Tree Story Shorts IV

This Old Tree with Doug Still
Tree Story Shorts IV - Transcript
Season 2, Episode 10
February 24, 2025

Doug Still  00:01
Hi all! Welcome back to This Old Tree, the show that features heritage trees and the human stories behind them. I'm Doug Still, and today I'm very pleased to share the fourth edition of “Tree Story Shorts" with you. This is when we play audio stories told by listeners and invited guests about a tree they're thinking about or that holds special meaning for each of them. There's an interesting mix of storytellers today, from artists to writers to social media influencers. One guest is finishing a long illustrious career in urban forestry. Another is an 11 year old girl who named her favorite tree. What all their stories have in common is a reverence for that first tree that truly sparked their interest or was present at an important time early in their life or career. 

Coming up, “Tree Story Shorts.” This is This Old Tree.

[This Old Tree song]  01:03

Doug Still  01:22
Stephanie Carrie is the tree geek behind the very popular account Trees of LA on Instagram. It revels in gorgeous photos of the diverse and unusual species in the urban forest of Los Angeles, with tips along the way on how to identify them. She captures what makes them special. Stephanie's Trees of LA has almost 20,000 followers and was recently featured in the Los Angeles Times as well as The Guardian. By day, and by night and weekend I imagine, she's a screenwriter and comedian and sketch writer. So how did she become an online champion of trees? Stephanie has our first story.

Stephanie Carrie  02:02
Eight years ago, right after I had my first son, I was living in an apartment in Westwood, California, near the UCLA campus, and every day I would walk with my baby the same six blocks to a park. And it was getting kind of boring, so I started to look more closely at the world around me. And the birds were too fast, so I started looking at the trees, and I was shocked to discover that there seemed to be over 40 different types of trees just on these six blocks in Los Angeles. And I didn't know what the trees were, but when I looked more closely, I saw there was this magnificent diversity of leaf shape and colors and bark textures and seed architecture. 

And three of my favorite trees were on my corner, and they kind of looked like weeping willows, but not quite. They were about 15 feet tall with light green, lanceolate leaves. And they would cascade down around a warm brown, fissured, kind of fibrous bark, and they seemed to have like these pink berries on it. And my baby liked it to them too, and he would run his hands along as we passed. 

And so I started looking for resources to see if I could begin learning what these trees were on my street. And I was in my early 30’s at the time, so obviously I looked at Instagram and I didn't find a lot of resources for LA trees. And so eventually I found some lists online and some books, and I began to build my knowledge. But it struck me that Instagram would be this great place to build community and share this visual knowledge. So as I started to learn to identify these trees on my street, I would post about them on this new account, Trees of LA. 

And I still remember the day when I was reading a book about tree botany, still very new to it all, and I came across the incredible fact that some species of trees have both male and female parts on one tree, while the other species some have separate male and female trees. That's a pretty basic thing, but it was new to me. Who should be in the explanation of the male and female parts, but my favorite tree outside, which I now know is Schinus molle, the Peruvian pepper tree. And so I ran out of my house, I was so filled with delight that I had a name to put these trees, and also this opportunity to observe this newfound discovery of nature right outside my door. And I knew it was such a basic thing, but I never looked to see if they were male or female. And that's the thing about trees and learning about trees. To me, they feel like it's an ever unfolding kaleidoscope of beauty where you don't even know how to unlock the next incredible layer until you've solved the first one, and you know what questions to ask. 

And it turned out now that I was finally looking at these three trees, that two of the pepper trees were male and one was female. I was standing outside in front of my apartment laughing about the salacious tree activity that had been going on right under my nose. And the flowers of the male and female on Schinus molle are quite small, which is part of why I had not noticed or thought to look. But sure enough, they're extremely different. You know, the male flowers have these 10 or so stamen sticking out with their pollen balls kind of jauntily and lamely, while the female flowers have slightly brighter white petals, but they're very green inside, and they're kind of spreading themselves open, waiting for this final ingredient to perform the miracle of them becoming the pink peppercorns. 

