Pawpaw Tree: Home beneath Canopy

The path to Schull's Rock is straightforward but not especially straight. While it's benevolently flat and clearly marked with gold-blazed posts and placards, the trail twists and turns and traverses a patchwork of river hill terrain—passing through parcels of woodland, skirting the perimeter of several cornfields, and following meadow fringes dancing with late-season wildflowers, butterflies, and bees on a mild and happily uncomplicated September morning. 

We find the overlook as we have in other seasons: an ancient, exposed rock, tilt-perched high above the Susquehanna, with panoramic views in cardinal directions. Beyond the initial simplicity of rock, river, and sky, a varied and complex world unfolds before us. Looking north, there is Shocks Mill Bridge spanning the river, the smokestacks of Brunner Island, and Three Mile Island on distant upstream horizon; looking south, there are pockets of commerce and industry typical of historic Susquehanna River towns—Marietta—then Wrightsville and Columbia around the bend; and to the east, there is Lancaster County's rich, rolling farmland. We cannot see forever from this dizzying precipice, but we catch a glimpse of shared history, of an always-evolving story—and a broader sense of home.

We turn from the overlook, retracing the trail into deep green September wood. This is where pawpaw trees grow—rising from forest floor in the company of mushrooms and fungi, ferns and mosses, beneath a mosaic of maple, poplar and oak. Even though we had a hot, dry summer—conditions that linger into early autumn days—it's remarkably cool and moist beneath the canopy. While our reading assures us that the pawpaw is a native tree and a common sight along eastern hiking trails, we've observed that it has a tropical air—and a bit of a renegade attitude—about it. Before we go too far in declaration that pawpaws are fiercely independent, we note that the trees seem to flourish in patches, with sturdy, intertwined branches and connected root systems; from our passerby vantage, we often can't tell where one ends and another begins. In time, we've learned something of the pawpaw—and something from the pawpaw: how it takes care of itself in the moment and across the seasons, not getting ahead or falling behind itself, holding its place in light and shadow—how it forms closely-knit colonies beneath the canopy. There is a sense of community here—and something like home—for the sweet nonconformists of the understory. —B.

Pawpaws

how barren branches

embrace the solemn winter

from stillness to thaw—

yielding to flower,

nurturing a swallowtail

in modest spring breeze—

how summer-drape leaves

fan to capture filtered light

beneath canopy—

like contemplation,

and in the days before frost

offering whimsical fruit,

sweet custard-apples--

how autumn enfolds,

rime-gilding each leaf

with gold illumination

and burnished russet—

across the seasons,

how hidden roots intertwine

in colony—transforming

the understory

to something like home.

—B.

The canopy of the forest—the cover created by the leaves atop the tallest trees—is a place of majesty, awe, and glory. But the pawpaw tree (Asimina triloba) has evolved for life in the understory—the land below the canopy, where it is darker, more humid, less celebrated, but no less magical. Pawpaw trees, native to eastern North America, have been unobtrusively thriving in the understory for over ten thousand years, overlooked by many along the way. A relatively small tree, the pawpaw rarely grows higher than fortyfeet, keeping it far below the soaring branches of others in the forest. With its large, simple, un-tasty leaves, it repels deer and looks almost tropical. Its common name may have sprung from confusion, as Spanish-speaking colonists mistook it for the Central American papaya tree.  When the tree flowers, it will likely drive away humans and most predators with its smell—a bit like rotten flesh. That aroma is a clever tactic, because the pawpaw is self-incompatible, unable to pollinate itself or its nearby relatives. The flowers’ stench appeals to carrion-eating beetles and flies who arrive with pollen from faraway sources.

 

Pawpaw flower, photo from Susquehanna National Heritage Area, susqnha.org.

The pawpaw tree is also attractive to the striking zebra swallowtail butterfly—it is one of very few trees on which the butterfly will lay its eggs. The butterflies gain protection from their own predators when they eat the pawpaw leaves and become equally foul-tasting. The pawpaw tree bears fruit in late summer and early fall. Its fruit is not exactly beautiful, looking a little like a green potato. Inside, the flesh is yellow-orange, soft and custard-y. Unlike the smell and the taste of the pawpaw’s leaves, the fruit is often described as a singular treat—a cross between banana, guava, and mango. Pawpaw trees are too thin to climb, but the fruit will fall to the ground when ripe, so the savvy harvester knows to pick them up, not pluck them down. You won’t find pawpaws widely available in grocery stores—they ripen, bruise, and perish quickly. Pawpaws are a favorite of birds, raccoons, opossums, and squirrels, so you’d better move fast if-and-when you happen upon them. You may find yourself joining the ranks of many others in appreciating the understated, unpretentious, unassuming pawpaw of the understory.  —D.

The pawpaw tree may flourish in the shadows, but we humans are hard-wired to seek social attention and validation. From birth, positive attention from others activates the reward centers in our brains, releasing dopamine and other chemicals that make us more likely to repeat socially approved behaviors. When our needs for survival are generally met, most of us grow comfortable living with moderate amounts of attention from those we care about most. When we feel threatened or anxious, however, our desire for attention can become unbalanced. Social media complicates the situation even more. Comparing ourselves to others we know – and those we don’t know—24/7 easily overwhelms the human nervous system. 

It’s not surprising to find a strong correlation between time spent on social media sites, depression, and anxiety. These feelings can lead to a preoccupation with online exchanges, and destructive behavior like oversharing, exaggerating, and intentionally provoking conflict. Most importantly, online attention-seeking takes precious time and energy away from our relationships offline. Take some inspiration from the pawpaw tree and spend some time in the understory of social media. The next time you feel an overwhelming desire to post online, resist the urge. Ground yourself in the present moment and give yourself some attention. Practice mindfulness. Close your eyes and listen to your own breathing. Notice things around you that bring you peace. Reach out and talk in real time to someone that you love. —D. 

Pickin’ up the paw paw and puttin’ it in the basket

Way down yonder in the paw paw patch.

—Appalachian Folk Song, author unknown