I am a writer and a collector.
When I was a kid, I collected rocks. As an adult, I collected islands and wrote about them in my book "Great Lakes Island Escapes: Ferries and Bridges to Adventure" (Wayne State University Press, 2016). Then I got to collect the Great Lakes themselves. My juvenile nonfiction book, "All About the Great Lakes" (Blue River Press) is coming out in July 2019.
Through Dunphy Consulting Services, I offer individual coaching services for writers, assist with book proposals and manuscripts, and facilitate writing workshops and retreats. I also teach prose-writing workshops for Springfed Arts.
I have always lived in the tri-county area of the Lower Peninsula in the “Mitten State” and grew up visiting the Great Lakes--Lake Michigan and Lake Huron, in particular.
But, for the last 25 years, once the ice is off the lake and the ferry is running again, I spend time at my cottage on Ontario’s Pelee Island in Lake Erie. On weekends there, I collect fossils and beach glass on the west shore. I also collect the ideas materializing above the waves, hovering just at the horizon.
And, regardless of what else I happen to be collecting at the moment, I'm always collecting words and stories, connecting and combining bits of information in ways that I find fascinating. Recently, those collections are focused on trees.
Last week, I asked for one more tree–a 7th suggestion–to add to my list of 6 species and received 7 more suggestions, more than doubling the list.
If you want to cut to the chase and see the full list of the 13 suggested tree species, check out The List. If you want to read the full story of who suggested what and why, read on . . .
Writer Al C. suggested the Pawpaw tree, commenting after my last blog posting: “Have you considered a Pawpaw tree? They are native to Michigan. They have large (think: apple) fruit. The fruit tastes like banana and custard.” Al’s apparently on to something here. The Michigan Farmer website has a post entitled “The Possibility of the Pawpaw,” which states: “Although it’s been called the ‘Michigan banana,’ the pawpaw is actually related to the tropical custard-apple family and is the only temperate member of this tropical family of trees.”
Writer Gerry F. suggested an Oak, explaining, “According to the Woodland Trust in the UK, ‘A single 400-year-old ancient Oak produces 234,000 liters of oxygen a year and may support more than 2,000 species of bird, insect, fungus, and lichen.'”
Fellow Troy-Community-Choir Member, Lisa E. suggested her favorite, the Redbud tree, adding “They put on the most beautiful show in the spring, very short, but well worth it!”
Writer Susan H-B. came back with a second suggestion, also recommending a Redbud, explaining, “. . . Less political, maybe, [than my Ohio Buckeye suggestion] but actually dearer to my heart. When I was growing up, we had a lovely redbud tree in Bellefountaine, one of the several towns we lived in. . . . We lived there during the happy middle of my elementary years. . . .I remember one afternoon walking along a ladder on the ground under the tree, singing ‘I’ve Been Working on the Railroad’ over and over.”
Writer Rhonda H. asked if she could make a second suggestion, putting forth the Elm, writing, “Today it hit me that I needed to speak up for the elm! I was thinking about the seeds/seedlings from that majestic one on Hazel St. It must be disease resistant to have survived Dutch elm disease. I don’t know if disease-resistant elm saplings are available or if it would require starting one from one of her seeds. (which I realize would take way too long), but I felt compelled to add elm to the list!”
Rhonda had given me the Hazel St. address from her route in Birmingham, MI in October of 2017, and I shot a few photos. She knew our neighborhood was dealing with a great loss of a number of large trees due to construction and was worried that the construction on Hazel St. would kill that grand elm. But, she drove by it Thursday and reported, “She’s still there, holding her own . . . so far.”
A Japanese Maple?
Daughter Caitlin B., who thinks I’ve become a “crazy tree lady,” nonetheless contributed her suggestion of a Japanese maple. We planted one at our house in Ferndale, MI, where we lived until she was 12.
One cool sunny Saturday morning, before she was born, I rode out with a friend of my husband’s who had a truck to a tree nursery to pick it out. My husband and Jimmy R. planted it right in the middle of and very close to the front of our house. A good place for what was supposed to be a “dwarf” variety of Japanese maple, but it quickly grew up toward and between Caitlin and her sister Meagan’s bedroom windows. It is still growing where it was planted on W. Maplehurst Ave. Caitlin likes the Japanese maple for its red leaves.
Writer Barbara A. strongly recommended a Magnolia as “the most beautiful tree.” She explained, “When we were kids, our magnolia at our house in Dearborn, MI was the size of the universe. The canopy was low, and underneath its branches, we held tea parties and read. I especially remember reading The Kingdom of Carbonel–one of a series of books about a black cat–there. The magnolia’s leaves are a beautiful dark shiny green, and I love the flowers. Although it only lasted 3 hours, my wedding bouquet was made of magnolia flowers!”