We moved away from this apartment which we were in for about 10 years during the pandemic, but I often drive by it, and every time I see those three beautiful Peruvian pepper trees, it makes me so happy. And Trees of LA has grown into a thriving community with a pretty big following, and I know a lot more about trees. I even lead tree walks these days, which has become a wonderful way to share that joy I found from those pepper trees so long ago, with a much larger community,

Doug Still  06:29
Great tree lover’s awakening story Stephanie! Now we'll all be looking for Peruvian pepper trees whenever in Los Angeles, because we know what they've been up to. Everyone, definitely follow Trees of LA on Instagram, and I've included the link to Stephanie's website in the show notes so you can follow more of her work. 

[tones]

Next up is Denise Lewis. I met Denise last fall when we started chatting at a lunch table at the annual conference for the New England Chapter of the International Society of Arboriculture, or ISA. She told me she's studying for a master's degree in Urban Forestry at UMass. But little did I know she was about to stand up and receive a scholarship in front of this large crowd of arborists. I also learned she was recognized in City Trees magazine of the Urban & Community Forestry Society as a young and emerging professional to take note of. She did some remarkable work for the Legacy Tree Program in Massachusetts, researching trees with profound historical and cultural value. Which leads to her story about a particular set of trees that left an impression on her, called The Waverly Oaks.

Denise Lewis  07:44
Hello, I'm Denise, and today I want to take you to a special place in Belmont, Massachusetts, The Beaver Brook Reservation. The spot is home to a truly remarkable tree known as the Waverly Oak. Well, to be precise, a descendent of the legendary Waverly Oaks, but its story is just as inspiring. 

So let me set the scene for you. The Beaver Brook Reservation is more than just a park. It's a cultural and historical treasure. Imagine walking through a landscape where history whispers to you with every step. They're surrounded by lush woodlands, open summit lawns and trails making their way through serene space, offering a perfect blend of recreation and reflection. And in the midst of all this natural beauty, stands the Waverly Oak, a majestic white oak that almost feels alive with the weight of its history. 

The Waverly Oaks were once a cluster of 22 magnificent white oak trees, some of which were estimated to have lived for over 600 years. So just think about that - these trees were alive before the Pilgrims set foot on Plymouth Rock. They stood as silent witnesses to centuries of change, embodying resilience and strength. Back in 1893 when these iconic oaks faced the threat of destruction, a landscape architect named Charles Elliot stepped in, and his deep love for nature and his determination to protect these trees led to the creation of the Beaver Brook Reservation, which is the very first park in the Metropolitan Park System. Although the original Waverley oaks eventually succumbed to old age around the 1920’s, the tree standing there today is believed to be a descendant. 

When I first saw this tree, I couldn't help but pause and take it all in. There is something almost reverent about standing beneath its sprawling branches. You can feel the history embedded in its bark and its branches reaching out like an elder, offering quiet wisdom to me. It's not just a tree, it's a living legacy, a reminder of the importance of preserving the natural world for future generations. It holds a special place in my heart, because it embodies everything I love about trees. It's resilient, majestic, and it's deeply rooted in history. 

Working on the Legacy Tree Project allowed me to capture its beauty and share its incredible story. For me, it's not just about documenting the tree, but it's about connecting with its spirits and the lessons it carries, a symbol of how one's person's passion - in this case, Charles Elliot - could ignite change and leave a lasting impact. Every time I visit there, I feel renewed, and I just feel like a really great sense of wonder standing beneath its canopy. I'm reminded that trees like this aren't just part of the landscape, but they're part of our collective memory. They teach us about resilience, patience and the importance of nurturing what we hold dear. This oak has survived storms, changing seasons and the passing of time. It inspires me to keep advocating for trees and green spaces, not just for their beauty, but for the stories they hold in the future they promise. 

