Opinion

by Carol Guzy

Sunrise began with pastel hues embracing the iconic beloved cherry tree affectionately named Stumpy at the Tidal Basin in Washington, DC.  Magical and painterly.

Stumpy became a symbol of resilience, a miracle in our midst, blooming his little heart out despite the frail weathered condition of a fragile shell. He captured our imaginations, inspiring those who feel broken to transcend adversity. The little tree that could.

His final bloom was glorious with soft cotton candy pink blossoms as admirers bid a sorrowful farewell.  A renovation project for the eroding sea wall was set to begin by the National Park Service.  Approximately 300 trees would be removed in a cautionary tale of climate change.

However, Stumpy’s destiny was dictated with no regard to the impassioned pulse of the people. Citizens overwhelmingly voiced their desire to ‘Save Stumpy’ as a national treasure. There were petitions. Many believed at least giving him a chance by transplanting was appropriate.  “Just try,” they said. Another viable alternative was a Smithsonian proposal for preservation in the permanent museum collection.It would have cost little more than benevolence to grant the request.  It too was rejected. Despite unreasonable bureaucratic excuses, certainly exceptions can be made to any rule for the greater good.  It could have been a gesture of goodwill.  Instead, they chose to break a lot of hearts. “The day they cut it down I’m going to lay on the ground in front of it crying,” said DC resident Elana Slaveter.

People refer to Stumpy as ‘he’.  Sometimes ‘she’.  Seldom ‘it’.  Tourists flocked to the infamous tree, some bedecked in cherry blossom finery. The reverence was palpable. Children snapped polaroid pictures. He became a social media celebrity. Some wrote love notes as an act of protest against his removal. Others left memorial flowers and in one case, a bottle of Maker’s Mark.  At this troubled time in our world, he offered promise. Something a fractured partisan nation could rally around. 

People saw him as an “underdog,” a “symbol of hope,” a “metaphor for our democracy.” “Mommy why are they killing him?” said one little girl. A lady remarked: “They always try to cut us down when we get older.” 

I’ve been a tree hugger since childhood. Shy and lonely, I would go to the woods and commune with trees - they were my friends.  So, it wasn’t hard to become emotionally attached to Stumpers. 

As a photojournalist, I’ve spent decades documenting man’s inhumanity far too often.  Conflicts and injustice abound. We destroy each other and the earth.  It evoked such bliss to photograph the stunning splendor of nature.  Until it didn’t.  I started out planning to do a sweet feature story, an ode to a tree. Then I got angry.  I was again faced with inhumanity - in the form of the National Park Service.

NPS botanists considered Stumpy to be in a mortality spiral and it was not cost effective to transplant, but human predictions are fallible, even by experts and doctors.  The will to live is a powerful force and this was a stubborn little tree.  While probability of survival was slim, the only sure thing was that chopping him down made him 100% dead.  Ours is a disposable society.  Pets, plastic, beloved trees.

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A plethora of birds and their babies enchanted us in this idyllic place.  Jack, a Canada goose with a broken wing, waddles over for some seed treat.  They mate for life, but he is always alone.  Another goose shelters goslings under her wings. Three tiny ducklings follow Mama on the cracked sea wall.  A duck couple would rest next to me for hours under a tree.  I felt like Dr. Doolittle. 

Then came outrage that NPS ordered renovation to begin during nesting season.  Spokesperson Mike Litterst said not to worry, avian biologists would mark trees with nests. Visitors had been captivated watching a starling diligently build a nest in the cavity of a cherry tree slated for removal. They thanked biologists attaching an orange ribbon, thinking the innocent babies would be safe until fledged.  Later it became clear they are considered an invasive species and would be given no clemency.  But feeding any baby birds into a woodchipper seems brutally harsh optics. 

Workers from Cianbro Construction Corporation and Empire Landscape were hired to do a difficult job but treaded gently, showing respect for both wildlife and humans. They were a refreshing humane counterpoint to NPS.  Bruce Hughes, one of the big bosses, had a soft spot for Jack and fed him daily from a pocketful of crackers.

When the guys found a starling nest in a felled trunk, they put it aside to give the little ones a chance.  It is not in their job description to show mercy, but they did just that and soon two babies emerged to fly free and sing.  But one lay dead.  Baby birds and heavy machinery don’t mix.  

Anne Lewis, president of City Wildlife remarked that it was an abomination to begin at the height of nesting season and “this was like Gaza for wildlife.”  Ducks and geese are part of the migratory bird act to be protected.  Simple safeguards like ramps were not put in place. Vulnerable babies get waterlogged and drown if they can’t reach land, now cordoned off from all directions. 

