Birds are the life and soul of the winter garden, so I don't mind if they gobble up all our berries, writes Jane Powers
FOR YEARS I ASSUMED that the dogwoods were so called simply because they had something to do with dogs. After all, cat mint is for cats, butterfly bush is beloved of butterflies, and elephant's ears look just as they say they do. But dogwood's doggy connection is not so straightforward. The name is most likely a derivation of "dagwood". And a dag, apparently, is a spike or a skewer. The wood, in times past, was used to make these articles, as well as weavers' shuttles, tool handles and other items that required a strong, hard timber. Dogwood (or Cornus) was known also as prick wood and skiver wood. These names were similarly applied to wayfaring tree (Viburnum lantana), guelder rose (V. opulus) and spindle (Euonymus europaeus).
The above four shrubs share another characteristic, which is especially obvious in this season: they all have berries. Those of the last three are showy red things, and in the case of spindle, they are also appealingly weird: bright orange, and displayed in clashing pink capsules. 'Red Cascade', a cultivar of our native E. europaeus, is abundantly berried, while the foreigners, E. alatus, E. latifolius and E. planipes, have pleasingly ostentatious fruits.
The berries of our native dogwood (C. sanguinea), unfortunately, are nothing to celebrate, being pea-sized and blue-black - as well as inedible. In fact, their lack of culinary value ties them to dogs, if only loosely. According to John Parkinson in his Theatrum Botanicum of 1640: "We for the most part call it the Dogge berry tree, because the berries are not fit to be eaten, or to be given to a dogge."
Despite their unsuitability as dog food, the fruits are not without some use: an oil for burning in lamps can be extracted from them, a property that gives rise to yet another common name, wax tree.
But let's leave our native Cornus there for the moment (after a quick admiration of its beautiful red stems), and move on to the imported dogwoods. The fruits of several of these are spectacular: those of the Asian C. kousa and C. capitata are big, and pinky-red, the colour of a very overripe strawberry. Both are edible in small quantities, although, with the latter, the flavour varies considerably from tree to tree. Perhaps it's best just to leave them on the branches, and let the birds have a feast. Blackbirds, in particular, are partial to them.
Birds are the life and soul of the winter garden, so I don't mind if they gobble up all our berries. The only reason I leave two awkwardly placed Cotoneaster horizontalis in situ (remnants from a long-gone, previous owner) is that they always attract foraging blackcaps, dapper little birds in grey suits and ebony-coloured beanies. This is one of the best bird berry shrubs around, and earlier in the year, its white frothy blossom is a favourite nectar spot for bees.
The angular branches, which are arranged in distinctive herringbone fans, are not to everyone's taste. If they are not to yours, then there are dozens of other cotoneasters from which to choose.
Cotoneasters, and their suburban comrade- in-arms, pyracantha, are useful bird-plants for the small garden. Both are members of the rose family (Rosaceae), a clan that gives us more decoratively fruited shrubs and trees than any other - and almost all are tempting to birds. Its members are the real stars of autumn. If you took them out of the picture, our landscape, both natural and man-made, would be a sorry place at this time of the year: no rowan, no hawthorn, no rose hips; no apples, pears or cherries - no bright fruits lighting our way into winter with their luminous and cheering lanterns.
The rowans and whitebeams (Sorbus sp.) are some of the best bird trees, and have been planted widely in this country's suburbs by county councils. Every year they attract crowds of finches, blackbirds and thrushes, and on occasion they also provide food for waxwings from northern Europe, some of the prettiest winged creatures to visit our shores. Our native rowan (S. aucuparia), takes its species name from the Latin aucupor, meaning to catch birds. It does best in acid soil, and indeed, is tolerant of very acid soil, so it might be just the tree for you if you live on the edge of a bog.
For smallish gardens Sorbus vilmorinii, which has pink berries fading to rose-flushed white, is ideal. Like all Sorbus, it is happiest in soil that retains some moisture, but is not waterlogged.
Another that may be suitable is the very pretty 'Pink Pagoda', a cultivar of S. hupehensis with blue-green leaves (with good autumn colour) and pink berries. It was raised at the University of British Columbia in Canada, and released to horticulture 20 years ago, and more recently in Ireland. It is supposed to remain a reasonable size, but we have yet to see how it performs in this country.
Having said that, it's such a good-looking tree that I would recommend planting and seeing what happens. If a tree outgrows its allotted space, and cannot be attractively pruned, you can always fell it for firewood, and start anew with another. After all, there are so many trees to try, and only one lifetime to do it in. (This advice, by the way, does not apply to venerable, distinguished trees and those with preservation orders.)
But back to berries: pink, white and yellow fruits are less appealing to birds, and in some years, they remain uneaten. Still, it's nice to know that in a hard winter, they can offer sustenance after all the red berries have been taken.
Shiny black berries, on the other hand, almost fly off the branch and into the beaks of birds. Those of elder don't last long at all, and are one fruit I don't mind fighting the blackbirds for. Together with bramble berries, and crab apples (or cooking apples), they are the main ingredients of an excellent hedgerow jelly.
Another black berry, which takes many months to ripen, is the fruit of the ivy. In late winter and early spring it helps fill the hungry gap for thrushes, robins and wood pigeons. And since we're talking about ivy, then we'll finish with holly, its partner in song. Don't forget that most hollies are dioecious (which is Greek for "two houses"): that is, the male and female flowers are borne on separate plants. Only the females produce berries, and there must be a male plant within bee-flying distance in order for pollination and fruiting to occur.
If you can't be arranging marriages between holly bushes, then choose the cultivar 'JC van Tol', which is self-pollinating. jpowers@irish-times.ie