So if you ever find yourself in Belmont, Massachusetts, I can't recommend visiting Beaver Brook Reservation enough. Just take a moment, sit under the shade of this remarkable tree, look up into its branches, and think about the centuries of history it represents. I promise you'll walk away with a new appreciation for the quiet strength of nature. Well, thank you so much for listening to this story about the Waverly Oaks, and it's been a joy sharing this with you.

Doug Still  11:22
Although no longer with us, the Waverly Oaks seem like symbols with multiple layers. They hearken back to the pre-colonial era, but also served as catalysts for landscape preservation, centering Belmont's contribution to the 19th century American parks movement. I love that a budding urban forester tells this story. Claiming the torch, Denise connects directly with the descendant of the Waverly Oaks, as well as the inspiration the trees have stirred for centuries. 

[tones]

Sometimes naming a tree gives it extra significance. That's what Devi Lakhia did. She's a young tree lover from the west coast of India, and I had the pleasure of meeting her and her parents, Abhi and Leslie, during Diwali, the national holiday. Thus the sound of fireworks and music in the neighborhood surrounding us. She goes to school at the Learning Center in Goa, but we were on the roof of her grandmother's house in the city of Ahmedabad. I peppered her with questions about her favorite tree, and she told me about Loki. 

To Devi Lakhia
Okay, what's your name?

Devi Lakhia  12:28
My name is Devi. Full name, or just first name? 

Doug Still
Full name. 

Devi Lakhia
Devi Brooklyn Lakhia.

Doug Still  12:34
Ah. Where are we right now? 

Devi Lakhia  12:37
We are in Ahmedabad, in the Old City. In the Old City, the pol.

Doug Still  12:44
And you have a favorite tree? You live in Goa, right? 

Devi Lakhia
Yes. 

Doug Still
So tell me about your favorite tree in Goa, where you live.

Devi Lakhia  12:51
It was a banyan tree, and we used to keep it - we used to have it on like, a long road near where we were moving. And it was this really big banyan tree that was, like, you couldn't - it was so big that you couldn't finish the hug if you hugged it. So, like, it was really big. And I used to climb it and collect the dried up leaves and then press it in books and then look at the patterns, and then put a paper over it and color over it with the crayons and stuff. 

And one time we were driving back, when we would drive past it, me and my dad, we would always have a little bit of fun. And we could just say, like, “Hey, that's our Loki tree!” And it was called the Loki tree. 

Doug Still
And who's Loki? 

Devi Lakhia
Loki was the tree, and his name was Loki, and he was a banyan. A banyan tree, that was also a peepal tree, I think…

Doug Still  13:49
But where did you get the name Loki?

Devi Lakhia  13:52
um, from Marvel. [both laugh]

Doug Still  13:56
So, who was he in Marvel?

Devi Lakhia  13:58
He was the god of mischief, Thor’s brother.

Doug Still  14:01
So why'd you name this tree, Loki?

Devi Lakhia  14:04
It was a really fragile tree, like the leaves are really fragile. And, I don't know exactly, but like the descriptive way of thinking of it, as I used to think of it, like the fragile leaves are, like -  Loki is kind of fragile, and has a lot of anxiety, but he looks strong. So it looks like it's a big, magnificent, really strong tree that if you cut it with, like, one shot, it wouldn't break. But I think it's more than that, and it's more fragile. 

Doug Still  14:33
Why do you think it was fragile? Was it the location it was in?

Devi Lakhia  14:38
No, I just think it's about the tree.

Doug Still  14:40
Yeah. What does it look like?

Devi Lakhia  14:44
It was very tall and very magnificent, but like the way that it was, the shape of it was like a typical looking tree that you would draw on a notebook. But it was like a spirit. It was different, and it was kind of more magnificent than most trees. Yeah. 

Doug Still
It really stood out. 
Devi Lakhia
It really stood out.

