Eastern Cottonwood trees don’t get much respect. They are generally considered unsightly “weed” trees that grow quickly and fall apart quickly.  Their wood is weak and of poor firewood quality. This time of year they shed snowstorms of annoying fluff, and this appears to be their greatest offense to our daily lives.

  I have to admit, that as a child, I sacrificed nearly the entire space in my garden to allow a Cottonwood seedling to grow into a tree. Having kept track of its yearly growth (which was phenomenal) I considered the tree as a pet. It was probably 35 feet tall by the time I left home for college. My dad patiently waited out this phase of my life and finally asked for permission to cut the tree down – which I granted. (This was the same wonderful dad who also approved my hair brained scheme to start an oak tree plantation in that same garden.)

  I guess you could say that I am a true Cottonwood insider. Regardless, I would argue that all of the so-called negative traits are actually crucial to this trees charm.

  They grow fast so that they can exploit temporary habitats such as shifting sandbars, marsh banks and construction sites. Fast growth sacrifices wood quality and longevity, so they start to fall apart upon approaching their 100^th birthday. The wood is not good for firewood but is valuable for pulp production.  Cottonwood farms have sprung up around the country because they can be harvested on an 8-12 year cycle for paper pulp. 

  I won’t even elaborate on how these tall trees provide sites for the pendulous nests of Baltimore Orioles or how their wind hushed leaves lend softness to our summer days. I won’t even go into the fact that this is the state tree of Kansas. No, for now I’d like to concentrate on those dreaded Cottonwood snowstorms.  

 Those puffs of fluff are seed bearing parachutes. Part of the success of Cottonwoods is due to their ability to spread millions of seeds at a time (48 million according to one source, although I’m pretty sure this is an estimate and not an actual count). Starting in late May, the cotton storms fill the air and generate drifts of Santa beards and piles of smoke on the water. These puff piles are intended to sprout their seed cargos and create new trees in new places. Because many of these are sucked into our nostrils or adorn our carefully quaffed hair, their presence is unappreciated.

  The story begins in early spring when the trees flower before the leaves emerge.  The boy trees have boy flowers and the girl trees have girl flowers. Cottonwoods are dioecious which means “two houses” – one for each gender. These flowers come in the form of dangling clusters called Catkins or Aments. Catkin is to Ament as Jim is to James Tiberius Kirk. The Catkin name refers to the later fuzzy stage which looks like a cute little cat’s tail while the Ament name takes after the noble Egyptian goddess of air.  Since these flowers are pollinated by the wind, the latter term is much more descriptive (besides, cats already have a common marsh plant named after their rear appendage.)

  Once pollinated, the female flowers ripen into a cluster of bead-like capsules.  By late spring, these capsules burst open like popcorn kernels and expose their fluff endowed seeds to the mercies of Ament.  The seed themselves are tiny (1mm by 4 mm), but you can see them in each individual cotton tuft.  Take a look at my drawings (here and here) and you’ll see the appearance of this female puff generator.

  Cottonwoods flower over an extended period of time and therefore go to seed over an extended period of time.  This means that the “Cottonwood Time” lasts throughout the month of June – lucky you.

  In cruising through the internet for some gems of wisdom on how to deal with this tree cotton, I came upon a chat site in which a self proclaimed “Canuck” helpfully advised “do not inhale while driving through a cloud of cottonwood cotton.”  Another recommended that the material makes a great pillow stuffing. 

  One disturbing website entry pointed out the fact that botanists have now developed a “Cottonless Cottonwood.” A further check revealed that nurseries regularly stock these genetic freaks.  Convinced that a Cottonwood tree without cotton is like Captain Kirk without his Tribbles, I wasn’t so sure that this was a good thing. I soon calmed down upon further reflection.

  As long as there are some wild trees out there, we’ll always have the June snowstorms. I’m not so sure that the domestic cottonless trees are all that innovative anyway.  There have always been cottonless cottonwoods out there, they are called males.