February 26, 2026, Thursday
This morning there were “approximately 1882” elm trees in Ann Arbor. This afternoon there are “approximately 1881.”
Affectionately know as “Elmer,” he was approximately twenty-six years old since my husband planted him in the median here in Ann Arbor, Tree Town, twenty-five years ago.
Is it possible to love a tree so much that you are brought to tears when they die? Yes. And this is not the first time we have cried over a tree. And probably not the last time.
Elm trees, which once flourished here in Tree Town / Ann Arbor, Michigan, suffered disease in the fifties and sixties, so saving even one seemed like an act of love and kindness and somewhat rebuilding.
My husband and I cherish trees and have planted some beautiful and remarkable ones. Elmer came to us as a surprise hitchhiker on an Autumn Brilliance we planted many years ago. My husband found him entwined slyly about her base. He carefully disentangled it and found a place where an elm tree could grow tall and hopefully thrive. He placed big stones around his base so mowers wouldn’t nick him (that he had to replace a few times when scavengers took off with them). He nursed him through a few scary trunk conditions and, together, we watched him grow from a seedling to over thirty-five feet tall.
But a week or so ago, he got marked with the dreaded pink dot, which meant the city would take him down for an upcoming traffic circle.
Today, the horrible death occurred, with the unbearable noises of the chain saws and the chipper sounding Elmer’s demise. I could only watch at my window as he was cut down and up.
But then I went out and asked the city worker if I could have a section of our Elmer that still hadn’t gone into the chipper to take home. I told him my husband had planted that elm more than twenty-five years ago. He was very kind to me and let me pick out and choose a good-sized section of one of Elmer’s fallen trunks that he put separately on the grass for me so my husband and I could take it back to our yard, and to those who had watched over him.
But Elmer, so very loved, so tall and joyous and, I believe, was also sentient, is now no longer.
And the world, “in solemn stillness lay,” seeming quieter and emptier on this cold February day.