By Burt Glover

I remember when I was very young, whenever looking for one of my brothers about our large house and gardens, my mother would sometimes sing the song, “Way down yonder in the Pawpaw patch!” 

It was such a silly song, and we would all laugh. Maybe that is why, in later years, my brother bought a real live pawpaw tree for our mom and planted it out behind the barn. Having never seen one, we wondered — what the heck is a pawpaw tree? We would soon find out. 

Pawpaw trees are native to the eastern US. Eons ago, mammoths, mastodons and giant ground sloths loved to eat the fruit of these trees, including the largish black seeds, which they would poop out, thus propagating the plant. When those animals became extinct, it was humans who planted and tended the trees wherever they went.

Can you guess what is the largest fruit indigenous to the US? It is the pawpaw (Asimina triloba). Can you imagine a fruit with a custard-like, creamy texture that tastes like a combination of banana, mango and pineapple? It is the pawpaw. Eaten raw, made into ice cream or baked into desserts, it is a regional favorite. George Washington’s favorite dessert was said to be chilled pawpaw. Lewis and Clark utilized these on their journeys. Thomas Jefferson planted them on the grounds of his home. Pioneers and indigenous peoples used its very strong bark fibers to construct baskets. The seeds of these trees were once carried as charms, called “pocket pieces,” to bring good luck. These trees were once very highly valued. 

Currently, there is great commercial interest in pawpaw fruit. It is a highly perishable fruit, however, which limits options for any shipping or marketing longer than a few days. The frozen fruit has made its way into the market, along with jams, jellies, beer and ice cream. Much study has been given to suitability among the highly variable cultivars for shipping and commercial processing. PomWonderful? How about PawpawWonderful?

Returning to my mother’s backyard tree. It took 5 or 6 years before we finally realized the impact of that singular tree planted behind the barn. She had pawpaw trees popping up everywhere, sprouting clones from their roots (rhizomes).  Talk about a pawpaw patch! She did manage to get one or two of the fruits, but most were eagerly snapped up by birds, raccoons, foxes, deer, etc. as soon as they were ripe.

After watching the pawpaws overtake that entire part of the yard, the decision was made against having a grove of pawpaw trees for a yard. We cut down the tree. Years later, the shoots growing from the remaining roots — hundreds of them — still emerge every spring and continuing into summer.

Pawpaw trees are the sole source of food for those beautiful zebra swallowtail butterflies. The poisons in the pawpaw leaves endow their caterpillars, and the ensuing butterflies themselves, to escape being eaten by predators. Their flowers are of the stinky type… attracting, not bees and butterflies, but beetles and flies that are attracted to dead meat. Commercial growers hang chicken necks in the trees to attract those pollinators to the flowers.

You may be able to spot a pawpaw patch of your own on your next hike into the woods. The magnolia-shaped leaves turn a bright yellow in the fall. You might even be able to run across trees with ripened fruit in the late summer. Keep in mind that green fruit picked off of the tree will not ripen– you must be patient! Join in with the raccoons, possums, deer, squirrels, turkeys, etc. who are also watching for that perfect moment. You might get lucky.

Contributor Burt Glover became an accidental naturalist during his earliest childhood days exploring the dirt roads, backyards, polo field and barns of the Magnolia-Knox-Mead neighborhood of 1950s Aiken. Birds are his first love, and he can identify an impressive range by song alone. He asserts that he is an observer, not an expert, on the topics of his writings, which range from birds, box turtles, frogs and foraging, to wasps, weeds, weather and beyond.

By Burt Glover
July 16, 2023

Of all the birds that regularly frequent my neighborhood, I would have to deem the Blue Jay (Cyanocitta cristata) as the one with the most personality. Its scientific name derives from the Greek and Latin, translating to “crested, blue chattering bird.” Its common name comes from the perception that it is blue, and that its calls sound to some like, “Jay… jay. jay!” I can’t really say that the Blue Jay has a song. More likely, it is just noises. Gurgles, rattles, clicks, chucks, whirrs, ear-piercing calls… and imitations.