A family of fifteen goslings got trapped by the berm, and frantically sought a way out.  All but one escaped. The construction crew was on a boat and rescued the pitiful wayward gosling.  Some observers have said they are writing to legislators to enact a law that would never allow this to happen again.  

Surely there are NPS employees with a sincere desire to protect these precious spaces and understand the sacred interconnection of all life.  One of their arborists explained that the American people are the true owners of this land.  But their pleas went unheard by the decision-makers. Cuttings were taken for propagation of clones at the Arboretum, but there will never be another Stumpy.

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Psychologist Evelyn Sawhill made an origami crane and tucked it into Stumpy’s peeling bark, whispering, “Don’t be afraid.”  She pondered existential questions: Do trees have emotions? Feel pain?  Do they have a soul that moves on somewhere in this mystery called life?  She believes Stumpy felt the love by those who stayed so he wouldn’t be alone. “I personally think that life is life, whether it’s a human being or a blade of grass and I think that life goes on in some form or another,” she stated. “Offering recognition and comfort and solace and understanding to any living thing is important.  People who have come to do that for Stumpy have benefited more than we think.  And it is an honor,” she declared.

The final days were bittersweet and poignant. At dawn on Easter Sunday, rays of light emanated over Stumpy like the resurrection. It felt profound and sacred.  It was also a lesson in slowing down and tranquility.  (Not usually words in my vocabulary).  Soon petals fell like snow, as if the trees were weeping for their last season.  A rainbow appeared over Stumpy as Mother Nature offered a grand goodbye.  Serenity gave way to sounds of chain saws and tree limbs cracking.  

This tale has greater meaning than the fate of one little tree.  It is about our capacity to care and nurture rather than destroy so much in our path. When you erase beauty, it is an affront to the soul.  And yes, many found this misshapen marvel a magnificent work of art.   

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On his last sunrise, birds flocked near the isolated cage. One could imagine them bidding him farewell.  Nature has an intricate language that humans have long forgotten.

Under a veil of secrecy, shrouded by black mesh fencing and amid the carnage of other felled trees, Stumpy met his demise. He was so little it took mere minutes. 

Landscape workers were tasked with the deed. They looked like pallbearers tenderly carrying two halves of the trunk at a funeral procession. But there were no wistful eulogies. The removal felt more like an execution as remains were fed into a woodchipper.

It was a visceral gut punch. A tour guide stopped to comfort me.  She too cried. It brought back memories of the thousand goodbyes I said to my mother, fading with Alzheimer’s, but wasn’t really the end until she let go of my hand and slipped away.  

Those who fought for Stumpy can shrug this off and decide we can’t fight City Hall.  Or take a stand to avoid future wrongs.  We can hold NPS accountable but unfortunately, we can’t make them care.  

In “The Wizard of Oz,” Dorothy said, “There’s no place like home.”  National parks are part of our collective home to nurture and protect. No one questions the need for renovation, simply the decisions made by NPS with no regard for the will of the people. Perhaps American citizens deserve a more compassionate steward of our land.  

There is now an empty space where beauty once lived.  One can imagine Stumpy somewhere over that rainbow, tall and majestic with eternal blooms.  Free from a gnarled shell with birds nesting in his glorious branches that provide soothing shade for our departed loved ones.

Rest now Stumpy your journey is over.  You will reside in our memories and photographs.  We will miss you dear little one.  

You were loved.

AFTERLIFE

‘In my next life,” said the tree

I think I’ll be a dragon,

Or maybe be a mountain troll

Who owns a giant tavern

Perhaps I’ll be a little girl

With secret, hidden powers

Or maybe be a tiny ant

That lives amongst the flowers

Perhaps I’ll surf a waterfall

Or burrow underground,

Perhaps I’ll find a heart-shaped balloon

And float up to the clouds

Perhaps I’ll find a rocket

And I’ll fire it into space

Or maybe meet a pirate 

With a scar upon his face”

What do you mean? I asked the tree

And that is when he said

You know we’ll all die one day

But our souls will not be dead

So when the world assumes 

That I have reached eternal sleep

I’ll worry not because I’ll have

So much life left in me

See, they will take my ever-reaching

Branches in their glory

And I’ll become the pages

Of a many-treasured story

And that is why you’ll often

Find them leafing through the pages

Or turning over new leaves

Of a tale they’ve known for ages

I will not look as I do now – 

My life will be rewritten

But they will hear my echo

On the pages if they listen

So if you feel inclined to,

Take a walk into the woods

And take a bag upon your back

Packed with your favourite books

Then find a shady canopy,

A leafy spot to rest

And read the trees the stories

Of the lives they might live next’

-Becky Hemsley 2022