This has been a rather stormy weekend, with some parts of the UK seeing winds up to 85mph. Compared to the hurricanes that batter parts of the US these winds are trivial, but we’re not really used to them here.
I suspect that the winds have come from a different direction from normal because I’ve seen more damage in the gardens I care for than I would have expected. I’m used to a few branches getting ripped off but I’ve lost three trees and had significant damage to a fourth. I’ve spent a chunk of my Sunday chopping up fallen trees.
There’s a hedge under there!
I’m lucky. These aren’t the only trees under my care, and I have lots to still enjoy and be proud of. However I still feel the loss.
I am a proud tree nerd. I love trees; rare trees, common trees, big trees, small trees, weird trees… I feel a great deal of joy whenever I’m near a tree.
Maybe I’m too sensitive to be doing this? Who in their right mind pines for a pine, or feels absolutely devastated when a big chunk of a magnolia blows down?
Gutted to see a big chunk of magnolia on the ground
I should have a thicker skin. After all, they’re only trees.
Or maybe it’s perfectly OK to feel sadness at the loss of a tree, or indeed any plant. I don’t think I could be a thick-skinned gardener who feels nothing at the loss of plants. I know some very successful gardeners, here in the UK, who wouldn’t feel a thing if the gardens they cared for were concreted over.
I feel a bond with the garden, and I know I’m not the only one to do so. Allowing yourself to love a garden makes you a better gardener, despite the inevitable heartbreak this sometimes brings.
Probably the tallest tree I look after
The big problem with trees is that we have a different relationship with them. They woo us with their great ages and large scales, and consequently we feel a special sense of loss when they fail or are felled. I’ve heard it said that this wasn’t always the case, that the 19th century Romantic painters with their bucolic scenes gave cult status to the sort of tree that would previously have been firewood or timber. I don’t know if this is true; is is possible for long-dead artists to still influence how people feel about big old trees?
Beautiful old tree or ugly bit of firewood?
Certainly it appears there is less appreciation for the aesthetic value of big trees in places that have a distinctly separate artistic history.
Our love of big old trees comes at a cost. Those same feelings of warmth towards veteran trees and their preservation can stifle sensible woodland management. Woodlands, like gardens, need a gentle process of renewal if they are to retain their long-term vitality; a woodland filled with ancient trees and nothing else is a woodland at risk of total collapse.
A big old tree lost to a storm; the others are of a similar age and size
I’m not saying that we shouldn’t admire our older trees. In fact quite the opposite. If we truly value trees then it is imperative that we should value, and I mean truly value, trees of every generation from the youngest sapling to the gnarliest old veteran.
Even with the greatest love and care imaginable, an old tree will one day die. It will lose its last leaf or succumb to one final storm. It’s important that we nurture these greats and mourn them when they pass, but there needs to be a future generation of ancient trees to replace them, and another generation to replace these in turn.
A 25 year old English oak in the mist
Inter-generational living is the hallmark of a sustainable woodland that should last generations, and the same principle applies to garden trees. Sometimes adhering to this means making some tough decisions and removing a big tree to make space for new trees, but sometimes nature comes along and does the editing for you.
Sad though it is to see.
I agree that managing a woodland is challenging. We planted seven thousand trees thirty years ago for a timber investment. As they grew, we became less interested in timber and more in wildlife. That makes it even harder to thin and prune!
I bet it is!
It can be hard to strike a balance sometimes.
I remember the conclusion after the major storm of October 1978 was that it had done many woodlands a favour, by clearing out old trees and encouraging regeneration.
Sadly, it’s much like human life really. Except none of us can hope to live as long as some of the planet’s trees!
That’s the thing, isn’t it. Yes it was a disaster but it also became an opportunity to plant new things. Apparently Kew hadn’t been out on any collecting expeditions for a couple of decades when the great storm came, so the tragic losses of trees spurred them to go and collect new material.
Perhaps we can take solace at the demise of older trees by considering the biological process of wood chips that can be made and enriching the ground below the former crown. We can enrich our pathways and garden beds, knowing the decay adds nutrition and habitat for other creatures
Very much so. In a woodland the tree would end one journey and begin another as the basis for a whole new ecosystem. I find fallen trees fascinating, but always a bit sad.
Here in the prairie grasslands growing trees is a challenge so a lot of time and effort goes into caring and nurturing them which is why we seem to have more of a relationship with trees than perennials or shrubs. So when one dies there is a sense of loss and yes, grief. However, that’s the nature of a garden loss and renewal. I did see a gorgeous lichen encrusted fallen magnolia branch strung with lights and hung on a wall. Absolutely stunning. So there is beauty in death too.
There is beauty in death, and how fabulous that the magnolia branch had been re-appropriated. Loss of trees where there are so few to begin with is terrible.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I find it appropriate to both mourn the loss of the life of a tree and to honor its contribution by finding value in what it leaves behind. Downed trees can support myriad other forms of life, as they do when they gradually compost or contribute lasting beauty as art, furniture, jewelry, even path edges.
