Whether by bug, bolt, or brutal conditions, large trees die from time to time, and our first impulse is to solve the problem by chainsaw. But if the tree is situated somewhere where its gradual decay will not cause injury or property damage, and it’s not one of many adding tinder to a fire-prone landscape, leaving it in situ can actually add, not detract, from our enjoyment of our garden and the creatures that call it home.
I’ve got to admit, I’m a new and vocal believer in The Beauty of The Snag. And it’s a full-on epiphany, for I never would have thought I could find joy in, much less love, a dead tree standing on my property, smack in the middle of otherwise pastoral views, cluttering up the scenery with inconvenient reminders of death. In the past I’ve seen them in other gardens — some even painted in an effort to remediate and perhaps own the situation — but I wasn’t convinced.
Turns out the convincing takes time with one of your own. A bit like children. Now I not only love a dead tree, I’m distressed by the fact that it’s only mostly dead, which is to say, somewhat alive, and has begun a process of regeneration with a strong and upright leader.
I should cheer that leader – and the part of me fascinated by nature’s ability to recover and thrive should rejoice. Instead I feel like renting a cherry picker and cutting off the top of it just to slow it down. Harsh I know, but like most good love stories, this one built slowly. I hate to see it ended.
The snag, being overtaken by opportunistic shoots.
A Snag Is Born
It started unexpectedly. Three years ago, the loudest thundercrack I have ever experienced made us sit bolt upright in bed. A quick sock-footed pad around the house put minds at rest that an ash tree had not fallen through the roof [again], and we went back to sleep.
The next morning, on my way to feed chickens, my attention was caught by something not quite right – one of the 90+ foot tulip poplars (Liriodendron tulipifera) was shimmering in the early morning sunlight and the reflection had caught my eyes.
Trees don’t shimmer, and I approached the tree a little confused. Gradually I realized that I was staring at the unnervingly muscle-like cambium layer of the tree, completely and utterly naked, and glistening with the nutrients and water that only 12 hours before had been racing to its canopy. From a height of about 15 feet all the way to the top, the bark had literally been blown off the tree. There was no other damage beyond a few stray branches on the ground.
The lightening bolt went all the way to the ground, but only blew the bark partially off from 15 ft to the ground, consequently two lower branches were able to survive and throw vertical shoots.
At first my reaction was one of sadness. To see the sinews of the tree stripped of protection and to know that it was not dead but still struggling hit a chord. We have lost untold ash trees in the last nine years to the ash borer – some expensively removed, some we have removed ourselves, other more inaccessible skeletons threatening to fall when you least expect it during a woodland walk. A dead ash killed by borer is a very dangerous tree — as we and our home insurance company found out five years ago to the tune of $84K.
With all those dangerous trees to be felled, of course the lightening had hit a healthy tulip poplar. And there were no funds left to fell it.
To add insult to injury, the tree held a very strategic bit of river bank against the erosive powers of a natural swale that forms during high rains. And to make things even just a little worse, it was the tree that centered the view when I looked out from the deck. We needed that tree. We wanted that tree. With leaves on.
The tulip poplar anchors an eroding bank against an active and naturally occurring swale.
The tree (to the far right in this photo) holds a vulnerable part of the stream bank during heavy rains, and 100 year flooding like this in 2021. For those of you who don’t know the story – that semi-submerged object in the center is my (then) yet-to-be-constructed NW Green Panels greenhouse on a pallet that floated down the lawn and miraculously got hung up by roots. That was an helluva clean-up job – I’m still recovering emotionally.
A Snag Comes Into Its Own
Over the next year the tulip poplar lost most of its branches as windstorms came and went. Far away from the house or driveway, they were in little danger of hurting someone, and so it became a study in decay that I would stare at with my coffee in the morning, interested by the birds that were starting to take advantage of the clear perch – and the clearer view of the stream where they fished for crawdads and tiny fish.
Herons and kingfishers took turns – the kingfishers chasing each other from preferred perches, the herons regally weighing down a branch until a choice space was found in the stream below. There was a barred owl one evening at dusk, hawks in the morning, and of course, the chattering and chasing of squirrels.
A heron balances on a branch scoping out the stream below. Terrible photo, but you get the idea.
Gradually I began to warm to the place of the snag in the life of our property, seeing it not only as a touchstone for so many species in the surrounding woodland, but as garden art in the midst of so much spring and summer green. By last year, its whitened, weathered form was as wished for and wanted as if I had aimed the lightning bolt at it myself.
But as I came to this surprising epiphany, I noticed a gradual (and ironically troubling) rejuvenation – whips sprouting from a healthy lateral branch very low on the trunk, one strong shoot in particular racing vertically along the ghostly silhouette of its mother.
The eroding bank will be saved no doubt, but at a price.
