Preserving American Beech Trees
My husband Don Herzberg and I noticed lesions appearing on the smooth, grey bark of beech trees growing on our hillside in Sharon, Vermont. We later learned that the sores were symptoms of Beech Bark Disease caused by the simultaneous occurance of two different organisms - scale, a native insect, and an invasive fungus. Though scale’s tiny puncture wounds do not ordinarily harm the tree, these wounds provide an access route through the bark which allows the fungus to invade. The fungal infection ultimately proves fatal to the tree several years following infection.
Some American Beech trees have bark which is naturally resistant to the scale insect. These native trees would be expected to produce a high percentage of resistant offspring and, since the fungus is unable to penetrate intact bark, would allow the maturation of healthy trees. Of course, other injuries to the trees’ bark would still put them at risk, but hopefully such occasions would be more limited and therefore less frequent and/or fatal.
Proceeds from images (below) support research to identify and propagate naturally resistant beech trees, thus promoting species survival without resorting to hybridization. This approach to combating Beech Bark Disease seems both straightforward and achievable, given time and support.
Beech Leaf, Winter, watercolor pen & ink (unavailable)
Beech Print 7, monotype
Tribute to the Beeches; linoleum relief (edition variation 2/8)
Beech Print 2, monotype
Winter Beech Leaves, solarprint
Beech Print 8, monotype
Beech Leaf Postcard, watercolor
Silent Beeches, monotype from tryptic
Beech Leaves on Snow; solarprint
My Disappearing Beech Trees
1.
Back in ’87, rod straight beeches
had flawless bark like fabric draped tight.
Wind drifting through the leaves
would wash away their silence,
the soft sough reminding me
not all reverence is found in churches
nor all passions spurred by fair hair
or soul-deep doctrine.
But then change quietly came
in the form of scale, a small insect
boring through beeches’ steel gray skin
to feed beneath the bark. Fungus
found the doorways opened and
fed themselves till blisters broke
and spread like a pox, a plague.
I watched each canker crack and open,
stared as sting of disease worked its way
through the woods until all that stood
was nightmare.
2.
Think of cities’ street-bound homeless
bundled on sidewalks in blankets and decay –
after you've seen the tenth or twentieth
or one hundred and twentieth,
wrench of pain closes the heart’s valves,
won’t let blood bear its numbing news.
The mind looks for detours,
side roads easier on the eyes.
3.
Think of beeches, my beeches
standing fifty feet tall, a foot wide,
while somewhere inside me
they vanish.
by Don Herzberg - 5/2021