Indeed, and as the tree surgeons come out to deal with the bigger trees they’re instructed to leave some material behind. Because I tend to deal with larger gardens there’s always a corner where things can be left to break down quietly.
And a woodland covered in English Ivy such as the photo shows will have difficulty with regeneration, and lose mature canopy, all the faster.
English ivy isn’t quite the problem here as it is in the US; most of our native trees manage to push up through it.
As for losing trees, the ivy speeds up the process by which frail trees are lost, but where trees are strong and healthy the ivy doesn’t get the upper hand. Here, where the ivy has co-existed with the rest of the native flora for millennia, it adds to the balance. When it gets loose into ecosystems that have not adapted to co-exist with it you get real problems.
85 mph hour winds (Category 1 hurricane strength) are not trivial at all. I’m surprised you didn’t report more widespread damage. Oh, I am sorry about the magnolia… I like the elegant old tree. I hope it’s not chopped for firewood.
There’s a nasty scar where the limb failed; I’m hoping to leave it and let it sort itself out.
You’re right about the wind direction, Ben. My cat flap was blowing open and that doesn’t often happen. A cold and salt laden wind, my windows ( near Truro) were lagged in salt and that goes for most of the county I think.
I was surprised to see salt on windows high on Dartmoor, not to mention burnt leaves (probably windchill) far inland. It was grim.
I love old trees also but they do need regular care, something that groves or forested areas don’t get. Many years ago I had a lovely large white oak on my 1/3rd acre that was a bit sheltered by the neighboring homes but did get heavy winds, especially in the winter off a small but open river. I called Bartlett Tree Specialists, I understand they take/took care of the Queen’s trees, to get an assessment. White oaks grow quite slowly but they suggested a bit of ‘cleaning’ out in the upper storey. Their advice was, ‘keep it open enough for birds to fly through’. I had them do that and every 5 years they came back and revisited with only slight culling needed. The huge tree in your picture with the tiny person next to it really didn’t have a chance. Weight of branches and the ivy took a toll even with the protection of it by the ‘forest’ behind it. Winds of 85 mph usually aren’t straight winds, there is a good bit of swirling as land attached trees and structures are encountered, thus some of the trees in your pictures could have come down from that. Circular winds are more destructive often and they do tend to take limbs off while not taking the tree down.
I understand and feel your loss. Folks that have no attachment to ‘nature’ around them suffer an isolation those that embrace it don’t. Thanks for sharing your loss and concern for the nature under your care.
Funny you mention circular, squally winds; when I was out chopping trees up on Sunday I noticed how the sawdust danced around on the wind rather than falling down. Most definitely a destructive influence.
I don’t think I could ever be someone who doesn’t care about plants.
I’m still mourning the loss of five beautiful, 75+ foot ash trees lost to the emerald ash borer here in the United States some fifteen years ago. The upside is that I have watched the oaks, maples, hickories, and buckeye trees work diligently to reform the beautiful canopy over the little 2/3 acre suburban lot our home occupies. Our thirteen acre woodlot in Northern Michigan was logged in 2009, and is just now recovering, as we have allowed nature to take its course and the strongest are now stretching toward to the sky to form a new canopy as well. We do need to thin a number of areas to get better growth. That will be hard, but as a biologist, I see that as part of the cycle of the woodlot, something that will be around for my kids and grandkids and their grandkids, long after I become fertilizer for this good earth’s long term, rooted occupants.
That’s the sort of heavy loss that saddens me too.
We’re starting to get quite excited about hickories here in the UK; they can’t, shouldn’t, be used everywhere, but they show great potential in gardens as a replacement to ash being lost to a fungus in gardens. The hickories have a pleasing outline that doesn’t look out of place in the landscape.
I certainly agree that sometimes hard decisions must be made.
We steward 30 acres in Maine, USA, most of which is wooded. In the 41 years we’ve been here, we’ve seen trees go down, grow tall, decay and new ones move in. It’s a wonderful process even if it is sad sometimes. There was a fine old oak that is now simply a 6 ft gnarled stump. The red pines planted in the 1960’s on a clay site (not so great for them) are tall but spindly and topple with high winds. The balsam firs are also reaching their natural lifespans. We have always had a Christmas tree from here though! And there’s one apple tree, a ‘yellow transparent’ that we think is about 140 years old. My husband prunes and tends it and cuts off dead or dying branches. We’d like to see it make it to 150 at least. And it still gives so many apples we give bags away. It reminds one of our own mortality. I only hope I can be as graceful about it as that tree.
Kris, I enjoyed reading your love-filled comment about your trees, especially your old heirloom apple tree. I’ve planted hundreds of little oak trees on the farm, plus countless other species—native and exotic. One of my neighbors scratches his head and wonders why I’m wasting a couple of acres on trees when I could run cows on them. I’m going to use you as an excuse next time he brings up the trees. “Kris in Maine said it was alright.”