At its very heart, Reeves Reed Arboretum is a museum of trees. It’s a place where people come to discover trees, really see trees, celebrate trees, learn about trees, embrace and honor all that we love about trees, and nature in general. One of our most stately and iconic trees here at the Arboretum is our great, old Sugar Maple Acer saccharum that majestically shades the Daffodil Bowl. Estimates of the age of our Arboreal Leviathan vary, but my guess is between 100 and 150 years old. Our iconic Maple has witnessed much history in its lifetime and survived its share of storms, droughts, plagues and human interference (yes, it’s sadly true).
I like to think about all the wonderful human interactions that have taken place under our famous tree, such as countless family photos, parties, engagements, first steps, joyful first meetings and reunions, happy conversations, sad conversations, parting thoughts, goodbyes. Trees bear witness but they never share our secrets. Over its long lifetime, thousands of people have walked under its graceful boughs, some aware of its majesty, others, maybe not acutely but passively. Undoubtedly, our tree has been there for people, a silent witness to the interactions and interconnectedness of every human that’s ever gazed upon it or walked below its sinewy branches. One must also think about all of the non-human interactions our tree has welcomed and endured. Just think of the countless songbirds, insects, squirrels, birds of prey, chipmunks, racoons, owls, even snakes and lizards that have lived, worked, raised young and rested upon its welcoming arms…. As a hopeless tree lover, to me…our maple is our very own sylvan hero.
About 8 years ago or so, our Maple started showing its first signs of decline; weaker annual growth, smaller, less numerous leaves and increased brittleness. Around that time a very large main branch was ripped from the trunk in a fierce storm, leaving a large gash where it was originally attached. Cables, put up years ago to protect the tree from falling apart and from lightning, did help to keep the tree from entirely shattering. But there was significant damage done. Ever hotter and in some years, drier summers increased the overall difficulties facing our tree. Noticing this, the Horticulture Department had the soil around the tree air-spayed, which helps to rectify soil compaction, and a large area around the tree was mulched to help the tree’s sensitive feeder roots conserve moisture and regrow. Undoubtedly, these actions have given us more time and allowed us to savor our tree for a few more years. The future however doesn’t look so good for our old Ent-Like friend. Sugar maples don’t often live much past the two-hundred-year mark in the best of circumstances, unlike White Oaks for example which can live 500 years. Our tree officially retired from being an active sap maker several years ago as the writing was on the wall (or trunk, so to say) and drawing sap would be just an extra drain on the health and resources of a declining tree. During our yearly March Sugar Maple Festivals, we teach our visitors about the art of maple sugaring, select younger healthy and vigorous maples for sap drawing and always point out our grand old Dame over the Daffodil Bowl, explaining its history and reason for retirement.
When I started four years ago as the Horticulture Director, I immediately was drawn to the Sugar Maple. I was simply awestruck my first Spring when I saw the tree in flower, looking like a giant cloud painted Key Lime pie green, catching the sunlight in an indescribably beautiful way as the Daffodils below were singing its praise in matching yellow. I noted later that season though that the leaves were small, stunted and discolored, and the tree was growing very, very little. There was also evidence of much dieback amongst the highest branches. It was clear that this beautiful tree was declining, and we needed a plan.
