I've been through a rollercoaster of emotions lately, and that's aside from political events. This is how it started:
"I'm in mourning. For a tree, to be precise. It wasn't a very special tree, just an ordinary sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus). But it had a well-grown, rounded shape and, what's more, was one of the very few trees in our street. Until yesterday about lunchtime, it grew in our next-door neighbour's garden - in the furthest corner, spreading its crown equally over her plot, the adjoining carpark and the pavement in front of our block of flats. It was in rude health when I last saw it alive. Now there's nothing but a pile of logs."
"I'm in mourning. For a tree, to be precise. It wasn't a very special tree, just an ordinary sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus). But it had a well-grown, rounded shape and, what's more, was one of the very few trees in our street. Until yesterday about lunchtime, it grew in our next-door neighbour's garden - in the furthest corner, spreading its crown equally over her plot, the adjoining carpark and the pavement in front of our block of flats. It was in rude health when I last saw it alive. Now there's nothing but a pile of logs."
I felt uneasy as soon as I saw - from a long way off on my way home - the warning sign "tree works" on the pavement outside our block. The first thing I noticed was people chopping down a Campsis radicans in the garden next-door that previous owners had planted and which had managed to climb up to the third-floor windows. Then I saw that the huge, rampant ivy on the boundary wall with the street had not just been cut back hard as often before but this time was completely gone. Oh God, the birds had lost their home!
Finally, I clocked the emptiness above the corner and realized the tree had gone, too. I guess I didn't immediately notice as it had been bare at this time of year and less prominent visually than the dark-green mass of ivy. But once aware, the emptiness was glaring. I approached its butchers and asked why they'd cut it down. Oh, because the owner had asked them to.
Well, yes, I would have guessed so. But why? - Don't know. Probably threw too much shade. - Nonsense. There would have been some shade in the morning, but probably not even reaching her window, then shade just underneath it (i.e. in the outermost corner of the plot) around lunchtime and after that the shade would be cast on the carpark. So certainly she couldn't claim there was not enough light because of the tree. The men were getting slightly annoyed. Of course, they were just mercenaries, paid to do a job.
Could we have saved it? Should urban trees not merit better protection?
I asked whether we as neighbours could have done anything if we'd known in advance or whether the tree would not have been protected in some way. Nope, no such status. And true, its trunk was only 25 - 30 cm across. But still: Surely every tree is precious and should be protected in an inner-city environment, at least to the extent that people cannot simply cut them down on a whim?
Yes, I'll admit, I belong to that irrational species of "Northern tree-huggers". I love trees for what they are and for what they offer us. And not just on a quantifiable level. But even so, I would probably have felt less shocked and dismayed if the neighbour in question was a keen gardener who simply wanted something more appealing, or more light and less root pressure for her plants underneath the tree. But no - she isn't. Not at all. Which makes it feel like a deliberate act of vandalism. And an incomprehensible one to boost: her plot, devoid of its major plant life, looks like a prison yard now!
Finally, I clocked the emptiness above the corner and realized the tree had gone, too. I guess I didn't immediately notice as it had been bare at this time of year and less prominent visually than the dark-green mass of ivy. But once aware, the emptiness was glaring. I approached its butchers and asked why they'd cut it down. Oh, because the owner had asked them to.
Well, yes, I would have guessed so. But why? - Don't know. Probably threw too much shade. - Nonsense. There would have been some shade in the morning, but probably not even reaching her window, then shade just underneath it (i.e. in the outermost corner of the plot) around lunchtime and after that the shade would be cast on the carpark. So certainly she couldn't claim there was not enough light because of the tree. The men were getting slightly annoyed. Of course, they were just mercenaries, paid to do a job.
Could we have saved it? Should urban trees not merit better protection?
I asked whether we as neighbours could have done anything if we'd known in advance or whether the tree would not have been protected in some way. Nope, no such status. And true, its trunk was only 25 - 30 cm across. But still: Surely every tree is precious and should be protected in an inner-city environment, at least to the extent that people cannot simply cut them down on a whim?
Yes, I'll admit, I belong to that irrational species of "Northern tree-huggers". I love trees for what they are and for what they offer us. And not just on a quantifiable level. But even so, I would probably have felt less shocked and dismayed if the neighbour in question was a keen gardener who simply wanted something more appealing, or more light and less root pressure for her plants underneath the tree. But no - she isn't. Not at all. Which makes it feel like a deliberate act of vandalism. And an incomprehensible one to boost: her plot, devoid of its major plant life, looks like a prison yard now!
The children were furious, too. And sad. So where other neighbours in our block of flats. Next morning, an "internal" email went round, saying exactly that and asking whether it would ever make a "comeback" of sorts. This was quickly followed by similar messages, also highlighting the speed with which it went, i.e. that there was no warning, no talk of it or anything beforehand. Being rather impulsive and passionate, I was immensely proud of myself for not pressing the send-button on mine which simply read "Why would anyone want a well-grown tree in a sea of concrete? Or birds nesting in ivy, for that matter?"
