Winter 2004

Sumac:
Local Shrub Makes Good

Photo by Ron Dahlborg

My first experience with sumac trees happened when my older brother neglected to mow the grass behind the garage for seven weeks. When the family returned home from a long vacation, we discovered several hundred two-foot-tall staghorn sumac saplings growing in our backyard. They were beautiful, with soft bark and symmetrical leaves. Of course they couldn't stay, and were cut down within days. But I always remember all those cute little trees, and I've been a fan ever since.

As described in the literature, sumac trees wouldn't seem to possess a lot of star quality. They're short, rather stubby, with weak wood. They will pop up in heavily disturbed areas, and can form dense colonies that suppress other plant life. A few local species even cause severe dermatitis. But all it takes is one long, close look at a sumac tree to see their beauty and grace. The sumac's leaf structure, color, and branching pattern are delightfully pleasing to the human eye.

Chicago Wilderness is a little too cold for the majority of the world's sumac species. Most family members are tropical. But several hardy varieties of the genus Rhus do live here in the cooler north and are fascinating, handsome trees unlike any other. We have sumacs that are fragrant, poisonous, smooth, fuzzy, and shiny. For 12 months a year, they stand out from other shrubs with their unique appearance and properties. And, to badly use a trendy commercial tagline: Sumac in the fall? Priceless.

	Photo by Dennis Manning

Staghorn sumac takes its name from its fuzzy, pithy twigs, which are similar to deer antlers "in velvet." Growing along the borders of woodlands, the species rarely exceeds 25 feet in height; the state-champion staghorn of Illinois that stood along the Illinois and Michigan Canal towpath in LaSalle was only 29 feet tall. Staghorn sumacs have distinctive compound leaves made up of lance-shaped leaflets that turn brilliant red in the autumn. In summer, they sport tall, cone-shaped clusters of hairy red fruits at the end of their branches. These fruits rise prominently above the leaves and remain through the winter, providing color and structure against the snowy landscape. Also common in our area, smooth sumac resembles staghorn but has less hair. It displays equally brilliant fall colors.

Fragrant sumac is a short shrub adapted to sand dunes. Uncommon in the region due to scarcity of that habitat, native colonies can be found along the tops of dune blowouts at the Indiana Dunes. Another colony, thought to be native, resides on a gravel hillside in Kane County. Nonnative colonies are more widespread, as many local plant stores stock a cultivated variety of fragrant sumac. The leaves of this species give off a pleasant aroma when crushed.

Poison sumac possesses an acrid sap capable of producing a wicked case of dermatitis. Not surprisingly, it is a close relative of poison ivy — they both have three leaves and share the same itch-inducing chemical, urushiol. They do not share habitat, however. Poison ivy spreads out in sunny natural areas, while poison sumac survives only in acidic wetlands such as those found at Nelson Lake, Volo Bog, and Cowles Bog.

People around the world have found culinary uses for sumac. Recipes from the Mediterranean are full of creative uses of sumac: Turkish chefs, for one, use the crushed berries of elm-leaved sumac as a condiment. Chef Yilmaz, of the fantastic new Turquoise Grill in Houston, is also a master when using sumac in cuisine. Locally, native peoples were known to steep the berries into a tart, throat-soothing tea, the flavor coming from citric and ascorbic acid. The Potawatomi mixed leaves of staghorn sumac with the inner bark of dogwood for a smoking mixture. But whether it's served up on a plate, in a pipe, or alongside the prairie, the unmistakable sumac is sure to delight.

— Jack MacRae