Photo by Betty Wrightson.
When I was a young child in Buffalo, and the boundaries of my playtime world were defined by our city block, I developed an intimate relationship with all the trees that lined the curb and shaded our small backyard. Springtime meant the maple trees we climbed would release the “helicopters” that we’d split and wear on our noses. Fragrant lilacs would usher in Mother’s Day, and the blossoms on the cherry tree near the neighbor’s garage were the heralds of summer pies and pit-spitting contests.
I miss those days, so this spring I visited the National Arboretum in Washington, DC, specifically to see the “Grove of Trees” and find the state tree of New York. After some searching I located a majestic sugar maple in a section of the grove where other maple varieties stood, and was instantly transported back to the old West Side and the beloved tree of my childhood.
Buffalo was once called the City of Trees. Like Washington, DC, it was carefully planned with a system of interconnected parks and parkways that planners hoped would counterbalance the rapidly expanding (and polluting) industries along the city’s waterfront. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Buffalo’s forestry division planted more than 300,000 trees in parks and along city streets.
Then disaster struck. First it was a pathogen known as Chestnut Blight that spread up and down the east coast at a rate of 24 miles a year. By the time I appeared on the scene, nearly all the mature American chestnut trees in Buffalo were dead. Not long after, Dutch Elm Disease began attacking the beautiful vase-shaped elm trees that lined the city’s most prestigious avenues, and by 1977, most of Buffalo’s American elms were doomed.[1]
That, sadly, was not the end of the tree tragedies. Today, ash trees are under assault from the emerald ash borer and pine trees from pine wilt. A recent study suggests that nearly 25% of all tree deaths in the eastern US forests over the past 30 years were the result of insects and pathogens brought over from foreign countries. The economic losses from tree diseases are estimated to be higher than those from insects and fire combined.[2]
Having now lived through my first human pandemic, I began to wonder—who is looking out for our trees? Who is working on ways to prevent the next great American tree “pandemic”?
Dr. Seuss invented a character called “the Lorax” who “speaks for the trees,” and in doing my research for this blog I found there are many real life “Loraxes.” There are forest pathologists and tree epidemiologists and research plant pathologists whose life’s work is to figure out how and why trees get sick and die. A quick look at the resumes of the scientists who work at the US National Arboretum, for example, gives a sense of the scope and importance of their work.[3]
Much more interesting to me though, are recent findings that trees not only look out for themselves but for each other. According to a German forester by the name of Peter Wohlleben in his wonderful book, The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate, trees “talk” to each other (through electrical impulses) and they form communities. His research suggests that when planted alone and away from others, trees become weakened and more susceptible to disease. In a forest, where parent trees live with their offspring and nurture each other, they are stronger. Haven’t we learned that we are more resilient when we work together to solve problems?
Joyce Kilmer
Thankfully there are many who are aware of the dangers to our trees and are willing to step up. The American Chestnut Research and Restoration Project, for example, has set a goal of growing 10,000 blight-resistant American chestnuts trees over the next five years. Buffalo’s own Green Fund provides money for the WNY CommunitTREE Steward Project to educate residents on how to care for their own city trees.
Let’s hope that one day, scientists, conservationists, and citizens alike will learn from the trees themselves, and working together, avert the next great American tree tragedy.
Are you concerned about our trees? Do you have a favorite tree story? I would love to hear from you in the comments below!
Moxie Gardiner is a writer and gardener who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.
[1] For an interesting scientific perspective on these diseases, see https://www.srs.fs.usda.gov/pubs/ja/ja_schlarbaum002.htm
[2] For more information see https://www.sciencemag.org/news/2020/05/deadly-imports-one-us-forest-25-tree-deaths-caused-foreign-pests-and-disease
There’s one Dutch Elm on Bidwell and W. Delevan that survives to this day.
Thanks for the info Bob! I will check it out next time I’m in that neighborhood. That must be one tough elm!
I am always marveling about beautiful trees. After the October storm in 2006,
many trees were devastated. I felt great sadness. I remember driving to Erie the next spring and I kept saying to Uncle Dan, “Look at the beautiful trees”. That was because our trees were so decimated. Thankfully many are restored to their beauty. Still when we are out and about I am constantly pointing out interesting trees. I love the uniqueness of them all.
You are a tree lover after my own heart, Elizabeth. I remember that bizarre ice storm in 2006. It saddened me as well to see the devastation (I was in Buffalo at the time). Thank you for sharing your love of trees with me and my readers.
Another wonderful article, Moxie. You cannot grow up in Buffalo without having a special feeling and appreciation for trees. I know I did (even though a VERY large tree branch almost killed me as I was running home across the parkway from Mrs. Thompsons deli in a viscous Buffalo storm. Missed my young noggin by inches). I well remember when the dreaded Dutch Elm disease of which you speak hit. It brings back the memories of those beautiful trees being systematically cut down as the workers from the all too familiar Davey tree service worked their way down Bidwell Parkway. It was such a sad sight to see. At least they have replanted those trees to bring things back to where they were once before.
Thanks John. How forgiving you are to still love trees after your near-death experience. I always appreciate your comments, and your stories of your early days in Buffalo.
Moxie,
I too am a tree hugger, and feel such great sadness when trees are cut down. We recently had to remove 10 dead ash trees from our property, as well as a century-old Austrian pine. I sometimes sit on their stumps and marvel at the circular vestiges of their magnificent past, and put my palm against the smooth wood in hopes of feeling a terrestrial pulse. But while some trees inevitably reach the end of life, we have the wonderful ability to replace them with new plantings, new growth. Some of my siblings and I will each be planting a tree in memory of our dear Uncle Ed, who passed away in January. In his honor, I will plant an Elm, one of they greatest symbols of Buffalo’s glorious past. Thank you for sharing this interesting history, and your love of trees!
Doreen, thank you for your beautifully expressed sentiments about our trees. I love the thought of you placing your palm on the wood to feel “a terrestrial pulse.” I, too, try to communicate with the trees, especially the very old ones, by placing my hands on them. While I have yet to learn their language, I think about it as an expression of my love for them, and I hope somehow, through electrical impulses, they feel it.
I also think it is wonderful that you are planting an elm in your uncle’s honor. May it grow and prosper.