Doug Still  15:12
Any fond memories about the tree?

Devi Lakhia  15:13
Yeah, climbing in it.

Doug Still  15:17
You climbed this tree? 

Devi Lakhia  15:19
Yes, with the stool we bought - there were all these little stools. It was right next to a temple, so there were these stools that they would leave out, and you could bring them and put them out, actually to the tree, and I would climb it.

Doug Still  15:30
Why do you think Loki is important?

Devi Lakhia  15:34
Because it's a peepal tree. It's like something that just like, it has properties that just make it pop and like, it's important to me. I don't know if it would be important to other people, but it's important to me. That's why I think it's important.

Doug Still  15:53
Thank you so much. 

Devi Lakhia
You’re welcome. Bye-bye! 

Doug Still
Known as the peepall tree - that's p-e-e-p-a-l -  it's of course a type of fig tree, Ficus religiosa. It's sacred in India. In fact, the story is that Buddha found enlightenment under a peepal tree. But this one, this one is Loki. Thanks Devi, that was so much fun. And thanks for pointing out that trees are fragile. That's so true. We need to protect them. 

[This Old Tree theme music]

We're going to take a short break. When we come back, we hear from a “big tree hunter.” In fact, the biggest big tree hunter, Fred Breglia. This is Tree Story Shorts, and you're listening to This Old Tree. 

If you're like me, and your social media algorithms send you lots of tree stuff, you've likely seen photos of huge, magnificent trees posted by Fred Breglia, or perhaps other members of the Facebook or Instagram groups he curates. With a massive following, he's tapped into something primal. He's now the Executive Director of the Landis Arboretum in upstate New York. But long ago, how did it all start?

Fred Breglia  17:15
Gonna tell you a tree story today. A big tree story. It's also a story on how I got involved with environmentalism and also how my passion for big tree hunting came to be. It dates back to my early childhood. When I was three or four years old, my mom told us the story about this giant oak tree that was growing high up on a ridge overlooking Beards Hollow in Richmondville, New York, which was the site of my childhood home. It was surrounded by 1000’s of acres of land, a creek flowing behind our house - it was the perfect place to have grown up. Couldn't have picked a better spot. She described this tree to be really big, and my three siblings and her would hike up there, and they would hold hands and reach around the trunk and try to connect their fingers, which they never have been able to do. It was that big a trunk. It was that giant. 

So the story left me very intrigued. I wanted to see this tree pretty bad. At the time, I was only three or four years old, so I was a little too young to make the pretty long hike up to that ridge. But when I was five or six years old, my mom thought I could make that trip, and took me on a hike to see the tree. We took the hike together. We saw this mighty oak tree. It's a white oak, Quercus alba. In my mind, I had expected to see this tree, and I had kind of a vision of what I thought, you know, I was going to see, and how big it was going to be. But when I actually saw the tree it was much bigger than I had imagined. It was just gigantic. 

Over the years, I've taken many people up there to see the tree. Back in high school, I took friends, and when I got older, in college, I took friends, and you can see the expression on their faces when they first saw this mighty oak wood. It's a giant trunk. It's just really wide, spreading branches that nearly touch the ground. The canopy spread on this tree was over 115 feet with its branch spread, so just just huge. I took my wife up there many years later to see the tree, and together we marvel at its beauty. I’m over 51 years old now. I've got two boys of my own, ages nine and age 14. They both have admired this tree and were inspired by just its magnificent size and near perfect growth form. 

The tree was a remnant of a huge forest of old growth that was removed many years ago. My mom explained that to me on many of our trips over the years to see the tree, and somehow this tree managed to escape the ax. Whether it was intentionally saved or whether it was unintentionally saved, we’ll probably never know. But this encounter with the tree, and the fact that the forest was removed, and virtually almost all of it was cut perhaps several times over the years, really left an impression on my young brain. And the fact that this happened really led me to focus on environmentalism, and it later led me to pursue careers in college and plant science and horticulture. Later I went on to become a certified arborist. It opened up career opportunities for me. I am employed at the Landis Arboretum, where I've worked for the past 28 years, the past 15 years as the Executive Director of the Arboretum. 

