July 5, 2007 Issue                                       

©2007 The Chestnut Hill Local

Death is brutal, whether it’s a person or a tree
by BARBARA L. SHERF

This was the elm, looking regal and healthy in 2004.

A flurry of fine wood dust swirls outside my home office window in Flourtown. It falls from our approximately 100-year-old American Elm tree being put out of its misery. The sounds of chainsaws and chippers are virtually non-stop. The workers approach the job with a detached professionalism as a tear rolls down my cheek. I am forced into thinking about the continuous circle of life and death and rebirth.   

Toward the end of last fall, my husband and I grew concerned about the tree. Lab tests revealed bacterial leaf scorch, and we were told to keep an eye on it in the spring. Spring came and went, and the elm did not bloom. June 1 came and went, and it was clear that our elm was dying if not already dead. Through an Internet search I learn that fastidiosa bacterium is spread from diseased to healthy trees by leafhoppers. Once introduced in the plant, the bacterium grows within the xylem of the leaves, branches and roots. Leaf scorch results from moisture stress due to the plugging of vascular tissues in leaves, twigs and branches. There is no effective preventive treatment for bacterial leaf scorch.

Throughout the week I experience all of the stages associated with death as outlined in Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ 1968 book, On Death and Dying. My mind wanders back to a nasty weekend in November, 1983, when someone passed the book on to me. I had been going to college while working weekends in the news department at a local radio station when an urgent message came over the Associated Press news wire. The bells went off signaling breaking news, and I went over to the clicking machine. “Carol Rice, Levittown Woman, Killed on Icy Road in Ithaca, New York.” Carol was a high school buddy of mine who seemed to have it all, or so I thought. I had never experienced sudden death like that, and it hit hard. I was supposed to go to a wedding with my longtime boyfriend that Saturday night, but I cancelled out. David went alone. He was killed in a one-car accident following the wedding reception. I should have been in the car with him.  I eventually went through all five stages of dealing with both sudden deaths. It didn’t happen overnight.

1. Denial: The initial stage: “I just spoke with him a few hours ago. It must have been someone else driving his car.”

2. Anger: “How dare you do this to me?!” (either referring to God, oneself or anybody perceived, rightly or wrongly, as “responsible”)

3. Bargaining: “Just let me live to see my son graduate.”

4. Depression: “I’m so sad, why bother with anything?”

5. Acceptance: “I know that he/she will be in a better place.”

Workers from LeRoy Tree and Landscape Services, a division of Arader Tree Care, systematically cut down the elm tree. The green branches in the foreground are from the sweet gum tree.

In our Denial Stage, my husband would look up at the elm and say, “Look, I see some green.” I knew and accepted that this was its last gasp for life. Still we kept watching and hoping for the best. 

I was angry at how little control we had over this disease. We had spent $1,500 on a Dutch Elm preventive treatment, but we could do little to fight off the bacterial leaf scorch. Why?

In the Bargaining Stage I pleaded with the tree gods to take the messy sweet gum tree over the elm. The tree gods did not listen.   

Depression set in as we were getting a series of quotes from tree care providers to take down the tree. Everyone knew it was time to fold, yet nobody really wanted to be in a situation to take it down. We finally settled on LeRoy Tree and Landscape Services, a division of Arader Tree Care of West Conshohocken.  They matched the low bid, and I have known the arborist, Bill O’Toole, for many years. He lives in Flourtown, not far from us.

Bill and Arader’s owner, Chris Arader, came out the Thursday before the takedown to look at the work and develop a plan to remove the tree safely and efficiently. Both were sincerely sorry for our loss and expressed their condolences. Some neighbors and friends thought we should keep the stump on site and plant Wisteria in the hollowed-out trunk or even turn it into a fountain. To me, it would have been a daily reminder of what was, and we opted to have the entire trunk removed and the stump ground down to the ground. We will use a cross-section of the 40-inch diameter trunk as an outdoor tabletop as a tribute to this tree.  In the fall we will plant a smaller ornamental tree to mark the entryway to our courtyard and front door. We know we want something that will stay relatively small, yet make a statement about our green values. 

Once we signed the contract for the tree removal, acceptance came fairly easily. We rationalized about how we would no longer have to spend countless hours raking leaves in the fall, and how we wouldn’t have to clean the gutters so often. We also came face to face with the reality that our air conditioning costs might skyrocket without this tree providing shade to our home. 

While the chainsaws were whirring away, I opened the daily newspaper to find the obituary of a former co-worker, Chestnut Hill resident Matt Miller. At the age of 39, he went in for surgery to remove a benign brain tumor. He never made it out. Matt’s death put the passing of our elm into some perspective. 

The elm and Matt’s death clearly brought home how fragile life and how final death is.  The tree we plant this fall will be in Matt’s memory … and Carol’s and David’s. Thank you, elm tree,  for teaching us your final lesson about endings and renewals and rebirths. You were a true — yet silent — teacher.