I am not a survivor. Others in my seedling tray had brighter futures - wide, sweeping golf courses, curated gardens, large suburban lawns. I, however, was destined to die.
My call to arms cut short my bucolic upbringing, and I was wrenched from the country to fulfill my metropolitan duty – to look pretty for a summer, only to wilt on the inside and out. I thought I was strong. I thought I would make it. I dreamed a dream.
Being one who expected so much out of life, life did not expect too much out of me. Within the concrete confines of my urban existence, I stewed and I pondered. Was there not more for me than this? Day in and day out, I whimpered for cool water to sate my thirst, but also to numb the pain of my new existence.
Soon, the others around me began to fall. It began with the lovely elm, so sprightly in her youth, shrivelling under the August sun. Then went my lithe, bassword neighbour, rammed by the delivery truck. Luckily, it delivered his end much faster than mine.
My fall was slow. It was the bicycle crowd that initiated my demise. With no rack in sight, my smooth trunk was a convenient stand-in. Chained front and back, my smooth bark was chafed and ripped. The pain of my crackled skin shrieked in retreat as disease crept in.
My foliage once caught the attention of passers-by, entranced by its luxuriance as it sighed in the breeze. Turning the sun to emerald, I aroused envy as well as desire. Envy began to fade as my leaves did. Eventually, they faded forever.
The summer is fading, too, and I reach up to Autumn skies now. The few leaves I have are crimson for the season - embers of my beaten soul. I can feel my time growing shorter and shorter; conversely, my keep grows greater and greater. More checkups, more water. But I know my end is nigh.
My executioner comes forward. I have watched him for some time, oiling his saw, a masked reaper hunched over his scythe. When I look at him, I see myself in his eyes – a spindly being, a wraith of my former self. The terror I expect to come with his swift, sawing motion is drowned with a surprising lightness, a severance from this world and an attachment to the next. While here I lie forgotten, over there I stand up high.
The average lifespan of commercial street trees growing in confined spaces in Toronto is seven years. This drastically limits the environmental benefits it can contribute. The premature loss of many of our trees is caused by stressful urban conditions (like inadequate soil volume and quality), far tougher than those in the natural environment. Being aware of the stresses our street trees face on a regular basis can bring more awareness to their fragility and hopefully spur improvements in our urban tree planting initiatives and community stewardship efforts.
Starting your own Adopt-a-Street-Tree project or join a current one and help trees like Albert thrive in an urban environment.
Join LEAF on Tuesday October 10th from 6:30p.m. - 8:00p.m. to learn more about the Adopt-a-Street-Tree program and how you can care for street trees in your own community!
Aidan was LEAF’s Programs Assistant in summer of 2017.
Adopt-a-Street-Tree programs are supported by Live Green Toronto, Canadian TREE Fund, and TD Friends of the Environment Foundation