For most of my life, I've dedicated an incredible amount of time looking for big trees and old growth forests, and always wanted to share that passion with other people. It led me to start social media accounts. One account is called Ancient Forests and Champion Trees - it's a page on Facebook - and also Big Tree Hunters on Instagram. And those two accounts alone have attracted over 600,000 followers combined. Additionally, I started the public group, public groups I should say, one called Big Tree Seekers and one called Ancient Forests, both on Facebook. These groups allow people to post their big trees and their old growth forests from different parts of the world. The combined audience of these two groups is over one and a half million members worldwide as of today. 

We share on these platforms, you know, many trees that I find, and also other big tree hunters from around the globe, and the result is not much different from what I've seen as a young kid. People continue to be amazed by these giants. The magnificence is just how big these trees can be. I've always felt that if you can get someone to like a tree, they'd be more likely to protect the tree, and big trees are just a really good way to achieve that goal. It's proven so for me, it's proven so for others. As I continue to do this daily with posts on Facebook, Instagram and through outreach, the mission of the arboretum is to foster the appreciation of trees and other plants and their importance in our environment. It's an education driven organization, and we do a lot of outreach. I work on a radio station for NPR here in upstate New York. It broadcasts out to five states, I think. And if you have an internet connection, you can listen to it virtually worldwide. The website for the Landis Arboretum is landisarboretum.org. 

In conclusion, I can remember that original hike with my mom some 45 years ago when I first saw the old oak. And from my memory, the ancient oak seems to have not aged but a day. I certainly can't say the same. For me, trees are the answer.

Doug Still  22:50
I've got links to all Fred's platforms in the show notes, if you want to see some of the stunning gems that have been found around the world and to meet the people who found them. Behind it all is not only awe of big trees, but appreciation for the last vestiges of old growth forests. 

[tones]

The best college campuses are renowned for gorgeous shade trees. They kind of go hand in hand, as many of them are literally arboreta with amazing collections. College is also such a formative time for many of us. So it's no surprise that the next story from writer Ellen Cliggott features a class reunion with time spent below a beloved beech tree.

Ellen Cliggott  23:36
On Thursday, July 19, 2024 a difficult decision had to be made. One of the massive summer storms that have become all too typical in Western Massachusetts caused severe damage to a revered copper beech tree on the campus of Mount Holyoke College in South Hadley. The tree was planted in 1904 by a botany professor in honor of his baby daughter, who would later graduate from the college with the class of 1924. The most well known tree on a campus of over 1,200 planted trees made up of more than 175 species, the copper beech grew to be over 80 feet tall. It was described on the College website as having elephantine branches and burgundy leaves. The school bills its gorgeous campus as a living laboratory with students in biology, environmental science and art, among other disciplines, studying the plants and trees. The Campus features a three acre botanical garden where tree saplings are nurtured. 

I had most recently admired the copper beach while at my 35th college reunion in May. The trees stood between Mount Holyoke’s famously beautiful library and Dwight Hall, where the college's archives are located. My friends and I, scarcely able to believe that we are not still 22 years old and just about to graduate, wanted to visit the archives, which are a treasure trove of photos, maps, programs and yearbooks from the 187 years since Mount Holyoke was founded. As we walked through the center of campus, remembering which classes we went to in the various buildings, we saw the enormous copper beach up ahead. We gathered around it in admiration. Some of us touched the trunk. I climbed the steps to the door into Dwight Hall and looked back at my friends under the deep red leaves of the tree, chatting and laughing as they enjoyed its shade and their memories. 