This was the first tree suggested that I’d never heard of before although Barbara tells me she has one growing in her front yard. The tree’s true name is Metasequoia, and it is one of three types of sequoias or redwoods in the world: Giant Redwoods, Coast Redwoods, and Dawn Redwoods. The Dawn Redwood is classified as a deciduous conifer, like the Tamarack (see “Lee’s Larches“).
And, an interesting Ginkgo planting location suggestion
Writer Eileen P. added her vote, bringing the count–if we were counting–to 3 for one of the first 6 suggested trees, a Ginkgo. She suggested it be planted near a Senior Center. Ginkgo, revered as it is for its great longevity and with ginkgo leaf extracts supposed to support one’s memory, a senior center would make an excellent location to plant one. I met Eileen when she joined a writing workshop, “Finding Your Way to Writing” I was facilitating at the Mahany-Meininger Senior Center in Royal Oak. So, I guess we know which senior center!
13 trees . . .
And, a decision to be made soon. Arbor Day is just 38 days away. The information at the links on The List will surely prove helpful. I suspect a spreadsheet of tree species’ attributes is in my near future!
To plant a tree that would “attract Kirtland’s Warblers” is the most interesting suggestion I’ve received, so far.
Having just posted the Catalpa post before heading off to facilitate three writing workshops Wednesday, I got some interesting suggestions from writers.
Writer Mary R. enthusiastically suggested a Ginkgo.
Her suggestion for a Ginkgo came on the heels of me musing that I might plant the tree in a schoolyard or park instead of my own yard. So many aspects of a Ginkgo that might engage kids!
I already have a Ginkgo tree in my front yard, one that we had transplanted 5 or 6 years ago, moving it from beneath the Honey-Locust vs. Norway-Maple canopy competition, so it had more room to grow and wouldn’t end up with a bent trunk while trying to reach for the sun. It had been a Mother’s Day present for the last owner of our home, Noreen B. Now in the center of my front yard, in winter months it often sports white twinkly lights.
A favorite among several . . .
The Ginkgo, along with the Sycamore and the Beech, is one of 3 of my favorite trees in our yard.
Although I must say, my granddaughter Avery Grace‘s fascination with the swaying-in-the-breeze fruits of the Sweetgum tree, just over the border of our property to the west has been working on me the last three years since she first became aware of them on another Sweetgum when she lived in the Duke Forest.
Then there is my neighbor Suzanne C.’s magical quartet of front-yard trees: Hawthorn, Aspen, Birch, and Smoke Tree! She also has a large White Pine at the sidewalk, and on the west side and in the back, several Oaks, and a Walnut tree that drops its squirrel-favored fruit over our fence.
A White Pine?
Writer Harah F. suggested a White Pine.
This tree, formally known as an Eastern White Pine, was designated Michigan’s state tree in 1955.
The White Pine was chosen to serve in this role because from 1870 into the early 20th century Michigan led the nation in lumber production, and the White Pine was the most important of all “timber trees.”
Achieving this #1 lumbering status, of course, involved cutting down most of the state’s White Pines, many of which were “over 200 years old, two hundred feet in height and five feet in diameter.” Much of the forest land in Michigan “sold for as little as $1.25 an acre; and later, under the 1862 Homestead Act, men were hired to claim a plot of 160 acres and stay until the timber on it was cut.” [Emphasis mine; source: http://www.michigan-history.org/lumbering/LumberingBriefHistory.html]
But then, Harah F. reconsidered her suggestion, “But with climate change . . . ”
Certainly, a consideration. Currently, White Pines can be found in all of the state “except for the southwestern quarter of the Lower Peninsula.” [Source: Trees of Michigan: Field Guide by Stan Tekiela (Cambridge, MN: Adventure Publications, 2002, p. 27.]
When I asked her why, Susan reminded me that she was from Ohio, sent me the buckeye photo below, and added, “I love buckeyes and somehow manage to collect one everywhere I go, even in France. The tree looks just like a tree you draw when you’re six, has the same rounded shape, just with buckeyes instead of apples.”
Known as the “Ohio Buckeye,” this tree is the state tree of Ohio as well as the name of Ohio State University football team. Oh, dear! While the Klotzbach side of my family came, most recently, from Cleveland, Ohio, our youngest daughter, Caitlin Skye, graduated from the University of Michigan. So, given the Wolverine vs. Buckeye rivalry, perhaps not.
