Weeping Larch

With a large hole in the ground where the ugly palm tree used to be, we took ourselves off to the Urban Tree Farm in search of something new and different. Although we're adjusting to the desert landscaping, we have no desire to replace it with more desert plants, So we were in search of something different. The weeping larch has a backstory that makes it appealing to us.

For many years, we went every September to a wonderful backcountry hiking lodge in the Canadian Rockies called Lake O'Hara Lodge, where we could hike, scramble or climb all day, and return to a cozy cabin on the lake, and a gourmet meal in the lodge. We loved our annual sojourn to this wonderful place where we were challenged by the terrain by day and met all kinds of interesting people in the evening.

Seen singly, larches are not impressive. They are deciduous conifers, losing their needles every fall. They grow in rock and struggle for survival in a hostile climate. For most of the year they are either invisible or rather pathetic looking little dwarf Alpine trees (to those of us who are used to Sierra evergreens like giant redwoods and sugar pines). People would discuss at length when the trees would be "at their peak" in the fall, and artists would come from all over, gambling on picking the perfect week for the larches. We were a bit baffled and a bit patronizing about all the fuss, we--who had seen the flaming maples and spectacular Aspens in the High Sierra couldn't imagine what could possibly be so great about these stunted little trees.

Once the larches turn, however, they form a band of gold, clearly visible above the tree line, and stretching the length of the rockies. It only lasts for ten days or so before the needles turn brown and they and the snow begin to fall. Perhaps it was the contrast, perhaps it was the tenuous nature of the change, or perhaps it was just our love of the place and our growing familiarity with the phenomenon, but before long we were enthusiastically joining in on the discussion and speculation about the humble larch and its moment of glory.

When we saw this one, we knew it was the perfect tree--certainly not a desert plant, definitely not spiky or succulent and with a pleasant drooping habit. Now we can have our own annual discussions about the perfect day of yellowness without ever leaving our living room!