Let’s just say, I know why our section of Scarborough is called Pine Point!
Hazy clouds of dusty pine pollen have coated everything in sight and have us scrambling for the Benadryl. Next will come the sap to stain our deck and needles to plug my pool filter and ruin the PH balance of my lawn. So, I guess it’s safe to say that pines are not one of my favorites.
Then again, the other majority stakeholder in our neighborhood, oak trees, are not much better.
Oak trees are constantly shedding their deadwood branches all over my yard. In the fall, I’ll be bombarded with thousands of golf ball-sized acorns. Next winter, their late falling leaves will again muddy our clean, white landscape.
All summer long, thirsty roots from these overbearing neighbors will suck up all the water from my lawn and block the rain and sun from reaching the ground, leaving patches of grass stunted and brown. They are forever tossing their buds, leaves, bugs and branches into my pool and prematurely shading my deck from the summer sunshine.
You may be asking why I simply don’t move … or even why I choose to live where I do in the first place? Clearly my life would be simpler, maybe even happier, without all of these troublesome trees cluttering the landscape.
On the surface, this is true, but I recently came to realize something that has helped me gain a better perspective.
They were here first.
I had an arborist give me an estimate for thinning out the deadwood in the oaks and removing a few of the scrub pines whose growth will always be stunted by the much larger trees. While we were walking, he mentioned that the age of the oaks was probably around 30-40 years. “At least the second growth, the original trees probably started here more than 100 years ago,” he said.
I was amazed to learn that these 100-foot monsters were actually second-generation oak trees. I had no idea. What tipped off the arborist were the three main shoots that came out of the ground and stretched to the sky. Each one was more than a foot in diameter. “The original tree was as wide as all three of these shoots combined,” he said as I imagined a single trunk, more than five feet across. There is one such stump in my neighborhood. Counting its rings, I found more than 80.
Since that day, I’ve found myself being more respectful of these proud sentries in my yard. Year after year, they have protected the house against the heat of the sun, the cold wind of countless Nor’easters and seen more sleet, rain and snow than I have seen in my entire life; actually, more than anyone I know — except maybe my wife’s 102-year-old grandfather.
What has impressed me most was the shear determination they have shown. They’ve survived harsh storms, drought and disease, have even been completely cut down, only to grow strong and true once again.
Somehow, this makes it a little easier to deal with the mess, hard work and aggravation that comes with sharing my small piece of the world with trees.
It also reminds me of the limitless potential that can be found by developing a strong set of roots.
Tim King is a freelance writer who sees the forest and the trees from his home in Scarborough. He can be reached at sylvan.sauntering@gmail.com