Despite being officially known as the Ohio Buckeye, (as well as the American Horse-Chestnut), the Buckeye is native to Michigan, growing in the southern part of the Lower Peninsula. Although we probably should be expecting the Buckeye’s range to be moving north in the warmer years to come.
Reading up on the Buckeye–if I’ve ever seen one, I didn’t know that was what I was looking at–I discovered a few more reasons why a Buckeye might not be the best choice :
The Buckeye’s green flowers–and most other parts of the tree–emit a foul odor when crushed (the tree is also known as “Fetid Buckeye” or “Stinking Buckeye”)
The Buckeye’s fruit is a 1-2″ spiny capsule, which could add to the challenge of walking barefoot in my front yard between the Sycamore and Sweetgum (although no sprained ankles have yet occurred from the fruits of either in our time here)
The Buckeye’s seeds are poisonous and avoided by wildlife.
[Source of information in the list above: Trees of Michigan: Field Guide by Stan Tekiela (Cambridge, MN: Adventure Publications, 2002, p. 211.]
A second vote for a Catalpa
Writer Rhonda H. had not yet read my most recent blog posting when she recommended a Catalpa tree, not knowing it had also been suggested by Jan P.
When Rhonda is not writing, she’s delivering mail in Birmingham, MI. She identified a Cedar St. in Birmingham as a street where Catalpas have been planted. (Interesting note for local readers: Cedar St. runs south into a two-block Catalpa Drive, a different Catalpa Drive from the one known as “11-and-1/2 Mile” that runs through Royal Oak and Berkley.)
Later, after she’d read my Catalpa post, Rhonda H. e-mailed me, writing, “I was reminded of a Catalpa I love on one of my routes. It’s [on] Oakland Ave. . . . What I especially love about it is the way the light filters through the leaves . . . I don’t know why this particular Catalpa captivates me. Cedar’s catalpas are much older and grander. This one’s youngish, but pretty much takes up the whole front yard. I wish you could see it with leaves, in sunlight.”
Above: Rhonda H.’s favorite Catalpa (L) with what seems to be a double trunk in the (unfortunately fuzzy) screenshot of Google Maps’ address photo; notice zig-zagging branches and (R) behind what appears be a Honey Locust on the right and a Blue Spruce on the left, growing on Oakland Ave. in Birmingham, MI (source: Google Maps Street View, August 2018)
The Nextdoor Catalpa Gang
I recently started following the Gardening & Landscape (G&L) interest group on Nextdoor, the private social network for communities. Yesterday, after having received the two Catalpa tree votes, I headed a post in the G&L group entitled “Catalpa tree, anyone?”
Nextdoor G& L members,–Elyse C., Lisa H., Rebecca B., Chuck H., Michelle L., and Laura C.–all responded positively to my inquiry about the choice of a Catalpa. In addition to this group’s apparent unanimous love of the tree, Chuck sent a photo of his flourishing Catalpa. Both Elyse and Laura offered me one of their baby Catalpa saplings (apparently, like Maples, Catalpas plant themselves). Michelle provided a description of the Catalpa flowers, ending with a two-word sentence: “A joy.”
Members of the Catalpa Gang gave me specific locations of where I could find Catalpa trees growing locally. Saturday, on a brisk two-mile walk to downtown Royal Oak, I came across these three:
Now about those Kirtland’s Warblers . . .
Writer Tim H. was the person who suggested I plant a tree that would attract Kirtland’s Warblers.
This meant a little bit of bird research. I read that while the Kirtland’s Warbler was nearly extinct 50 years ago, its population is increasing. I know from the reports of birders that Kirtland’s Warblers, during migration season, have been seen on Pelee Island, an Ontario island in the western basin of Lake Erie, where we have a cottage. But where is home for the Kirtland’s Warbler?
“[Kirtland’s Warbler] is noted for its extremely limited range [breeding only in north-central Michigan]. During the breeding season, it is confined to dense stands of young jack pines that spring up after forest fires in. Once such stands reach about 20 feet, the birds abandon them. Even in winter [in the Bahamas] it inhabits low scrub, although not always pines. Recently a sanctuary has been established by the State of Michigan where controlled burning will attempt to maintain the required habitat of this rare bird.
The Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds: Eastern Region by John Bull and John Farrand, Jr. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1977)
A Jack Pine?
No wonder the Kirtland’s Warbler is also known as the Jack Pine Warbler.