A few of the Jays in my neighborhood have become masters of imitating Red-Shouldered Hawk calls. Blue Jays in different areas are reported to mimic all varieties of hawks, some owls, eagles, kestrels and seagulls. For more than a hundred years, people have tried to decipher why Jays do these imitations. To date, nobody really knows. My take — they do it just because they can. 

In reference to my earlier remark — the perception that Blue Jays are blue — they are not. The pigment in their feathers is melanin, just as in our skin. Melanin is brown, and if you hold a Blue Jay feather up to the light, it is brown. The blue color is caused by the scattering of light through modified cells on the surface of the feather barbs.

This is the reason that Bluebirds are not really blue, nor Blue Grosbeaks, nor Indigo Buntings, nor any other blue-colored bird. The “blue” colors change on each bird as light conditions change. This is also the reason that the sky appears to be blue, or that blue eyes are blue. It is all just an illusion. The black colors on Blue Jays are real, however. The black “collar” on their throats varies extensively on each bird, and those differences are most likely how Jays recognize one another.

You may have read of “anting” by Blue Jays. I remember seeing photos of Blue Jays, rubbing ants on their plumage. The ants squirt formic acid to defend themselves. People say, “Well, heck, the jays are using those ant secretions to get rid of their own parasites.” It doesn’t seem to be so. Formic acid is ineffective on parasites. Mostly, this behavior seems to be an effort to purge each ant of their nasty, bitter taste before being swallowed. Jays are, if nothing practical birds.

Blue Jays were mostly responsible, it is believed, for repopulating the barren northern climates with trees as the glaciers from the last Ice Age receded from the North American continent. Squirrels did help, burying their nuts near the base of the trees where they were gathered, but Blue Jays were, in my opinion, likely more instrumental.

Using their throat as a pouch, a Blue Jay can collect as many as six acorns. The seeds of Oaks, Pines, Beeches, Pecans, Chestnuts, and others are carried — sometimes up to five miles away — and buried in shallow holes in multiple locations. An article in Natural History magazine recounts the observation of fifty Jays spreading 150,000 acorns over a period of 28 days. The Jays and other animals recover many of these hidden seeds. The rest are potential trees.

I’ve been throwing the shells from my morning eggs out at the base of an oak tree in the yard since last winter. (It is recommended to first bake the shells at 250 degrees for 10 minutes). Birds rely on these as grit to grind up food in their gizzards and as a source of calcium for producing their own eggs. Egg shells are a much healthier alternative to eating leaded paint chips shed from neighborhood houses, a habit unfortunately practiced by some birds. The egg shells I cast out disappear at a surprising rate. The main culprit: Blue Jays. They carry them off and cache them in their own private larders. 

Many people characterize Jaybirds as thieves, due to their habit of “lifting” things that maybe they shouldn’t. Yes, they do sometimes steal eggs or nestlings from the nests of other birds. Extensive studies have found that only 1% of blue jays indulge in this behavior. They will also carry off treasures that they find lying around — jewelry, coins, bits of foil and shiny whatnots from roadside trash. Many of these finds will be incorporated into their bulky stick nests. Jays are actually more helpful than hazardous to other birds, as they will relentlessly screech and mob after owls, hawks, cats and snakes that might threaten the neighborhood birds.       

My father once wrote a story about Blue Jays and snakes, in which he painted an observation I’d never noticed. When Blue Jays see a snake in a tree, (likely on its way to visit a bird nest), they alert the rest of the bird kingdom. “Snake!” they cry as they mob the marauder. “Snake! Snake! Snake!” 

This draws the other birds from all four corners who add their alarms to the chorus. If you go to the scene of the cries, you can usually spot the center of the fracas. Here is where you’ll likely find a lone Mockingbird, right there in striking distance of the snake, giving him a good scolding. For all the bravado of Blue Jays, they can’t hold a candle to the Mockingbird, whose pluck is as fearless as any hawk.

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Contributor Burt Glover became an accidental naturalist during his earliest childhood days exploring the dirt roads, backyards, polo field and barns of the Magnolia-Knox-Mead neighborhood of 1950s Aiken. Birds are his first love, and he can identify an impressive range by song alone. He asserts that he is an observer, not an expert, on the topics of his writings, which range from birds, box turtles, frogs and foraging, to wasps, weeds, weather and beyond.