Tag Archives: springs

Button Willow

Cephalanthus occidentalis californica

Cephalanthus occidentalis californica

Cephalanthus occidentalis californica

Cephalanthus occidentalis californica

Aaron ‘Slick’ Sweeney spent a lifetime in this country before I came along fresh from college with only a few years of packing mules under my belt. He took me buck hunting for the first time when I was about eleven. He carried a broomstick and I my heavy British Enfield .303. We saw deer, but my eye wasn’t sophisticated enough to distinguish does from bucks on the run at a distance. I never shot.

‘Button willow’ is descriptive enough to know one when you see one, and when he asked me one day in the early ’70s about the ‘button willow spring’ in a certain pasture, I knew exactly where he was talking about. He explained to me at that time that there’s almost always water enough to develop for cattle where there is a button willow tree.

Cephalanthus occidentalis californica

Cephalanthus occidentalis californica

                    Chorus:

                    It’s home to your home, wherever you may be,
                    It’s home to your home, to your own country,
                    Where the oak and the ash and the button willow tree
                    And the lark sings gaily in his own country.

                                 – Glenn Ohrlin (“The Button Willow Tree”, 1989)

                                 courtesy: The Mudcat Café

IMPERFECTIONS

No telling how the Sierras leak
along the granite cracks and fissures
over ranges and across canyons

to make a seep and fill a trough
for all nearby – button willow, buckeye.
Along as many imperfections as

cracked glass, cobwebbed beneath
this thin coat of clay cut by seams
of shale. Old timers claimed it took

a year for snow to recharge springs
gone dry, a slowing leak downhill
in droughts. Some move around,

pool up or down canyon with the shifting
of the fractured while others become camp
sites, wild tracks in mud, gossip rocks

carved with stone, places with names
for centuries, stories come and gone
where cattle drink, make their homes.