I suspect Tim H. will be disappointed, but although I love Jack Pines and wouldn’t mind sharing my yard with one, I’m never going to be able to provide a “dense stand of young jack pines” here in Royal Oak, not in my lifetime, let alone engage in controlled burns. It also appears we’re too far south and east for the Kirtland Warbler’s to appreciate a dense stand of young jack pines even if I could provide them one.
Our neighbors Lynn L. and Fred G. treated us to dinner Saturday evening, and they both rooted for a Birch. They have long had a love affair with the one in the yard behind theirs.
There are other birches in the neighborhood, including right next door, although they have always seemed happier to me Up North . . .
These are the six trees I’ve received recommendations to plant so far:
Eastern White Pine
Romeo weighs in
Last night at my first “island book” presentation of 2019, a woman who had been in the audience approached me while I was signing books and whispered in my ear, “Gingko biloba.” It took me a minute. During the period at the end of my talk where I take questions, someone had asked what I was working on now. So, I told them about the Arbor Day Plot. Then I had returned to islands.
This woman was suggesting I plant a Gingko, using the tree’s Latin name: Gingko biloba. She explained Gingkos are the oldest trees on earth and have beautiful fan-shaped leaves.
So, the week began with a second vote for Gingko.
[Gingko] trees . . . grew up with the dinosaurs and have come down to us almost unchanges for 200 million years . . . Gingko is now the most widely recognized of all botanical “living fossils” . . . Fossil gingko leaves are known from every continent. The prehistory of ginkgo goes back to before the Atlantic Ocean existed and before the southern continents broke from Antarctica and went their own ways . . . Human dominance on our planet could have meant the end for ginkgo, but unlike many other trees, it has flourished alongside people. In one way or another, it has proved useful; more unusually, it has become revered.
— Peter Crane in Ginkgo: the tree that time forgot (London: Yale University Press, 2013)
The time is nigh
If you have any opinions–pro or con–about any of these six trees, or another tree to recommend, please get it/them to me this week. I’m feeling with this morning’s sun and the temperature on the rise, next week would be a good time to make a decision. The questions of where and how and who’s going to plant loom.
While catching up over lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Plymouth, my friend Jan from Ann Arbor (and my Beaver Island companion), suggested I consider planting a catalpa tree when the time comes in April. She described several individual catalpa trees that she looks for and admires in the area and mentioned their specific locations.
One pair of neighbors discover another pair
I immediately thought of the pair of catalpa trees my walking partner Jeanne and I discovered and identified–thanks to her gift of Trees, a Smithsonian Nature Guide–a few years ago.
First, we noticed the trees’ huge heart-shaped leaves on our early-morning walks. Catalpa leaves can be up to 12 inches from stem to stern.
Late in the season, long after other flowering trees were done blooming, we were drawn to the trees by the sweet fragrance of their creamy-white orchid-like flowers, which feature flourishes of purple streaks and orangish-yellow spots from their ruffled petals into the throats of their trumpets. In this pair, only the tree on the right (above in the photo) blooms, at least since we’ve been paying attention.
Finally, when the flowers are just a memory and the leaves have fallen, the long bean-like seed pods hang from the tree. These pods can be as long as 18 inches and hang onto the tree through the winter. As you can see above, as of March 6, they’re still hanging on. This fruit is apparently what gives the catalpa two of its nicknames: the “Cigar Tree” and the “Indian Bean.”
Two bits of history
A third “nickname” for the catalpa is the original name it was first given: “Catawba.” “Catalpa” is considered a misunderstanding of this original Cherokee name of the tree.
The southern variety of catalpa was “once widely planted for fenceposts.” Perhaps because, while its wood is “soft and light, [it is] surprisingly durable in contact with the soil.” That may explain why “in the Mississippi Valley, considerable plantations of catalpa” were maintained. And, why the wood of the catalpa was, for a time, used for railroad ties.
Imagining our pair’s history
Both of these trees appear to be old. I read that catalpa trees prefer “moist valley soils by streams.” Might this pair have, at one time, graced the banks (or less poetically, the floodplain) of the Red Run before the creek was corraled into a giant drainpipe and buried under Vinsetta’s boulevard?
Or, maybe being so cement-bound has just aged them before their time. I fervently hope the city leaves them alone.
A volunteer put up for adoption
I don’t even have one photo of the one other catalpa I have known, the little one I adopted in 2017. Neighbors around the block from me posted a photo on our Nextdoor site of the “volunteer” tree that was growing too close to their deck, asking if anyone wanted it. After getting to know and appreciate the pair of catalpas above, I did.