As is probably obvious, our next-door neighbour isn't a particular friend of ours - nor of the rest of the block. An American lady in, I'd guess, her Forties, she never really talks to anyone and I guess we can count ourselves lucky that she replies with a nod to our "Hallo" if we happen to cross paths in the hallway. While I absolutely respect people's right to privacy - I'm a big fan of it myself - I still think it odd that she never once introduced herself on moving in a couple of years ago. Surely it isn't too much to expect a "Hi, I'm XY, your new neighbour" when you see someone unlocking the door next to yours??
Anyway, I digress. I didn't press Send because I didn't want relations to sour even more, after all we'd continue living wall to wall. Also, I'm still slightly ashamed of how I once went at the other next-door neighbour a few years ago when they had hacked back their garden (no gardeners either, them) and - as it later transpired: unknowingly - cut one of the "main artery" of our Parthenocissus. It resulted in the death of half the plant, the bit that had swung itself up from the fence and onto the wall, reaching up to the second floor and doing its best to cover the children's bedroom window with a veil of vines and leaves and lots of insect visitors for them to observe. So, mindful of my temper, I managed to hold back for once.
As is probably obvious, our next-door neighbour isn't a particular friend of ours - nor of the rest of the block. An American lady in, I'd guess, her Forties, she never really talks to anyone and I guess we can count ourselves lucky that she replies with a nod to our "Hallo" if we happen to cross paths in the hallway. While I absolutely respect people's right to privacy - I'm a big fan of it myself - I still think it odd that she never once introduced herself on moving in a couple of years ago. Surely it isn't too much to expect a "Hi, I'm XY, your new neighbour" when you see someone unlocking the door next to yours??
Anyway, I digress. I didn't press Send because I didn't want relations to sour even more, after all we'd continue living wall to wall. Also, I'm still slightly ashamed of how I once went at the other next-door neighbour a few years ago when they had hacked back their garden (no gardeners either, them) and - as it later transpired: unknowingly - cut one of the "main artery" of our Parthenocissus. It resulted in the death of half the plant, the bit that had swung itself up from the fence and onto the wall, reaching up to the second floor and doing its best to cover the children's bedroom window with a veil of vines and leaves and lots of insect visitors for them to observe. So, mindful of my temper, I managed to hold back for once.
Blossom of Malus 'Laxtons Red'
Many hours later this seemed a wise move when Madame Tree-slayer sent a brief email in reply to grieving neighbours. It said "Hi guys, sorry for the lack of warning. The tree was just growing too fast and getting too big. I will be replacing it with an apple tree (ideally this winter), though because it is a north facing exposure, it will be a cooking apple. I'm also aiming to plant another tree in the corner...I was also thinking of a pear tree, but was also worried about the pollination issue! If anyone has a green thumb and wants to offer advice, I'm all ears!"
Although the "cooking apple" seemed a rebuff to someone who'd written earlier she once mentioned wanting to plant an apple tree and jokingly suggested "anything that falls in the car park is fair game!", I was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt. In the light of the Trump-inauguration (and her being American) I even was reminded of the quote that is often ascribed to Martin Luther who - 500 years ago this year - nailed his ecclesial theses to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg: "If I knew the world was to end tomorrow, I'd plant an apple tree today."
Plant a crab apple to secure pollination and a long season of interest
Therefore I now wrote in to recommend "a crab apple instead of a pear tree which flowers at roughly the same time as your apple tree (a good nursery/ provider should be able to advise on which ones do). They are good for pollinating and, apart from the blossom, will provide you with crab apples that can either be turned into jellies etc. and/ or left for the birds and offer 'ornamental value' in autumn. Check for mature heights of the varieties (i.e. in ten years' time) if this could become an issue for you.
If you want a pear tree, I've found the advice below [> link] - though again I'd ask the supplier which varieties are likely to do well here in London and opt for two pears rather than apple and pear. Finally, as we have heavy London clay here (despite it probably having been improved by previous owners), make sure you don't plant when the ground is sodden but wait for when it has been dry for a few days and incorporate plenty of stuff to break up the clay/ lighten the soil. You'll find more advice on this here:
[> link to RHS page]. Good luck!"
I've never had so much as an acknowledgement of my email.
Which seems to prove my initial feeling: the tree simply annoyed her - and she only reluctantly responded to neighbours because the issue had created such a stir. And no, my opinion of her hasn't changed for the better. The saddest thing though, of course, is the tree that's gone. No matter if she will plant that apple tree or not: there'll be a void for a long time because she sure isn't going to plant a mature tree.
