The Heartbreak of Losing a Beloved Tree
Living alongside trees for many years creates a deep connection; they become an integral part of our lives. Thus, it was with a heavy heart that I made the decision to take down the venerable sugar maple, my arboreal cathedral, dismantling her grandeur one rafter at a time. Her decline was not due to flames, but rather a hidden inferno of fungus beneath the surface. The appearance of small honey-colored mushrooms sprouting at her base served as a crucial warning sign, as noted by the forester.
When we first moved to the farm 36 years ago, this tree was already ancient—just like the farmhouse we inhabit, which is approximately 160 years old. In fact, I can trace her existence back to at least the 1940s, as we possess a photograph showcasing her youthful stature, significantly smaller and not yet the majestic ruler of the side yard that she would later become. In her prime, she soared to nearly 90 feet in height, a true giant among her peers.
This maple was not merely a tree; she possessed a unique personality. Instead of growing straight and narrow, she developed an idiosyncratic form, with a trunk that split into four distinct sections and branches that splayed in various directions, adapting to the passage of time with remarkable resilience. I felt incredibly fortunate to have shared my life under her expansive canopy for so many years.
However, in recent times, she faced relentless challenges from the elements—torrential rains followed by drought. The summers grew increasingly hotter, while winters lost their chill. The lack of snow cover meant her roots were left vulnerable and exposed. The forester pointed out that climate change likely contributed to her susceptibility to the invasive fungus known as armillaria.
Unfortunately, she is not alone in her struggles; the entire farm has felt the impact of environmental stressors. Ash trees have faced devastation at the hands of the emerald ash borer, while our native dogwoods succumb to anthracnose. Hemlocks are under siege from the hemlock woolly adelgid, and both spicebush and sassafras are suffering from laurel wilt, spread by the invasive ambrosia beetle. Areas that were once vibrant woods are slowly reverting to fields.
We witnessed the slow, painful decline of the old maple. “She’s not doing well,” my husband and I often remarked to one another. Then, in a single season, her entire left side began to collapse. Limbs fell violently onto the springhouse below, scattering chunks of bark across the ground. Ant hills emerged at her base, and the vegetation that had nestled high within her crevices appeared to lose its vigor. It was a heart-wrenching transformation, marking the end of an era.
