large shrub or squat tree, and has flowers on long stems instead of in small clusters like “true cherries”. I associate chokecherries more with the east side of the Cascades, but they do grow in corners of Western Washington. Both species have fruit that birds and other animals love, but bitter and choke should give you a clue that they aren’t the tastiest (chokecherries are moderately palatable, bitter cherries are not).
Unfortunately, you would be hard pressed to find either growing wild on the Hill.
Bitter Cherries are quite common throughout Western Washington, but an introduced species has been slowly replacing them in urban forests. The Sweet Cherry, Prunus avium, might be lauded as the original stock for the cherries we all love to eat every summer, but this plant is also easily spread by birds and happily grows wild in our forests. They also hybridize readily with Bitter Cherry. This is such a common occurrence that we now have hybrid trees that have been formally described and named Puget Sound Cherry, Prunus ×pugetensis. These hybrids are sterile and rarely produce fruit, reducing the wild food available in our forests and decreasing the stock of native, wild cherries. (Also problematic is the Cherry Laurel, Prunus laurocerasus, which we know for evergreen foliage and the ease with which they can be trained into hedges; they also readily take to our forests with the help of birds that eat their fruit.)
A wild growing Sweet Cherry on Vashon Island – you can find them growing wild in practically every urban and suburban greenspace across our region. (Image: Brendan McGarry)
If you haven’t guessed it by now, cherries and their relatives in Prunus are a complex group of plants despite not being incredibly specios.
(It’s worth noting here that other Prunus include well known plants like plums, apricots, and almonds.) They often interbreed with one another, leading to naturally occuring wild hybrids, as well as aiding plant breeders in creating new plants to market for gardening and crops. Interspecific crossing over may be messy for taxonomists and geneticists to untangle, but it’s probably an important ability in wild Prunus species, allowing them to shift with changing conditions and aiding their spread across the Northern Hemisphere.
Interestingly, most of the cultivars we gawk at aren’t grown from seeds at all. Instead they are clones, stems grafted onto stable rootstock, allowing for predictable and reliable production instead of rolling the dice on whatever might come from pollination. Grafting is an old and common practice, particularly with fruit trees, but it comes at a cost – it reduces the genetic diversity that comes with sexual reproduction, and can lead to plants that are vulnerable to disease and pests. However, this mucking about has given nursery folk control and resulted in the beautiful cultivars of cherries we know today, even creating plants that no longer produce fruit, (which is convenient when you just want a tree with pretty flowers and no mess of unpalatable fruit).
I have multiple species of Prunus growing in my yard, some that I chose to have there and others that were spread by birds and the previous owner. We planted a Bitter Cherry in our backyard four years ago and several Chokecherries are starting to gain stature in my native plant hedgerow. This spring we added an Italian Plum and a Puget Gold Apricot in hopes of enjoying their fruit in the years to come. And not far away are a bird planted Sweet Cherry and multiple Cherry Laurels, the latter growing wild and as a hedge that I intend to eventually remove, possibly in favor of their native relatives.
I bring this up, not to gloat about my Prunus wealth, but because I think it’s interesting how a small group of plants can inhabit both our external and internal landscapes. Even if I tried, I couldn’t avoid coming into contact with a plant in the genus Prunus on a daily basis – whether in my yard or walking down the street. And I wouldn’t want to, because, boy do my spirits rise when I see those first cherry blossoms of the year. They give me the dual satisfaction of knowing that the days are lengthening and becoming more beautiful with each sunrise, and connect me to people all across the globe through our collective history as the tenders of plants.
(Image: CHS)
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i’m proud to say that I planted some of those trees, when I was a youngster!
Thanks so much for posting the link to the fabulous map!!