It was the end of a hot July, but the neighbors wanted it removed right away, so I went over and tried to carefully extract it out of dry, dry ground. Its small trunk was growing up snug to the deck, which made it difficult to get at its rootball from behind. Eventually, I had to call for help and resort to half digging and half pulling it free from rock-solid earth.
The Water Wagon
We planted the maybe two-foot-tall catalpa on the park lawn, where it would get some sun and have some room to grow, out from under the canopy of the other big trees in the yard. And, then we watered and watered and watered it. Our hoses, even all combined, wouldn’t stretch that far, so it was a matter of filling a Home Depot bucket with water, hoisting it up into the old family wagon, and transporting it down the driveway to the little three-foot tree. I wondered how many springs before it would bloom.
One of the things I did on my summer vacation
The week after the catalpa was transplanted, we left for a family reunion in Estes Park, Colorado. Lying in bed at night in a cabin on the banks of the Big Thompson River and listening to its babble and rush, it would not be an exaggeration to say I was praying that rain was falling in Michigan on the little tree.
But, when we arrived back home at the end of a ten-day Michigan August heat wave, it was too late for the water wagon to make a difference.
I have no intention of planting a tree, any tree, ever again in summer. (Any more than I’d choose to plant another honey locust tree close to my house.)
What do you know about catalpa trees?
So I’m curious what you would think about the choice of a catalpa tree? Have you ever planted one or lived with one? Are there any other catalpa trees that you’ve noticed? Is there anything I should know about catalpa trees if I were to decide to plant one?
And . . .
Do you have a suggestion of another tree I should consider before deciding on what tree I’m going to plant at the end of April?
“. . . I will tell you how to plant a tree. First, dig a hole bigger than the tree requires so that it will have room enough to grow. Trim all broken branches or nearly broken branches and then put the tree in the middle of the hole. Then sprinkle rich dirt around the roots and cover up and stamp down the dirt all around. If it is in the growing season, water the tree when first planted but don’t keep it up. Artificial water is not as good as rain. . . .”
— From “arbor day” by evelyn glass of whittier [elementary school], 5a, in 1929, as reprinted in Royal Oak twigs and acorns, COMPILED BY DAVID G. PENNEY AND LOIS A. LANCE (ANN ARBOR, MI: SHERIDAN BOOKS, 2008)
Without a doubt, this tree should never have been planted where it is.
This is the biggest of three honey locusts planted around our house. While I can’t separate this particular honey locust from the other trees planted between the two houses in earlier photos of our property, you can just decipher the slender trunk of the honey locust planted in our front yard (in what we think might be the 70s, judging from the car).
A member of the pea (!) family (Fabaceae), honey locusts are fast-growing trees. The one on the drive may have gotten a boost in 2007 and 2008 from having its roots cut along the entire west side of my neighbors’ house when they had a foundation added to their house. A tree service consultant told me at the time that such cutting shouldn’t hurt the tree, and in fact, may make the tree grow “like a weed.”
Maybe it has. But some developments that I’ve noticed over the last two years–involving its trunks, branches, and roots–have worried me.
A bump just below the first fork (aka crotch, or main union) of the tree had appeared and seems to be increasing in size. What is causing it? Is it making the main union weaker?
A little bit of research indicates that the bump is a burl. Most burls result from some sort of injury to the tree or infection by viruses, fungi, bacteria or insects. Lovely.
While burls are prized by woodworkers for their unusual woodgrain pattern, I’d prefer not to have one growing off the trunk of a tree for which I’m responsible.
The burl isn’t the only thing going on with the trunk.
Instead of possessing one solid round-in-diameter trunk, like the other two honey locusts have, this one seems to be a composite of four pole-like legs with what appears to be deepening divisions. Imagine four very large asparagus stalks rubberbanded together, covered in bark, and melded together in the middle. Squirrels have taken to storing their treasures in the crannies between the segments. Does this unusual structure make the tree stronger or weaker?
Our driveway has been cracked for a long time, maybe since before we moved in. It’s become clear from their location that the cracks are caused by the apparently flourishing roots of the honey locust. This past year, a crack became an open crevice. Judging from activity in the fall, a very cozy chipmunk is hibernating there now.
Despite having had deadwood trimmed and the crown raised higher above our roof a few years ago, when ice coated the branches and twigs during storms this winter, I could see–and my neighbor Kate could hear–the tree’s fingers dragging along her roof.
Our former tree service consultant suggested we put four metal bolts through the trunk to hold the segments together and install two cables in the tree’s crown. However, this was not going to be cheap or guaranteed. Maybe I should spend just a little bit more and have the tree cut down instead?
