In the past three weeks I’ve had the opportunity to cover about 750 miles of my fair state of North Carolina, driving through the Western mountains, into the Piedmont (about a thousand feet nearer to sea level) almost into the coastal plains. In the mountains, I was mainly in the region around my home and Asheville, and had the opportunity to drive through the Pisgah National Forest on the way from Brevard to Waynesville (adjacent to the Blue Ridge Parkway).

What struck me most in these drives was the very apparent death of one entire species of tree and the successful and showy colonization of a non-native species. Let’s begin with the loss: Tsuga Canadensis, the Canadian Hemlock, is a beautiful evergreen tree that is native to North America. It is a vital part of forest systems running all the way from Canada into the northern part of Georgia. It is also dying en mass. In the 1920s, a horticulturist in the northeastern part of the United States unwittingly imported a small insect, the wooly adelgid, which likes to feed on the nutrients produced by the hemlock tree. At first, the adelgid is sort of attractive. It looks like the beginning of a snow sticking to the needles of the plant. The bug is very aggressive and reproduces like a whirlwind, and, within a couple of years, the white coating has become so pronounced and the tree is noticeably dying. As the infestation progresses, the parasites continue to grow, and eventually, within 4-7 years of initial infestation, they starve the tree to death. When we moved here four years ago, the hemlocks in this region were just beginning to be infested by these pests. Over the last four summers, I have watched the progression of stands of hemlocks, especially in the national parks and forests, go from a lovely deep green to a dead gray. This year as the spring foliage begins to come out, as the mountains turn to various shades of green, there are noticeable groves of dead hemlocks --still standing, because although recently dead, they have not yet given up their structural integrity. These ghostly shadows of a former arboreal glory stand as transient symbols of the unintended consequences of human civilization. This is not the first die-off in the Eastern United States or, indeed in this area. In Western North Carolina, alone we have witnessed the extinction of the American Chestnut tree in the early part of the 20th century, and the destruction of the balsam fir in a similar die-off in the late 1970s and early 1980s. I suppose that it is inevitable that humanity’s impact upon this planet will be pronounced. We’ve done what we can to tame the planet in our way. We’ve built roads, we’ve created lakes, we’ve been fruitful and multiplied, and multiplied, and multiplied. And as we spread, we will, inevitably destroy and displace that which was there before us. It is inevitable, but sad. It is especially sad, to me, when viewed through the gaping grey holes in the canopy of the forests around me.


On a brighter note (I suppose), while noticing all of the dead stands of hemlocks, I also could not fail to notice a surprising number of purple Christmas-tree shaped blossoms blooming from a huge number of Paulownia tomentosa trees that were growing along the side of the highways and scenic byways I was travelling. The Paulownia is more commonly known as the Empress Tree or the Princess Tree. It is a fast-growing import from China that spreads via shoots, cuttings, and, rather aggressively, by seed (distributed by wind and wildlife). This is the “miracle tree” that is sometimes advertised in the Sunday magazine insert. It can grow up to 8 ft a year and will grow in a variety of soils. It began as a specimen tree in people’s yards, but has successfully spread into the wild. I saw its distinctive purple blossoms up and down Interstate 40 between Asheville and Greensboro, all the way down into the flat plains near Pinehurst. I also saw representatives of this invasive non-native species among the trees in the Pisgah National Forest. I actually saw one that was growing among a grove of dying and dead hemlocks. Its bright purple flowers stood out against the gray death of the graceful conifers.

The question I’m still asking myself is this: What does the Princess Tree’s success mean in the shadow of the dying Hemlocks? Is it the mockery of the successful invader? Is it a testimony to human arrogance or apathy? Is it simply the nature of nature, for change to follow change, and for some to die and others to live? Is it a fulfillment of a Taoist balance? Is it primarily a bad thing? Or is my attachment to the Hemlock and my distaste of the Princess Tree simply a sort of nostalgia? Everything changes, I guess. I wonder if I am or am to be a Hemlock, majestic and tragically dying, slowly losing my color and fading into memory, or am I to be the newcomer, brilliantly blooming and growing, coming to fill the space that was left behind by that which has come before.