The title of this story is not intended to suggest forestry or conservation but refers to my living with trees at Breeze Hill since June 1, 1909.
At that time, the 100,000 square feet of land we came to call Breeze Hill had some trees on it, not all of them very well chosen and some of them in rather a poor condition, and there were no trees on the three surrounding streets.
Various Trees In Breeze Hill
There were seven horse chestnuts about the old mansion house, which were promptly reduced to five to get sunlight into the house itself.
Near the east side of the house was a great old sycamore that did not look very happy because it had long suffered from the defoliation caused by bothersome anthracnose, which often affects the American sycamore.
Still nearer the house was an American linden vigorously growing and, as a neighbor informed me, about 12 years old from its planting.
There were also eleven sour cherry trees, two quite old Buffum pears, three white pines, several starved hemlocks, and plenty of open ground.
Troubles With Horse Chestnuts
When we began to look at the horse chestnuts next to the house—or rather when the first great American tree doctor, John Davey, began to inspect them—it appeared that all of them were in trouble.
One was singularly affected, for a section of the main trunk had been torn out in a storm, and after the wood had begun to rot, a nut from the tree had rooted in the cavity. We had to remove a young living tree from the center of the old tree.
All the other horse chestnuts had various defects and required elaborate systems of bracing and thorough cleaning out of wounds.
The one tree I considered most essential, directly in front of the house’s main entrance, was so badly hollowed by rot that the Davey people wanted to remove it.
Upon my insistence that it be saved, the rotted center was cleaned out to the last scratch, and a new cement interior was provided.
The tree promptly began to repair itself, and as these words are written, the main opening into which the concrete was poured has been almost completely closed over by new growth. The same has been true of all of hers thus saved.
These five trees then formed a frame for the house, but although I was glad to have been able to save them I could not help wishing that the man who had originally planted them had instead planted oaks or some of my favorite trees.
Norway Maple At The End Of A greenhouse
I have not mentioned one Norway maple on the edge of a curious structure strategically placed at the end of a greenhouse to the south of the home. The greenhouse had been used primarily for the forcing of grapes.
When this greenhouse basement was cleaned out, it seemed to indicate the mind of that great landscape architect, Warren H. Manning, a more or less formal garden. And so it came to be, filled with the Norway maple at one end and with nothing but open ground to the east.
Some of the sour cherries were removed because they prevented any orderly planting, and over time all of them have passed out save one, which still delivers its treasures every spring.
While I had a rather comprehensive plan from Mr. Manning as to what planting could be done in the area, I also had an active reading mind which wanted to satisfy its desires.
So I thought in terms of trees, shrubs, vines, roses, perennials, and everything else in numbers that would have been sufficient for twice the space available.
Of course, I wanted fruits, and quite promptly, apples, peaches, pears, and plums were planted. And as my neighbor, Mr. Hoehnlen, was a famous strawberry grower, I had to have strawberries too.
Espalier Fruits For Garden
My garden ideas also called for some espalier fruits, and a little espalier about 15′ feet long was carefully constructed in a sheltered place.
The shelter was afforded by some trees I also have not previously mentioned—the American arborvitae that had been freely planted on both sides of the driveway and then cut across to the eastern border of what I came to call my “piece of the pie.”
(With its two right-angle boundaries of about 350′ feet, the curved line that joined them provided the simulation to a quarter of a pie.) With these arborvitae providing a northern shelter, the espalier fruits flourished handsomely in growth but never, unfortunately, to any satisfaction in the way of fruit.
The reason, I think, was that the varieties were entire of German origin and not suited to the capital of Pennsylvania.
American Elm For Street Plantings
While these plantings were being made within the borders of the “piece of the pie,” the development of the adjacent Bellevue Park district brought about the planting of street trees.
My street tree ideas were subservient to the American elm, so two of my three borderlines were planted with elms.
The longer, curved boundary, 585′ feet in length, was planted with tulip trees. (Please note I do not say “tulip poplar,” an unfair and dishonest name that I won’t attach to any tree I own.)
These, then, are the older trees that I have lived with. Sometimes I think I have been a busy man, but these trees have been even busier, for they have worked 365 days a year, with an extra day’s work thrown in every leap year!
They have grown and grown, and even those on the outside have profited from the fertilizer I have provided on the inside.
I came to plant all forms of plants that would furnish things to look at and eat, and I was quite successful in getting results—that is, until, in certain areas, there began to be a mysterious slackening of growth and productivity.
Then an experimental digging showed that along both the north and south street borders, the roots of the elms had paid no attention either to the concrete sidewalk or to the border line represented first by Japanese barberry and later by Taxus cuspidate.
Great masses of roots existed in the rose garden 20′ feet away from the bases of the trees!
An attempt to remedy the difficulty was only partly successful, and from then on, I have had to face the fact that as a victim of “elmitis” I must adapt my garden to the convenience of the elms growing along the street rather than according to my idea of what ought to grow inside the garden area.