When I asked for a second opinion of a highly recommended arborist at a local nursery, she asked for photographs. Basing her opinion on the photographs I e-mailed her, she basically responded, “Bad spot for a not-good specimen of the species. Remove it.”
This seemed harsh. If the tree did not pose a danger to my neighbors’ or my house, who was I to remove it?
This arborist, not knowing that she was my second opinion, offered the contact information for another arborist to provide another opinion. He came out, saw the tree, and said that while his opinion was that the tree never should have been planted where it was, there was no reason why it would not stand.
On the other hand, he continued, there is never a guarantee. Some of the strongest-looking trees fall. Oh, great.
Did I mention that both of the entrances to our house are off of our driveway, directly across from the tree? And, that a honey locust, while providing beautiful dappled shade with its ferny “twice compound” leaves composed of small leaflets. . .
. . . loses those small leaflets when they are green, yellow, and brown, all year long. I am forever sweeping and picking up small leaflets tracked in on the soles of every single person who enters our home.
This honey locust has probably been growing in this spot for about 50 years. Trees of this non-native species generally live 100 – 125 years. And, now the decision whether it lived or died was up to me. My husband, wise man that he is, knowing how I felt about trees, refused to offer an opinion.
What I Wish
I fervently wish that the tree had never been planted where it was. Or that one of the two owners of the property before I moved in had removed the tree. But it was, and they hadn’t.
I would be excited for the opportunity to have a new smooth driveway poured come spring.
I would be so very happy to be able to stop sweeping–or feel like I should be sweeping–my seriously cracked drive, our two entrance stoops, every room in my house.
I would love for the small leaflets–along with the increasingly big worry that keeps me awake these windy nights–to simply vanish from my life.
But . . .
But when this honey locust is in leaf, the tree rises above our houses in a fountain of green that can be seen upon the downhill street approach across from our houses or from an around-the-block stroll.
It is a part of the neighborhood’s canopy, a canopy which has already been severely diminished in the last 5 years by developers’ greed.
The honey locust’s trunk with a circumference of 6’8′ also creates a division between my neighbor’s windows and the windows of our living space. We are very fortunate to have good neighbors on both sides of us, but with respect to the east, our houses would seem much closer without the honey locust between them.
What to Do?
Until this week, I thought the best thing someone could have told me was that the inside of the tree was rotten and that a wind like those we’ve had in the past week could blow it over. Then both my worry and the mess of the leaflets could have been removed without evoking any guilt in me about removing a mature tree. But then my neighbor suggested I call Kevin Bingham of Singing Tree, who had taken care of her mom Sue’s trees.
Singing Tree also trims the trees inside the Belle Isle Conservatory and outside of Detroit’s Dorothy H. Turkel House, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in 1956.
Kevin’s partner Emily Brent came out to have a look at the honey locust. She suggested trimming the tree’s crown up 5 – 10″ feet above my neighbor’s roof and dealing with the water drainage problem between our houses as the way to stop the tree’s roots from their interest in cracking my neighbors’ foundation.
From the ground, she was not worried about the burl, the divided trunk, or what the roots were up to. She suggested their crew leader, Evan, could do an aerial inspection and before either trimming or removal commenced, we’d have a conversation. I made an appointment for Monday morning at 9:00 a.m..
Monday Morning 8:45 A.M.
A Reprieve for the Tree
The honey locust passed inspection. Emily, Kevin, Evan, and Dean all agreed that they’d not have planted the tree where it is, but that they would not remove if it were in such a location on a piece of property belonging to them.
Given the positive experience I’ve had with both partners and their crew, I’ve decided Singing Tree will be monitoring the honey locust along with the rest of the trees on my property in the years to come.
And the Winds of the Last Week?
At night, I listen to the wind in the trees outside my window. Then I drift off to sleep, with no worry. And, no guilt.
Arboretum is a place to showcase photos of trees: favorite trees, unusual trees, or just trees you see going about your everyday life or while traveling.
If you e-mail a tree photo(s), I’ll plant (i.e., post) it in the Arboretum. You’re welcome to include any information (or not) about the tree: the tree’s location and/or species; why you noticed it and/or the relationship you have with it; and any other interesting things about the tree. Tree information you share will be included in the photo’s caption.
Check out “Leigh’s Larches” . . . the inspiration for adding the Arboretum feature. Thanks, Leigh!
