MELISSA BLOCK, HOST:
Ancient and unusual trees grace national parks and botanical gardens but you'll also find them growing in the middle of busy cities and sprouting from highway medians. Those are the kind of trees Benjamin Swett celebrates in a new book called "New York, a City of Trees."
NPR's Margot Adler took a walk with him to visit some of the great trees of the city.
MARGOT ADLER, BYLINE: Swett first takes me to Alley Pond Park in outer eastern Queens.
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ADLER: It's noisy. The park stands in the middle of the Long Island Expressway and several other highways. He points to what may be the tallest tree in Queens and tells me that tulip trees like this, along with white oaks and white pines, were the original tree filled landscape when Henry Hudson arrived in 1609.
BENJAMIN SWETT: It comes out of the earliest times. I mean, it may not have started growing itself when Henry Hudson came but it brings us back to the times when Native Americans lived in this area and when these woods were what the whole of New York City looked like.
ADLER: Looking down and up at it from a bluff on high, it's huge. No one has cored the tree, so we don't know its age. But 13 years ago, when it was last measured, it stood 134 feet tall. Swett next takes me to Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn, not a place you would think of for unusual trees. But there next to some nondescript brownstones is a Southern magnolia.
With its huge waxy green leaves and white flowers when it blooms, Swett says, it shouldn't even be here.
SWETT: It's much too cold for it here. But we think that by literally hugging the side of this row of brownstones it received enough warmth to remain growing through all of the severity of the northern winters.
ADLER: There's a mural on the wall dedicated to Hattie Carthan, an African-American woman, who saved the tree when developers wanted to tear it down. She convinced the Landmark Preservation Commission that the tree was so unusual it should be preserved along with the brownstones that protected it. And they were.
We walk into a concrete playground in Flushing Queens where a huge cedar of Lebanon sits within a protected gate. It's another tree that is hard to grow in the city but can live for 1,000 years in the Middle East. Also in Queens, we go to Kissena Park, which in the 19th century was a nursery run by the Parson family. And it's where Fredrick Law Olmstead and Calvert Vaux got many of the trees they planted in Central and Prospect Park.
We come across some beautiful Katsura trees in nursery straight rows. This tree originally covered the world, but later only survived in Asia. Why is it now in backyards all over the United States?
SWETT: In the middle of the 19th century, a consul to Japan, who had been appointed by President Lincoln, sent some seeds back to his brother in Brooklyn.
ADLER: And he passed them on to the Parson family. Swett says trees actually connect people with the city physically.
SWETT: Each growth layer that they put on every year contains a bit of the air from that year, transformed into carbon. And so the tree physically holds the years and years of the life of the city.
ADLER: And, of course, trees become part of people's lives, their history and memories. The last tree we look at is back in Manhattan. I confess I have passed it probably 100 times walking through Greenwich Village and Washington Square Park. Like so many, I never noticed it, although it's probably 220 years old, an English elm 135 feet high when last measured almost 30 years ago.
SWETT: This tree, for many years, was known informally around the city as the Hangman's Elm because it was thought that during the American Revolution traitors had been hung from one of its long branches that used to sneak out over the nearby street.
ADLER: It turns out hangings did not take place on the tree, but there may have been a gallows nearby and the elm was probably planted in the 1790s. Benjamin Swett's new book "New York, City of Trees" has pictures and stories of some 60 great trees in the city. He says trees have psychological and emotional meaning we often don't even realize until the tree is cut down. And a couple of trees in his book are already gone. Margot Adler, NPR News, New York.
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