Less than two months later, according to an article in the Mount Holyoke news, the trunk of the copper beech split and the tree suffered multiple stress fractures at the base. The next morning, the college's arborists and a tree consultant company attempted to trim the tree, but by 1pm they realized it could not safely continue to stand. Members of the campus community watched as the process of removing the 120 year old tree began. The College reports that every attempt was made to save as much of the copper beech as possible, and the tree will be memorialized in future. Over 1,000 people reacted to Mount Holyoke College's post about the removal of the tree on Facebook, and in the following few days and weeks, hundreds of former students commented with their memories of the copper beech. Some remembered sitting under the tree during their student years to study or relax. Some had enjoyed birthday cake at the tree centennial celebration in 2004. And some, like me, associated the copper beech with the lifelong friends we made.

Doug Still  26:56
A sad but wonderful collective story, Ellen. And I'll have listeners know that Ellen was my neighbor growing up, and we spent many days climbing the maple trees dotted around our yards. It's really nice to reconnect over a story about a tree. 

[tones]

I find this next guest so fascinating. Her name is Magali Duzant, and she's an artist and writer based in New York and Zurich. In addition to her time based installations, she uses photography, writing and design to create artist books that describe how we share the world we inhabit. One book is called A Tree Grows in Queens, and I'll paraphrase from her website. It reflects on the many ways in which trees manifest into other things, from memorials and myths to memes, markers and meeting points. It was inspired by trees found in old growth forests and on city streets. She shared a copy by PDF. It's gorgeous and meaningful. Here, she shares a piece about an old city, tulip poplar.

Magali Duzant  28:04
My name is Magali Duzant. I am an artist and writer based in Zurich and Queens, New York, where I'm originally from. My tree story is about the Queens Giant, which I had known about for a while, but only first visited whilst researching for a book called A Tree Grows in Queens. Coincidentally, I write about a number of trees across the New York City area and their connections to the wider world of mythology, memorials, meeting places, and the like. 

The Queen's Giant is a tulip poplar, neither a tulip nor a poplar, but rather a Liriodendron tulipifera, which means the no less confusing “lily tree that carries tulips.” The Queen's Giant is also called the Alley Pond Park Giant for its location. The name of the tree in the Miami-Illinois dialect is “oonsentia.” English colonizers called it the canoe tree, inspired by one of the ways its wood was used. The Queens Giant is rooted on Matinecock land, nestled between two parkways, down a ravine and through some poison ivy. It's the tallest and oldest tree in New York City, ranging from yellow-green to orange. The tree's flowers could easily be mistaken for the ones that caused the tulip mania that ripped across the Dutch Republic in the 17th century, when the tree might have even been a sapling. 

The Queen's giant stands in some of the last old growth forest of the city. It's roughly 134 feet tall with a 19 foot circumference. It's believed to be between 350 and 450 years old, meaning that it has existed since this sliver of land was first colonized by the British. In fact, the tulip poplar was one of the first trees imported from the US to England, spurring the start of a furious export of plants from the Americas that transformed English gardens. You can't ask the tree “What is your earliest memory?” Nor can it tell us what it was like when colonizers moved in and the Matinecock were pushed from their land, or when war broke out and George Washington supposedly passed through the forest, or when houses started being built, or when tar was poured and cars started streaming through, belching exhaust, creating a consistent low hum of traffic. But in visiting the tree, you might start to ask yourself those questions, or imagine those scenarios, because down in the ravine, away from the traffic, you realize that time stands still. 

To get to the tree, you first need to get to the park. There's no subway that's anywhere near, so a bus, a bike, or a car is your best bet. The trail to get there runs along the expressway, a sparse line of trees separating the path from cars. At some point it turns inward, and the foliage becomes lusher, weedier, more thickened. I first visited the giant during the early days of the COVID lockdowns, dragging my mother along. In spring, the Wisteria had started to bloom, splashes of pale lilac and green neon against the tall white of the sky. It's easy to miss the giant as at first it looks like any other tree. We passed the overgrown trail, retraced our steps, looked for a marker, but found nothing. And then it was suddenly obvious. The tree did not appear to be much bigger than those surrounding it, and yet it somehow stood apart like it had an aura. The trunk seemed to stretch for ages, a silvery gray and the myriad greens. To get to the base of the tree, we slid down a path through what we thought was a path, the forest floor soft from the rotting leaves. 