Do you have a photo of a tree to add to the Arboretum? Send it to ArborDayPlot@gmail.com
Now that Questions 9 & 10 of the 2019 Michigan Tree Survey had done half of the heavy lifting to get me started on this project (thank you, dear Julia, “City Appraiser 1,” for doing the other half!) . . . why not mail the survey to the Arbor Day Foundation? Even almost a month late, I suspect they’ll accept my donation.
I reviewed my December answers. For Q. 9, I had initially filled in the bubble that indicated I knew “almost all” of the trees near my home. On a neighborhood walk, however, I realized that there were more than a few trees I didn’t know, so “some” it is. For now.
Needy National Forests?
I knew I couldn’t handle planting 10 flowering trees and 2 lilac bushes, so I figured I’d have the Foundation plant 10 more trees in a national forest “in greatest need” of trees.
But, I wondered: What forests are in the greatest need? Forests hit by wildfires in the West? Are Michigan’s three national forests–Huron-Manistee, Hiawatha, and Ottawa–in need?
I decided to choose national forests in greatest need, even though I hadn’t a clue which those are or where they are located. It appeared to be my only alternative to ending up with a bunch of trees I might inadvertently kill by not getting them all in the ground in a timely fashion.
“Florida suffered $1.3 billion in timber loss, affecting 2.8 million acres and more than 200 communities” during Hurricane Michael in October 2017.
The Arbor Day Foundation and the Florida Forest Service partnered for Florida’s Arbor Day on January 18, 2018, to give away free trees to Panhandle residents.
“In Marianna, 700 trees were distributed to residents in 20 minutes. In Panama City, 800 trees were given away in about an hour. On Saturday, 500 trees were distributed in 30 minutes” in Panama City Beach.
In all, “2,000 trees were distributed to residents and 15 large trees were planted at our host sites.”
With the influx of natural disasters happening around the world, it’s easy for affected communities to become forgotten each time the next disaster pummels in, overtaking the news and our attention. But the Arbor Day Foundation’s Community Tree Recovery program aims to combat this habit of forgetting, activating long-term tree recovery efforts in these affected communities once the dust settles.
–Arbor day foundation
I have thought about tree loss when it comes to wildfires. But, I hadn’t thought about the tree loss a hurricane or other natural disaster might bring to a homeowner, a street, a neighborhood, a community.
I did think about it yesterday, as the wind gusted, rattling the branches of the trees with which I share my yard. Losing any one of them would be very sad. (Okay, maybe not the Honey Locust alongside my cracked driveway, but that’s a story for next week.)
Houses can be rebuilt, belongings can be replaced. The loss of a mature tree in one’s yard or neighborhood is more analogous to the loss of a wedding photo album, the baby pictures, great-grandma’s brooch, a distant member of the family. Irreplaceable in our lifetime.
For 2019, I had decided I wanted to make a resolution that might someday make a difference for my neighborhood and community while contributing to a greener future.
Helping my parents move out of their house of 42 years in 2018 put me on intimate terms with the various bins at SOCCRA (the Southeastern Oakland County Resource Recovery Authority), so in November, I was thinking I might resolve to do something related to recycling.
But, instead, circumstances in December led me to resolve to plant a tree.
Trying to distract myself, I find an unexpected focus.
Shortly before the holidays, when all of the nonprofits that had ever gotten ahold of my e-mail address were sending out pleas to get me to make a donation before the end of 2018, I received–delivered by U.S. postal carrier–a survey from the Arbor Day Foundation.
In mid-December, I searched for a pencil, sat down on my kitchen counter stool, and filled in an oval under each of the 17 multiple-choice questions on the 2019 Michigan Tree Survey. It served as a good temporary fix to avoid facing my overwhelming list of holiday tasks.
But, nobody ever got my answers.
I didn’t mail my completed survey. At the end of the survey, were two choices more than I could handle at the time:
How much money to donate to the organization
Whether to a) take the “10 FREE Flowering Trees & 2 FREE Fragrant Lilacs” in return for my donation or b) designate that the foundation “plant 10 more trees in one of our nation’s forests in greatest need.”
What I imagined doing in order to answer Question #1 was going back through our charitable giving for 2018 to figure out what made sense to send to the Arbor Day Foundation. (Hey, just abandon that holiday gift list and get a jump on 2018 taxes!)
The holiday haze has cleared enough that I’m sure receiving 10 trees and 2 lilacs to plant would be 11 too many things to plant.
Two questions stuck.
The survey was due by January 18, 2019. It had been filled out for over a month at that point. But, I didn’t mail it. And, still haven’t. It certainly isn’t because I’ve forgotten about it. The survey questions–two in particular–keep floating up in my mind unprovoked, as if from a Magic 8 Ball:
9. Can you identify the trees near your Royal Oak home? I selected the answer “Some of them.”
10. How many trees do you have on your property? I had to count before I picked “More than 7.” (Twice that, in fact. Who knew?)