There is a song called Mein Freund, der Baum [My friend, the tree] by German singer Alexandra, who despite her untimely death at 27 more than 45 years ago is still known and loved. I'll translate this song here: the sycamore I wrote about in this post may not have the same sentimental value to me as the tree in the lyrics, but the sentiment nonetheless fits perfectly well.
Although the "cooking apple" seemed a rebuff to someone who'd written earlier she once mentioned wanting to plant an apple tree and jokingly suggested "anything that falls in the car park is fair game!", I was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt. In the light of the Trump-inauguration (and her being American) I even was reminded of the quote that is often ascribed to Martin Luther who - 500 years ago this year - nailed his ecclesial theses to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg: "If I knew the world was to end tomorrow, I'd plant an apple tree today."
Plant a crab apple to secure pollination and a long season of interest
Therefore I now wrote in to recommend "a crab apple instead of a pear tree which flowers at roughly the same time as your apple tree (a good nursery/ provider should be able to advise on which ones do). They are good for pollinating and, apart from the blossom, will provide you with crab apples that can either be turned into jellies etc. and/ or left for the birds and offer 'ornamental value' in autumn. Check for mature heights of the varieties (i.e. in ten years' time) if this could become an issue for you.
If you want a pear tree, I've found the advice below [> link] - though again I'd ask the supplier which varieties are likely to do well here in London and opt for two pears rather than apple and pear. Finally, as we have heavy London clay here (despite it probably having been improved by previous owners), make sure you don't plant when the ground is sodden but wait for when it has been dry for a few days and incorporate plenty of stuff to break up the clay/ lighten the soil. You'll find more advice on this here:
[> link to RHS page]. Good luck!"
I've never had so much as an acknowledgement of my email.
Which seems to prove my initial feeling: the tree simply annoyed her - and she only reluctantly responded to neighbours because the issue had created such a stir. And no, my opinion of her hasn't changed for the better. The saddest thing though, of course, is the tree that's gone. No matter if she will plant that apple tree or not: there'll be a void for a long time because she sure isn't going to plant a mature tree.
There is a song called Mein Freund, der Baum [My friend, the tree] by German singer Alexandra, who despite her untimely death at 27 more than 45 years ago is still known and loved. I'll translate this song here: the sycamore I wrote about in this post may not have the same sentimental value to me as the tree in the lyrics, but the sentiment nonetheless fits perfectly well.
My Friend, the Tree
(For listening to Alexandra's original version on youtube, click here.)
I've long meant to see you again
My dear old friend from childhood days.
I've had so much to tell you
And knew you'd understand.
Already as a small girl
I'd come to you with all the worries of a child.
I felt secure with you
And all sorrows would disappear.
When I wept in your arms
With your green leaves
You'd caress my hair
My dear old friend.
My friend the tree is dead -
He fell at early morning's red.
You fell early today
I was too late.
You'll never sway in the breeze again
You have to lie slain by the wayside
And some of those walking past
Have no respect for the remnants of life
And tear at your green boughs
Which, dying, bend down towards the ground.
Who will now give me the calm
I found in your shadow?
My best friend is lost to me
Who had linked me with my childhood.
My friend the tree is dead -
He fell at early morning's red.
Soon a house made of glass and stone
Will grow where he was chopped down.
Soon grey walls will grow
Where he still lies in the sunshine now.
Perhaps there'll be a miracle
I secretly will wait for one.
Perhaps in front of the house a garden will bloom
And he'll arise to a new life.
But he'll be weak and small still then
And even if many years go by:
He'll never be the same again.
My friend the tree is dead -
He fell at early morning's red.
(For listening to Alexandra's original version on youtube, click here.)
I've long meant to see you again
My dear old friend from childhood days.
I've had so much to tell you
And knew you'd understand.
Already as a small girl
I'd come to you with all the worries of a child.
I felt secure with you
And all sorrows would disappear.
When I wept in your arms
With your green leaves
You'd caress my hair
My dear old friend.
My friend the tree is dead -
He fell at early morning's red.
You fell early today
I was too late.
You'll never sway in the breeze again
You have to lie slain by the wayside
And some of those walking past
Have no respect for the remnants of life
And tear at your green boughs
Which, dying, bend down towards the ground.
Who will now give me the calm
I found in your shadow?
My best friend is lost to me
Who had linked me with my childhood.
My friend the tree is dead -
He fell at early morning's red.
Soon a house made of glass and stone
Will grow where he was chopped down.
Soon grey walls will grow
Where he still lies in the sunshine now.
Perhaps there'll be a miracle
I secretly will wait for one.
Perhaps in front of the house a garden will bloom
And he'll arise to a new life.
But he'll be weak and small still then
And even if many years go by:
He'll never be the same again.
My friend the tree is dead -
He fell at early morning's red.
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