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The reason is simple. The black mulberry (Morus nigra) is one of the last trees to come into leaf in spring. While horse chestnut, sycamore and hazel have fully expanded their leaves, the mulberry is still in tight, discouraging bud. This year, in late April, I looked across my garden at the heavenly apple blossom (surely this is the best season for several years?) while the mulberry was resolutely twiggy and bare. No wonder Cassandra Austen was in a panic.
Nor is the mulberry the only one to take things at a leisurely pace. The Indian bean tree, Catalpa bignonioides (much loved by gardeners in the suburbs), which has very large, heart-shaped leaves, foxglove flowers and long, stringy bean seedpods, is even slower to green up. Nor should you expect anything until mid-May from Acer griseum, the Chinese Paperbark Maple, either. The Judas tree, Cercis siliquastrum, usually starts to produce its purple-pink pea flowers before the leaves unfold in late spring, and is the better for it but, curiously, flowers and leaves have come together this year. In the case of shrubs, hibiscus always looks completely dead until at least the middle of this month, while Edgeworthia chrysantha and Magnolia wilsonii are also liable to fray my nerves.
Although this may seem worrying to us, for the tree or shrub there is a distinct advantage in leafing late, especially if those leaves are large. That way they are likely to escape damage from late spring frosts. Many a hydrangea could learn something from the festina lente approach of the mulberry. What is interesting, however, is that the mulberry is also one of the first trees to colour in autumn, and to lose its leaves in the annual fall. The effort of producing prodigal quantities of fruit must exhaust it.
Although some trees, like mulberries, are reliable and consistent late-leafers, a number of others will vary in some degree from year to year. Among our native trees, oak and ash are the most famous examples of this. They box and cox and, in the process, fox. We all know the 19th-century proverb: ‘When the oak is before the ash, then you will only get a splash; when the ash is before the oak, then you may expect a soak,’ which refers to the amount of rain that is likely to follow in the summer. Last year, as I recall, the ash was first and, by golly, we got a soak; this year, in the copse that I planted 15 years ago, it has been neck and neck between them, so I confidently expect a sploak.
The study of the recurrence of natural phenomena, such as the breaking of tree leaf buds and the appearance of flowers, butterflies, frog spawn and so on in spring, is called phenology. The ‘founding father of phenology’ was Robert Marsham (1708–97), who lived in Stratton Strawless, Norfolk, through most of the 18th century. He studied and listed 27 ‘Intimations of Spring’ each year from 1736, keeping meticulous records all his long life. His family continued the recording until 1958, a most impressive achievement and an immensely valuable one in times of climate change. It is the 300th anniversary of the birth of Robert Marsham this year, and we should salute him. Stratton Strawless is certainly en fête this summer, with a number of events planned to honour his memory, and underline the importance of his work. (Visit www.robertmarsham.co.uk for details.)
Marsham was famously knowledgeable about trees, and a great planter of them, so it is permissible to wonder at what date in 1811 the Marsham mulberries began to leaf. Jane Austen’s letter is dated 31 May but I have to say that, this year, my mulberry tree had fully expanded its leaves by 20 May. Although long hard winters can retard bud-break (and in the early 19th century they were certainly colder than those we have experienced in recent years), and ailing trees of any kind also tend to be slower than usual, I think we can safely assume that Jane was telling her sister unwelcome news as kindly as possible. I like to think that, even two centuries later, we gardeners can sympathise readily with this small domestic sadness.
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