By Catherine Bollinger

Animals fight over the seeds produced by magnolia trees.

I think Southern magnolia (Magnolia grandiflora) is the aristocratic belle among our native trees. Always well-dressed in glossy evergreen leaves, the heady perfume of her ivory flowers delights the nose for six weeks in late spring, and her dense shade provides welcome shelter from summer sun. But in autumn when the fruits ripen, this beauty lets her hair down and parties with visitors eager to dine on her seeds.

Just as visiting flocks of robins have wrestled woodpeckers for the last dogwood berry, the Southern magnolia in my yard presents fleshy red seeds for consumption. My tree is 40 feet tall, and copious spring blooms were thoroughly fertilized by throngs of honeybees.

Now her branches are weighed down by pink, fuzzy, conelike fruits that have begun to split open and dangle bright red seeds on thin threads. The lure works. My magnolia emits cackles, twitters and squeals as birds and squirrels scramble for every scarlet morsel.

My favorite visitors are the pileated woodpeckers. These crow-size birds don't leap from cone to cone with the delicate grace of a warbler. No, they crash and scramble and mutter to themselves as they devour ripe seeds. Warblers, thrashers and even greedy robins keep their distance when these woodpeckers are dining.

I like to think Ms. Magnolia enjoys all the fuss. After all, every proper belle I know takes as much pride in the beauty and bounty of her table as she does in her appearance.