Soon that guiding structure will disappear, lost in a rustle of foliage. The clear perch will be gone — my window into the secret ways and wars of wildlife darkened, but the lessons imparted to this gardener will remain: a little decay is a good thing – a necessary and miraculous event in the life of a garden. – MW
Margaret at A Way to Garden did a good write up about wildlife benefits of allowing snags to persist. Three dead trees per acre is ideal, she says. She also links to a document that describes how to create a safe snag if you lose a tree. Sometime later, she provided an update, reporting that wildlife love a dead tree even more than a live one.
https://awaytogarden.com/snags-wildlife-trees-cultivate-dont-cart-away-dead-dying-hazard-trees/
What a wonderful Story, Marianne. We have (had) hundreds of dead ash trees fall around our woods, but a 50 year old white pine, along our gravel drive, caught our attention a few years ago. Lightning struck and blew the bark off, three quarters the way down the hundred foot length of the tree. I thought it was a goner, but my neighbor, with past experience, said, maybe not. Two years later a big wind storm blew the tree down and the remaining innards were a blackened, charred and rotten sight to see. A hackberry went down two winters ago. So did some of our rich, riverbank top soil. Down the Salt River, headed toward the Mississippi Delta. I know your snag still serves a purpose, but it’s always a drag to see dying riverbank trees fall—remaining roots and all.
Love a snag! Our property isn’t large, but includes a small wooded area past the lawn and gardens with a couple of snags of varying heights. I give them all the credit for increased sightings/hearings of pileated woodpeckers. Plus, they look cool.
Here on the prairies the loss of any tree is a hugely traumatic event based on how much time and effort it takes to grow them. However, there are remnants of giant weeping birches, having succumbed to extended drought, left standing about the area. Some people have taken the opportunity to add artistic elements such as gnomes, bird houses and even dragons. However, like your own the birds find these trees very useful, especially larger birds of prey, as they are still highly useful for nesting and perching. The flood photo is terrifying. I can see why you are still recovering.
Several years ago one of our mulberry trees died for reasons unknown. I’ve left it as a snag … and as a potential home for bats. Don’t know if any are living in the snag, but we see bats fluttering around every evening.
One critter’s “widdermaker” is another’s happy habitat. I’ll gladly risk the liability of a snag if that’s what it takes to get a visit from a raptor from time to time. Interesting how the lightning acted. Wondering if it’s the nature of tulip trees to conduct that energy unimpeded all the way to the base. I long ago built a cabin of green tulip tree logs, and peeling the bark was like peeling a banana – grab a 6″ wide strip and walk to the other end with no effort. I suspect that a lightning bolt had just as easy a path.
I have an old snag that has been put to much use by wildlife. But I live in the inner city on a typical small lot, and the tree (an Arizona or green ash, according to disagreeing arborists) is on the property line. Where I see wildlife opportunities, my widowed neighbor sees only danger. She had everything on her side removed, back to the main trunk, which is alive. I will pay for my decision to leave the snags on my side if one ever falls in the wrong direction.
I absolutely love snags also. Erin, who has a YouTube channel The Impatient Gardener, grew a climbing hydrangea vine up a snag. It looks just lovely. I know this is a shrub and not a tree, but I had a Harry Lauder’s Walking Stick that died (Eastern Filbert Blight). Instead of tearing it out, I spray painted it a deep plum purple and enjoyed it for maybe 3 or so years before it basically decayed. It was such a fantastic ‘sculpture’ in my garden. I would like to have one again someday if I can find the room, and I almost hope it dies.
About ten years ago we had a huge, dying weeping willow taken down but left a snag about 15’-20’ tall. I’m hoping to get another ten years out of it but that may not be possible because it is absolutely riddled with holes small and large from the base up to the top. Early on I had an epiphany to have a see-through window carved into it. While I’ve never seen birds fly through it, or critters sitting on the “sill,” I love looking at it because it looks rather magical. My greatest joy from this snag was when I spotted a never-seen-before pileated woodpecker.
A few years back I also created a nurse log in a shady part of my garden where it would develop some moss and take on a bit of life. It soon became a bit of a focal point science project in that part of the garden due to its critter usage. It has since been removed because it had totally decayed and served its purpose….but what a fun and learning experience!
Well, I’ve learned a new version of Pop goes the Weasel and now a new meaning of snag. Garden Rant is an education.
We visited a garden with an orchard recently, and they had kept some old, dead trees. They looked great – the owner insisted that the woodpeckers love them. Of course they do, but us beauty freaks are allowed a pleasure too?
Beautiful-wish that more people would be as judicious in tree removal. With so many suburban lots, this usually isn’t a possibility, but our municipal parks are embracing the practice along our greenbelt riparian areas. Fortunately there are trails along these areas, so everyone can enjoy the life in them.
I have a half dead Ash Juniper in my back yard that I’ve resisted cleaning up, with the exception of eye-threatening branches that stick out into pathways. We keep as much of the dead branches as possible to serve as a perch for the birds, especially the tiny hummingbirds that visit each summer. We have a giant clay saucer underneath that serves as a birdbath. When the hummers let them, the blue jays love to perch in the dead branches above the bath, then splash down into the water for a playful swim. It’s so fun to watch!