After a few visits from our Cambridge neighbors, I decided to look closer at this tree. It was a beech, taller than our three-story house, and its canopy[13] shaded the whole south side of our yard. Limbs grazed one neighbor’s roof and aimed for another across the street.[14] One branch dipped to the ground and curved back up, forming an elongated U.[15] The trunk measured more than four feet in diameter and the root crown reminded me of elephant toes.[16] The silvery blue-gray bark resembled cracked leather.[17] The leaves were light and feathery, like ferns.[18]
I stood next to the trunk and looked up. Aside from my visit to see California redwoods in Muir Woods[19], I had never seen such majesty. This was one serious tree, or as someone later commented, “one, big, beautiful plant.” And—gulp—it was on our property.[20] Big responsibility. Shortly thereafter[21], we moved in. The tree became our mecca[22]. My kids were glued to the swings that we hung from its branches. Neighborhood kids clambered[23] over it. Everyone in our small community had a story about it—losing a ball in the fallen leaves, carving initials into the trunk. Or they had a nickname for it—the dragon tree, the elephant tree.
One afternoon, two years later, I found a piece of bark lying on the ground near the trunk. Over the next couple of months, a few more pieces fell. I called an arborist[24] to take a look. His diagnosis was cautionary. The tree was stressed and needed deep watering and fertilizing[25].
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