Osage orange (Maclura pomifera) was on a huge winning streak in prehistoric North America, spanning from Florida to Ontario. It had evolved huge fruit to appeal to mastodons and giant ground sloths that expanded the tree’s range by providing transport and fertilization. But then, about 125,000 years ago, the glaciers of the last Ice Age crept southward, killing both the trees and their planting partners. By the time the thaw finally began about 12,000 years ago, the last of the trees were mostly clustered in parts of present-day Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Texas.
Indigenous people recognized that the wood’s unique combination of strength and flexibility made it ideal for archery bows powerful enough to send an arrow clear through a bison, and war clubs that wouldn’t shatter. Archeological evidence indicates that these early woodworkers were creating bows with recurve tips at least as far back as 1050 AD and exporting finished weapons to tribes hundreds of miles away.
The secret is out
The tree was virtually unknown to white settlers until 1804 when Meriwether Lewis enthused about it in a letter to President Jefferson, and even enclosed planting slips.
As the westward expansion of the United States gathered momentum, Osage orange gained aggressive new planting partners. Settlers planted seedlings one foot apart along property lines, and as the trees grew, they used a technique called plashing to weave the limbs. Within three to four years, that work produced a nearly impenetrable hedge renowned as “horse high, bull strong, and pig tight.”
Do fence me in
Hedge fever had started to cool when, in 1873, the first barbed wire patent sparked a huge national appetite for fence posts. Farmers discovered that their hedges were incredibly sustainable, providing a nearly endless supply of fence posts: whenever they cut down a tree, the stump quickly sent up multiple shoots.
The Dust Bowl revived interest in planting Osage orange as windbreaks and shelterbelts. Depression-era federal agencies planted thousands of miles with hundreds of millions of trees.
The tree that lost its planting partners during the Ice Age plied its unique physical properties to recruit armies of eager human planters. Some researchers have speculated that Osage orange has been the most planted of any tree species in North America, making Johnny Appleseed look like a real underachiever.
Look on the bright side of Osage orange
It’s not unusual for an Osage orange to sprawl wider than it is tall. As a result, most lumber is modest in both width and length. But instead of thinking about the wood’s limitations, I suggest that you make the most of Osage orange’s structural and visual strengths.
It is ideally suited for archery bows, as well as tools and handles subject to shock: mallets (See p. 38) for carving and assembly, handles for hammers, sledges, chisels, and turning tools. The wood’s extreme density and wear resistance make it perfect for plane soles, marking gauges, knife scales, clock wheels and gears, sheaves (pulley wheels), axles,
and bearings.
Combine the wood’s physical strength with its decorative quality by using it for exposed splines or dowels for drawbore tenons. Bowties and other inlays make eye-catching highlights. A tapered plug cutter lets you conceal counterbored screws with an attractive accent.
Osage orange retains crisp detail on lathe projects such as pens and bottle stoppers. Whatever you make, start with sharp tools and hone edges frequently. Screws hold well, but you’ll need to drill pilot holes at least 1⁄64" oversized. The wood’s density allows you to tap long-lasting threaded holes for machine screws. Use a water-borne finish to reduce the tinting effect of oil-based products. All the same, normal exposure to air and light will eventually oxidize the wood to a golden brown.
How to levitate a tree
My first experience with Osage orange began when my father-in-law bought a ten-acre site in Kansas for a new home. The front three acres had a center path wide enough for a tractor, but the rest of that portion was densely overgrown. The first Osage orange announced itself with thorns wicked enough to puncture thick leather gloves. After clearing enough limbs to finally reach a gnarled trunk, we planned the direction we wanted the tree to fall. I’m always ready to beat a hasty retreat after the final felling cut, but it wasn’t necessary this time. Even though we had cut clean through the trunk, the tree didn’t fall. Its upper branches had so thoroughly entwined with the surrounding trees that the Osage orange defiantly stood there. Well, not exactly standing—it was actually hovering over the stump.
Our new strategy involved three key elements: cursing, sawing, and praying. After we cut down the ring of trees around it, the Osage orange finally toppled without killing either of us. The stump was oozing a thick white sap reminiscent of a wounded alien bleeding in a sci-fi movie.
We continued the project with a new-found respect for an opponent nearly as stubborn as we were. Fortunately, the remaining Osage orange trees were smaller, and at the end, we even had a tidy pile of fence posts.
Four-time North American Champ
Long-lasting. Osage orange is the most decay-resistant North American timber—it even enjoys immunity from termites.
Hot commodity. The highest BTU rating of any wood on the continent.
Twice as nice. The densest North American timber, with a Janka rating of 2620, nearly twice that of quartersawn white oak at 1335.
Big but not scary. “Hedge balls” are the largest fruit of any tree native to North America: the size of grapefruit. Despite folklore, they do not repel insects.
