The skin is the efficient "third lung" of animals. The closing of its pores causes immediate suffocation. The bark of trees carries on the work of respiration in the absence of the leaves. Bark is porous, even where it is thickest.
Look at the twigs of half a dozen kinds of trees, and find the little raised dots on the smooth surface. They usually vary in colour from the bark. These are lenticels, or breathing pores— not holes, likely to become clogged with dust, but porous, corky tissue that filters the air as it comes in. In most trees the smooth epidermis of twigs is shed as the bark thickens and breaks into furrows. This obscures, though it does not obliterate, the air passages. Cherry and birch trees retain the silky epidermal bark on limbs, and in patches, at least, on the trunks of old trees. Here the lenticels are seen as parallel, horizontal slits, open sometimes, but usually filled with the characteristic corky sub stance. They admit air to the cambium.
There is a popular fallacy that trees have no buds until spring. Some trees have very small buds. But there is no tree in our winter woods that will not freely show its buds to anyone who wishes to see them. A very important part of the summer work of a tree is the forming of buds for next spring. Even when the leaves are just unfolding, on the tender shoots a bud will be found in each angle between leaf and stem. All summer long its .bud is the especial charge of each particular leaf. If accident destroys the leaf, the bud dies of neglect. When mid summer comes the bud is full grown, or nearly so, and the fall of the leaf is anticipated. The thrifty tree withdraws as much as possible of the rich green leaf pulp, and stores it in the twig to feed the opening buds in spring.
What is there inside the wrappings of a winter bud ? "A leaf," is the usual reply—and it is not a true one. A bud is an embryo shoot—one would better say, a shoot in miniature. It has very little length or diameter when the scales are stripped off. But with care the leaves can be spread open, and their shape and venation seen. The exact number the shoot was to bear are there to be counted. Take a horse-chestnut bud
—one of the biggest ones—and you will unpack a cluster of flowers distinct in number and in parts. The bud of the tulip tree is smaller, but it holds a single blossom, and petals, stamens and pistil are easily recognisable. Some buds contain flowers and no leaves. Some have shoots with both upon them. If we know the tree, we may guess accurately about its buds.
There is another popular notion, very pretty and sentimental, but untrue, that study of buds is bound to overthrow. It is the belief that the woolly and silky linings of bud scales, and the scales themselves, and the wax that seals up many buds are all for the purpose of keeping the bud warm through the cold winter. The bark, according to the same notion, is to keep the tree warm. This idea is equally untenable. There is but feeble analogy between a warm-blooded animal wrapped in fur, its bodily heat kept up by fires within (the rapid oxidation of fats and carbo hydrates in the tissues), and the winter condition of a tree. Hardy plants are of all things the most cold blooded. They are defended against injuries from cold in an effective but entirely different way.
Exposure to the air and consequent loss of its moisture by evaporation is the death of the cambium—that which lies under the thick bark and in the tender tissues of the bud, sealed up in its layers of protecting scales.
The cells of the cambium are plump little masses of proto plasm, semi-fluid in consistency in the growing season. They have plenty of room for expansion and division. Freezing would rupture their walls, and this would mean disintegration and death. Nature prepares the cells to be frozen without any harm. The water of the protoplasm is withdrawn by osmosis into the spaces between the cells. The mucilaginous substance left behind is loosely enclosed by the crumpled cell wall. Thus we see that a tree has about as much water in it in winter as in summer. Green wood cut in winter burns slowly and oozes water at the ends in the same discouraging way as it does in summertime.