Standing in front of the tree, I hoped to feel some kind of immediate awe, but the tulip poplar doesn't necessarily hold the same storybook reverence as a giant redwood or a Sequoia. The Queen's Giant was simply another tree, large with a hollow in its face and a rickety, black chain link fence around it. But it's this lack of awe that is most likely why it is as old as it is. The ordinariness of it all becomes a layer of protection. The awe did emerge. It just took a while, but it also lasted. 

The New York City Department of Parks and Recreation has communicated their policy toward the tree as one of “benign neglect.” If the tree is in a tourist destination, it can grow old in peace, or whatever peace can be found a few 100 yards from an expressway. In that way, it's perhaps a true New York City tree, unflappable. And of course, the Queens giant rates 4.9 out of five stars on Google Maps. No wait time or reservation needed. Just open eyes and some patience.

Doug Still  33:01
After living in New York City for 17 years, I'm kicking myself that I never visited the Queen's Giant although I'd heard of it. But that's okay. Like Magali said, the secret to survival for old growth trees is to remain under the radar, and that's how it should be. Definitely visit Magali’s website to see more of her thoughtful work yourself. The link is in the show notes. 

[This Old Tree theme music]

After the break, we finish with stories from two authors who have made their mark on environmentalism and urban forestry. Nadina Galle splits her time between the Netherlands and Canada, and Mark Johnston is from the UK. Both champion the role of trees as critical infrastructure in the urban ecosystem, but each of them shows that a personal connection to trees is just as much a professional motivator. This is This Old Tree. 

Nadina Galle is an ecological engineer, technologist and podcaster known for her show The Internet of Nature. In 2024 she published a book called The Nature of Our Cities: Harnessing the Power of the Natural World to Survive a Changing Planet. It's getting a lot of attention - a blend of hard data and great storytelling. I got my signed copy at a conference for the Urban and Community Forestry Society where she was the keynote speaker. So cool. And if we want to find that crucial tree canopy in cities, look no further than the backyard.

Nadina Galle  34:39
Hi. My name is Nadina, and this is the story of a tree that no longer stands in Amsterdam. It was an ash tree, or an “es” in Dutch, likely a bit over 100 years old. Though no one knows for sure, the ash towered over the courtyard behind my building. From my fourth floor apartment, I could see its branches stretch wide, its leaves vibrant green in summer and golden in autumn. I wrote about this tree in my book The Nature of Our Cities because it wasn't just a tree, it was a daily micro-dose of nature, something studies show can lower stress, boost immune systems and improve focus. It brought calm to my days, provided a home for birds and insects, and its shade cooled our homes during Amsterdam's increasingly hot summers. 

Then one day, I got a message from our new neighbor on the ground floor, “The tree is coming down tomorrow.” I was half a world away visiting family and felt helpless. The tree wasn't sick, not really. A respected arborist assured me it could have lived another 40 to 50 years, but a permit had already been granted. The objection period had passed, and the chain saws were ready. The next day, the ash was gone. 

For my downstairs neighbor, a vibrant woman who just turned 100, it was devastating. She had woken up to birdsong from that tree for 75 years. For me, it was a quiet companion that offered moments of solace and connection to nature in the middle of a busy city. For the 200 people who could see it from their windows, it was a piece of urban nature that will never quite know how it touched them. Every time I look up my window now onto a gray expanse, instead of a vibrant canopy, I'm reminded of what that ash meant, not just to me, but to all of us. 