Serendipity arrived with the City Assessor . . .
The same week I completed the survey, a city assessor pulled up in our driveway to have a look at the one-room addition we’re in the process of adding to the back of our house. I took her on a guided tour, explaining, in passing, what we’d done to try to remain true to the style of our unique “California ranch,” which had been featured in the “Living” section of the Detroit Free Press in 1957.
As our conversation was winding down and Julia was about to take her leave of me, she showed me an official-looking record card clipped on her metal clipboard. On the card was a photo of our house with notes below it printed in pencil. She said something about the assessment reports being digitized now and asked if would I like the old photo of our house. Of course, I would. She added that there appeared to be another older photo beneath it.
. . . and a trio of photos.
And, it did appear that the top photo was glued onto another beneath it. I went back inside and set the teakettle to boiling. I was able to remove this photo:
This first photo, featuring the front sunroom addition–the only previous addition to the house–had been glued on to another photo:
This middle photo–which also featured the front sunroom addition–was attached by two staples, which I carefully removed, to discover another 3.5 x 3.5 photo, this one black and white, showing a seamless driveway (unlike what exists now), a thick and even lawn (also unlike what exists now), and the house minus the front sunroom:
Judging from the pencil notes on this black and white photo: the photo that was glued on the top of the other two appears to have been taken on May 6, 1983 when the city was assessing the new baseboard heat in the sunroom addition. It’s clearly spring in the photo with a flowering tree in bloom and the deciduous trees just leafing out.
The middle photo was from November 3, 1981 when the sunroom was first added. The leaves clearly need raking in the photo, and the photo is dated “NOV 81” in the bottom right corner.
Initially, I thought the black and white photo must have been taken when the house was first built, but then I realized that the white convertible parked in front of it is not a car of the 50s. My husband and a friend, Rick Seymour, thought it might be a Pontiac from the 70s.
But, then I started looking closer. Not at the house. Notat the unidentified car. I started looking at the trees.
More changes than I expected.
First, I notice the unfamiliar trees that show up in that black and white photo–and appear in the 1983 photo as well–that are no longer in our yard and were not here when we bought the house almost 13 years ago.
And then, I notice the empty places where trees whose shade we enjoy today hadn’t been planted yet.
Finally, I am amazed by how much and how fast the trees–those that were there in the black and white photo and are still in our yard today–have grown.
Here’s just one example.
Let’s consider the big tree in the middle of my front yard that sheds its bark every year. I’d been told this was a sycamore tree by my neighbor, Mrs. Genevieve Irwin. But, a tree service company referred to it as a London plane tree. I would have bet it was a sycamore. However, after last week’s wind, when I went out to take the photo of it (below on the right), I discovered a pair of the tree’s spherical fruits sharing the same stalk lying on the driveway.
In the photo on the right above, notice the house (minus the sunroom) in relationship to the slender sycamore. Over the weekend, on February 9, 2019, I took the photo on the right, where the sycamore is towering over what now almost appears to be a playhouse. Look how much this sycamore has grown in less than 50 years!
I’m curious: How might you answer these questions?
Do you know how many trees share your lot with you? I didn’t suspect that at least 14 trees were shading my house and digging their roots deep in my yard. I’d never thought to count them before.
Do you know to what species each of your trees belongs? It’s taken me a dozen years to learn the identity of all of the trees on my property and in my two neighbors’ yards. I suspect that at some point in recent history that would have been considered one of the marks of an uneducated person.
Can you identify the other trees in your neighborhood? Some, but not all. Not yet.
My resolution evolves.
The Arbor Day tree survey, the photos documenting the earlier life of the trees that now share the yard with me, and the coincidence of both arriving at my door in the same week tugged at me for the next few weeks. What finally floated to my awareness was my recognition of how grateful I am that the two families living at this address before me had planted trees. Then I wondered if something I could do might have a similar impact on future owners of my house and residents in my neighborhood, people I might never meet. Perhaps they would come to appreciate a tree that I could plant this year. A different kind of random act of kindness. Seemed a perfect resolution for my resolution quest!
Resolved: To plant a tree somewhere where no tree currently grows on Arbor Day 2019. Meanwhile, now that I know the why and when, I plan to figure out the what, where, and how of the tree’s planting.
Oh, and I’ll take all the help anyone has to offer.
“The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The second best time is now.”