Whose Tree?

The tree that shades my front porch is not on my property. Well, it’s in that weird netherworld between sidewalk and street that is planted by the city forester. It’s a little Japanese Lilac, and since I hung my bird feeder there, it is a veritable community center of squirrels and several species of birds. It’s too small for anyone to make their home there, but from my seat on the front porch I can watch the birds and squirrels make their way between that tree and mine, and the other trees and shrubs in the neighborhood where they find food and shelter and perch. 

Across the street is a big old tree that might possibly have been there since our neighborhood was built in the late 1800s. In the winter when the leaves are gone I can see at least 2 nests, and in the spring I notice families of squirrels, blue jays and cardinals that seem to nest there, in an uneasy understanding about whose territory the tree is. The debates about this seem to heat up when one or the other family has babies. My neighbor Leah owns the property where that big heritage tree grows, but of course from her home all she can see is the trunk, so I tell her sometimes about the goings on in her tree.
 

This summer I woke one morning to the sound of chain saws and saw that several large branches had been cut from my little tree. A little detective work showed that based on the piles of branches along my block, this was probably the work of the city arborist, trimming trees for the year. The animals were noticeably absent for a while but did start to return. Apparently, they took down one of the main squirrel highways, because it took the squirrels the longest to make their way back, and there was some fresh territory dispute when they did. 

The whole process made me sad an anxious for not only “my” trees, but trees everywhere. A tree that has been home to generations of small mammals and birds, not to mention moss and fungus and cicadas, a tree that grew for centuries can be cut down in a half day’s work based on a decision made by someone who spends a few moments evaluating the trees. Someone who might not know about the squirrels who make their nests there. The birds who return to that tree when it is time to have children.

Now I’ve asked some naturalist friends, and they assure me that the city forester in Ithaca is a good woman who loves trees and knows her work. The city of Ithaca has a forestry plan and an interactive map of the city, which is how I learned that big heritage tree is a Skyline Honeylocust. It’s a designated “tree city” which I appreciate every day. But no matter how much I love them, no matter how much they feel like “my” trees, there is nothing I can do to protect these trees if the city decides it is time for them to go. The squirrels and birds have no standing in such a decision. There is no one who speaks for them in city council meetings. 

In our conversation today about who owns the land, I invite us to expand our thinking beyond which humans own which plot of land, lines drawn on a map filed with the government, argued in the courts. I also want us to consider all the non-human animals, the great trees, and small beings who have lived in those places for generations. Is it not their land also? And who has the standing to protect them, when they need protecting? Like in our story today, who speaks for wolf, and squirrel, and blue Jay and Honeylocust Tree?