Urban nature rarely receives the same poetic reverence as wilderness, yet it's the kind of nature most of us encounter every day. These trees are more than scenery. They are lifelines, helping us feel connected, healthier and grounded, and quietly making our cities livable. Losing that ash was a profound loss, but it also deepened my resolve to protect the trees that remain for their beauty, their purpose, and the countless ways they enrich our lives. I hope my story inspires you to notice the trees in your city, their shade, the creatures that call them home and their quiet companionship. Every tree has a story, and it's up to us to ensure those stories don't end too soon.

Doug Still  37:19
Thank you for sharing that and recalling that lovely ash tree with us, Nadina. Many trees affect the whole world around them, not just the property owner. That's something to remember. Telling the story helps. 

[tones]

My last guest is Mark Johnston, and I'm very honored that he has shared a story with us. Mark has over 50 years experience as a tree expert in the UK, having worked as, and I'm quoting, "A tree surgery contractor, a tree officer in local government, a private consultant, a government advisor, and a university academic.” That barely begins to tell his story, but a gift to us all is a new book called Planting Ideas in the Urban Forest: Autobiography of a Tree Expert. It's a delightful journey through his career and all that has happened in urban forestry since the 1970’s. He has helped lead the way. He started emailing me after a past episode of this old tree, sharing information that he thought would be helpful, and I continue to hear from him. What a wonderful, curious, generous guy. In my limited friendship with him, I can see how he's impacted so many people. Well, his story is about one of the most impressive trees in London.

Mark Johnston  38:43
Hi there. My name is Mark Johnston. The tree I want to tell you about is the chestnut-leaved oak, and that's in the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew in London. The botanic name of this species is Quercus castaneifolia, and it actually originates from the mountainous regions of Eurasia that we commonly know as the Caucasus. The tree was introduced into Britain as seed in 1843 and the tree at Kew was planted out in the gardens a couple of years later in 1846 in a patch of lawn near what is now the water lily house. 

Well, I first came across this amazing tree when I worked on the tree maintenance crew at Kew Gardens back in 1982. Of all the amazing trees at Kew, this is the one that really had the greatest impact on me. But what's more, I had the pleasure of working on it when we undertook some crown thinning and branch reduction. Today, this chestnut-leaved oak is an impressive and beautiful giant. It measures over 100 feet tall and 100 feet wide. It's the biggest and finest specimen of its type in the world. It's also Kew's fastest growing tree and the largest tree in the gardens. 

But there are other reasons why it's many people's favorite tree at Kew. Although it's truly massive, it still has a graceful beauty that just takes your breath away. It's that combination of incredible size and graceful beauty that to me, makes it truly exceptional. Now that I live in Ireland, I really get to see this tree only when I occasionally go over to London and go to Kew. However, I'm reminded of it every day. When we were working on it, a colleague of mine took his chainsaw and with a short branch, carved out a small stall for me. Now, 40 years later, this stall acts as a plant stand in my living room, always reminding me of this amazing tree and my wonderful time at Kew Gardens.

Doug Still  41:09
Okay, Google chestnut-leaved oak at Kew Gardens. It is unbelievable. Fantastic tree. Or better yet, visit Kew and stand under it yourself. 

Thank you, Mark Johnston, and thanks to all of the other story contributors today: Stephanie Carrie, Denise Lewis, Devi Lakhia, Fred Breglia, Ellen Cliggott, Magali Duzant, and Nadina Galle. Information on all of them and links to their work can be found in the show notes. Where I can, I'll be sharing photos of the trees talked about during this episode on Facebook and Instagram. Visit the show website at thisoldtree.show. The theme music is by arborist and songwriter Dee Lee. A shout out to Dee. I think I'll play his whole song. 

Thank you for listening! I hope you've enjoyed Tree Story Shorts. I'm Doug still, and this is This Old Tree. See you next time!

This Old Tree song - Dee Lee  42:12



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