Fallen fruit of the single Osage orange tree in Yakima Arboretum. (c) Lorene Edwards Forkner
When October arrives, some people get out their heavy sweaters and rake leaves. Others switch over to pumpkin spice lattes, play a round of touch football, or jump in said piles of leaves. Us? We drive roughly 300 miles to Yakima, just east of the Cascade Range, to gather Osage oranges.
I inadvertently “discovered” a lone Maclura pomifera at the Yakima Arboretum back in 2005. I was on a bus tour visiting local gardens including the remarkable home and landscape created by artist Leo Adams. Somewhat dazed after immersing ourselves in Leo World, our bus briefly stopped by the arboretum for some arboreal head clearing before we headed back over the mountains to the “wet” side. That’s when I came across dozens of chartreuse softball-sized orbs scattered on the ground beneath a large tree with furrowed bark. I had only read about the curious fruit, but their brilliant color and fragrance was a giveaway as to what they were. What can I say – I felt like I’d found (green) gold.
Furrows of warm cinnamon bark on Maclura pomifera. (c)Lorene Edwards Forkner
The curious nature of Osage oranges. (c)Lorene Edwards Forkner
Is it an orange or an apple?
Osage orange, a member of the mulberry family, is native to what is now the south-central United States and today the tree is distributed in all 48 contiguous states and southeastern Canada. The tree is prized for its exceedingly hard and flexible wood. According to Wikipedia, the common name is a reference to Osage Native peoples who would travel long distances to gather the wood for making their bows. Later, American settlers planted rows of Osage oranges, which they coppiced to encourage dense growth, to fortify their fields from browsing livestock and other animals. In addition to planting the trees to create windbreaks throughout the plains, contemporary craftspeople use the dense, weather-resistant lumber for fence posts, tool handles, and anything that requires dimensionally stable wood.
Pithy individual drupes surrounding the seeds — if there is any, make up the inside of an Osage orange, (c)Lorene Edwards Forkner
The distinctive fruits—also called hedge apples, horse apples, and Bois d’arc (“bow-wood”) — are neither apples or oranges, although they do have a musky citrus fragrance that I’ve come to associate with autumn’s damp earth and fallen leaves. If broken or cut, the skin of the bumpy chartreuse orb oozes a sticky white latex. The interior is made up of pithy fiber surrounding edible seeds. The trees are dioecious, that is the flowers are either male or female; only female trees will fruit, although without a male pollinator, the fruit will not produce seed. I’ve never seen seed but don’t tell the squirrels who avidly forage the fruits.
Curious fruits
Over the past 19 years, even I can’t believe it’s been that long, Osage oranges have become a treasured seasonal marker, right up there with flowering cherries and Christmas trees. Some years we simply fill our bags with the fragrant fruit, get in the car and head back home. This year we stayed the night and turned our annual pilgrimage into a weekend of gathering fall flavors from roadside fruit stands — Yakima is Peak Apple country. Also: tamales, saltwater taffy, epic cinnamon rolls, beef jerky, and a couple of exquisite pumpkins that look like vintage ceramics.
Once home I pile bowls of the curious fruit and place them around the house. It’s also a pleasure to share my stash with others who count on me for their Osage Connection. I’ve read where Osage oranges are said to dispel spiders and insects, but I’d like to think my home is relatively free of such populations even before I bring the fruits into the house. The kitchen, on the other hand, where I’m ripening the last of the green tomatoes on a platter in the windowsill, is another story. Fruit flies, goo and all manner of wildlife are gaining the upper hand. Clearly it’s time to let summer go.