Beautiful Tulip Trees
I may say the tulip trees have kept growing but have caused no trouble since they do not have predatory fibrous roots but are solidly sustained by long, deep-growing prongs that live unto themselves.
These trees have bloomed and bloomed, and those who have enjoyed the beautiful “tulips” produced by this liriodendron know what a superb treat I have had every year.
The trees that I have planted and nurtured within the boundaries of Breeze Hill also have grown with vigor—so much so that only if I were not interested in roses and shrubs could I write without apologies about living with trees.
But the fact is that trees not only use the soil but the sunshine as well. Instead of growing strawberries that I could swell with pride to show, I get poor, miserable little things solely because of the sunlight deficiency.
And while the rose is a surface feeder, it must have good soil under it and sunshine to make that soil work.
Planting Roses
My writings have often related the fact that I have planted roses—more than SOO kinds from all over the world—and that some have flourished splendidly.
But when I compare them with the roses grown by my friend, the secretary of the American Rose Society at his home a few miles away, I know that I am not getting the best I could from them simply because I am asking the location to do more for me than I have any right to expect of it.
I have sketched some, but not all, of the difficulties involved in this vigorous use of an area too small for its devoted purpose.
Now it is no more than fair that I should touch upon some of the pleasures I have derived while living with these trees.
Indeed, I believe it has been more than pleasure, for I think they have preserved for me life itself, and I have, therefore, to thank their hungry roots and umbrageous brandies for the comfort and beauty provided.
Improvement Of The Sycamore Tree
The old sycamore, which seems to be somewhere around 200 years old, has given me much bothersome interest.
I have already mentioned the anthracnose, which caused it to lose its leaves so that, having to produce a new set of leaves, it could not make normal growth.
I remember getting a diagnosis of the trouble from the greatest American horticulturist, Dr. Liberty Hyde Bailey, who also told me that the malady could be mitigated by proper spraying. This prescription seemed a joke because the tree was 85′ feet high, with a spread approaching 200 feet.
However, I’m glad to say that the spraying was taken care of by the Davey people and that it has continued each year at about the time the leaves begin to drop.
The result has been that most years, we have held all the foliage, and with this help, the tree has extended the tips of its massive branches 18” inches or 2′ feet.
The old sycamore has also shown improvement in the development of new bark. In this regard, the sycamore is unlike most other trees, for when new growth is made, much of the old bark is shed in plates that fall to the ground.
This reminds me that once, a dear old lady who visited me expressed disgust at this trait of the sycamore because, she said, she didn’t like a tree that was always undressing in public!
American Persimmons
I forgot to mention two trees that were on the site at the start and are still on it. They are American persimmons. Fortunately, one male and one female, and the latter has fruited quite abundantly.
In addition to their little inch-and-a-quarter fruits, which are good to eat long before the first frost, I have derived untold pleasure from the persimmons’ lovely hark.
There were no dogwoods at the beginning, but I have them now, including a pink one. And the old lilacs, which were mere “lay locks,” are now down to one or two, but a fine lilac border is now attempting to assume tree proportions, not to my great delight.
Imported Magnolia Soulangeana
When I first came to Breeze Hill, the soil was thin and poor, and I remember that when I bought an imported Magnolia soulangeana for 83 cents at a department store, I had no decent soil to add to the little ball of black earth that came with the tree. So I scraped some rotted pine needles under the white pine to work around it.
That magnolia grew, and it is now all 20′ feet high and always provides an abundance of lovely blossoms in the spring.
Its performance stirred me toward magnolias, and I have since acquired several of them, including white and pink forms of M. stellata and a very fine plant of the dwarf M. sieboldi.
This latter is most easily described as a beautiful white cup with a ripe strawberry upside down while it blooms for many weeks.
Frost’s injury this spring of 1947 took from us the earliest of all magnolias, M. salicifolia, and I am still mourning it. But I have M. Kobus Borealis, which now has a trunk a foot through and towers with its beautiful blooms every spring.
Growing White Pines
The other day, I stumbled against the extending limbs of a rapidly growing white pine in that portion of Breeze Hill called “Little Carolina.”
Its vigor reminded me that in 1913 when I was visiting Keene, New Hampshire, while lecturing on civic topics in New England, a flourishing forestry association was distributing white pine seedlings at little cost for restoring the forests.
I brought one of these 8” or 10-inch seedlings home with me in my suitcase and planted it. I have just now measured it at 40″ inches from the ground and found the trunk at that height is 33″ inches in diameter. The tree is close to 25′ feet in height.
Now the moral of all this, if any moralizing is needed, is that I have adapted myself to the shady conditions instead of whining about the way sunshine has been shut out from my garden.
And these shady conditions, incidentally, have made the place notable for some thousands of visitors who sign the garden book every year.
This article was published in 1948 but shares how we can transform a landscape with a steady focus over time.
44659 by J. Horace Mcfarland