miro with red berries that stained the kereru red

Size
Height: 15–25 m
Lifespan
300–500 years
Diet
Produces small, red-orange berries (fleshy cones) that are a favourite food of the kererū (native wood pigeon). The berries are an important food source for forest birds.
Habitat
Lowland and montane forests from Northland to Stewart Island. Prefers moist, well-drained soils on hillslopes, in gullies, and on margins of forest clearings.
Range
Found throughout the North and South Islands, Stewart Island, and the Chatham Islands in lowland and montane forests. Most common in moist, well-drained soils on hillslopes.
Endemism
Endemic
Main Threats
Habitat loss is the primary threat. Many lowland and montane forests have been cleared for agriculture and logging. Also threatened by historical logging and browsing of seedlings by possums and deer.
Population
Not Threatened, though many large Miro were felled for timber in 19th and early 20th centuries. Wood used for flooring, furniture, and boatbuilding. Still common, but great old trees are rare.
Conservation Status
Not Threatened
Human Risk
harmless
Handling Note
native conifer, edible berries safe to handle
Conservation Note
Endemic conifer; widespread in lowland and montane forests throughout New Zealand.
Assessment
NZTCS Vascular Plants (2023)
Te Ao Māori
Miro. The name is short. Soft. In Māori tradition, Miro was a tree of deep forest. A source of food and timber. Its berries were eaten. Sweet, fleshy, a treat for children. Its wood was used for tools. For paddles. For frames of houses. The tree was also a sign. A forest with fruiting Miro was a forest of abundance. A place where birds gathered. A place where people could gather too. Kererū came for berries. And people came for kererū. Miro was part of the chain. Tree to bird to human. A link in the web of life.
The cousin of Mataī. The quieter one. The one with reddish bark and bigger fruit. Miro looks similar at first glance. A dark green tree with dense, narrow leaves. But details are different. Bark is reddish-brown. Not black. And peels in thin, papery flakes. Trunk often buttressed at the base. Spreading out like roots of an old oak. What makes it special? The leaves. Like Mataī, Miro has small, narrow, pointed leaves. Arranged in two rows along branchlets. But Miro leaves are softer. Less prickly. A paler green. Arranged in a flat spray. Like a fern frond. Giving the tree a softer, more feathery appearance than stiff, dark Mataī. The fruit is where Miro stands out. The tree is dioecious. Separate male and female trees. Females produce a large, fleshy, bright red berry. Bigger than Mataī blue-black fruit. More like a small plum. Sweet and rich. A high-energy food for kererū (wood pigeon) and kākā. Birds swallow berry whole. Digest flesh. And carry seed away from parent tree. Miro depends on its winged gardeners. The wood is dense. Heavy. Reddish-brown. Similar to mataī but with a warmer tone. Used for flooring. Furniture. Frames of houses. A wood that does not warp. Does not crack. Does not give up. A Miro floorboard laid down a hundred years ago is probably still there. Still straight. Still solid. Biologically, Miro is a slow-burn reproducer. It does not fruit every year. It waits for a mast year. Every two to five years. To produce a massive crop of berries. In a mast year, the forest erupts in red fruit. Kererū come from miles away. Gorging on the bounty. Spreading seeds across hills. A tree that knows the value of patience. It stores energy. Waits for the right moment. Then floods the forest with food. To stand under a Miro in a mast year is to stand under a red canopy. Berries hang in clusters. Bright against dark green leaves. Kererū everywhere. Wobbling on branches. Too full to fly. Ground littered with fallen fruit. Air smells of sweet, rotting berries. A feast. A celebration. A moment of abundance in quiet forest. Miro is not a king. It is not a warrior. It is the provider. The one with bigger fruit. The one that feeds birds when other trees are bare. It has been here for millennia. It will be here as long as kererū remembers its berries.