Trees give scale to human life. They're also a measure of how well we're protecting the world around us.

By Deborah Gangloff and Gary Moll
It was a hot July day in 1862. A tall, drawn man and his small son strolled toward the huge copper beech next to the cottage where the family spent summer weekends escaping the heat and humidity of downtown Washington, DC.

The tree was at least 135 years old then and its cool shade was welcome relief. The boy could play beneath the spreading branches while the father, Abraham Lincoln, sought respite from the daily pressures of being President of the United States in what was arguably the most difficult periods in American history.

That copper beech, which succumbed to old age earlier this year, stood sentry at what is now the U.S. Soldiers and Airmen's home in northwest Washington for 275 years. Although the main stem is dead, the tree lives on. A copper beech growing in an open area, like the yard of Lincoln's retreat, develops branches that can touch the ground and take root. Those branches have grown into a circle of trees, like a fortress wall surrounding the place where Lincoln and his son Tad rested against the massive trunk.

News of the copper beech's demise made the obituaries page in the Washington Post, reminding us why we remain so fascinated with trees, especially big ones. Trees give scale to human life, enduring through generations. And they help us connect with history. Imagine sitting in the same spot where Lincoln sat, or touching a tree grown from seed brought back from the wild, wild West by explorers Lewis and Clark.

We can learn a lot from big trees, which is why American Forests created the National Register of Big Trees in 1940. At 275 years of age, Lincoln's copper beech was youthful compared to many trees in the Register. Redwoods can live 10 times that long, and bristlecone pines can be more than 4,500 years old.

Age and size vary greatly in the national Regis-ter, depending on species and location. But not all national champions are old or healthy; they're just the largest known of their species. For example, foresters long believed the Louis Vieux American elm, which stood on the Vermillion River in Kansas, was centuries old. Imagine their surprise when they learned it was less than 125 years old. Big trees can hold secrets about their past, but they can also tell us a lot about ourselves and the environment.

Learning from Big Trees

In addition to being a treat for the eyes, big trees are a storehouse of information about the land, conservation practices, our history, and the environment. In the case of the Lincoln copper beech, experts believe the main tree died from changes in local land conditions. Drought conditions in the year 2000 forced the tree to finally succumb, but those conditions had been exacerbated by increased urbanization.

Trees are a product of the land, and their size and health reflect the health of that land. Trees grow big when they have good soil around their roots and the air, space, water, and sunlight they need to grow. Big trees are also environmental indicators that give American Forests a powerful tool to communicate good conservation practices.

American Forests, the country's oldest conservation organization, launched the Big Trees program in response to forester Joseph Stearns' concern that the nation's largest trees would fall to the lumberman's ax, costing us an important part of our American legacy. The pressures on the forests were great in 1940, especially with another world war looming.

American Forests was 65 then and accepted Stearns' challenge to "protect and preserve these grand old giants." Why? Not just because it's fun to look in the woods for champions or because we needed a tree version of "Ripley's Believe It or Not." Championing big trees was-and still is-a great way to interest people in land-conservation issues.

Big trees symbolize long life, permanency, loyalty, growth, prosperity-and survival. The giants of the plant world, trees are the largest and oldest living things on earth. As such they are indicators of the ecological quality of the land on which they grow. If the land is healthy, the trees are healthy. And healthy trees can grow to their full potential. Trees are good indicators of the health of an ecosystem because their growth represents the health of the site.

When a survey American Forests conducted in the 1980s revealed that the average urban street tree lives only seven to 10 years in a downtown setting, we decided to find out what limits tree growth and survival. The two major factors turned out to be soil volume and soil quality. More, better soil makes larger, healthier trees. Cities that make their street tree spaces larger and provide nutrient-rich soil have larger, healthier trees.

Our same survey showed that trees in residential areas, where the soil is healthier and more plentiful, have an average life span over 40 years. In parks or other areas where city foresters have created optimal planting conditions by working with public works and transportation departments, urban trees can reach 60 years of age and above.

Many of our national and state champions are found in cities and towns, although few, if any, are street trees. Our urban champs thrive in cemeteries, parks, and backyards where they have the space to grow both above and below ground, have less competition for nutrients and sunlight than they would have in a forest setting, and receive individualized tree care.

No doubt that's the reason the National Champion White Ash has long added a touch of class and history to a Palisades, New York, restaurant. Standing guard along the eatery's driveway, this champ contains enough wood for a team's-or maybe a league's-worth of baseball bats!

Some champs grow on state capital grounds or in arboretums. The co-champ spicebush flourishes in the Western North Carolina Arboretum in Asheville, while the national co-champion Washington hawthorn measures in at 105 points of reverent splendor at the Chattanooga National Cemetery. And there are some that have history in their roots, like the champion black-mangrove at the Key State Archaeological Site, near Estero, Florida.

Trees also get to "be all that they can be" in state and federal parks and forests. Besides the General Sherman Giant Sequoia in Sequoia National Park, California, or the Wye Oak white oak, which is its own state park in tiny Wye Mills, Maryland, there are many champs that are admired by the public and cared for by government employees. These trees have another advantage: Competition from other trees is discouraged, which means more sunlight, soil, and nutrients for the champ. Look at the 25 species with the highest total points and you'll see that 18 of the 30 champs and co-champs are on public lands.

That ratio of public to private holds true pretty much throughout the Register. From the Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge in Florida, where the red mangrove presides, to Olympic National Park in Washington, home of the Pacific silver fir, our public lands are a great place to grow up if you want to be a champ.

And trees that grow up to be big do more for the environment. Larger trees have more extensive canopies, which means they are able to sequester and offset more carbon dioxide. More leaf surface means more air pollutants trapped and washed down to the soil. More water can be recycled, more oxygen put into the atmosphere, and more habitat provided for wildlife.

The amount of leaf area provided by trees has become a major environmental concern in cities. American Forests' studies show most naturally forested metropolitan areas have lost 30 percent of their tree cover in the last 25 years.

At the same time, impervious surfaces-sidewalks, buildings, parking lots-have increased by 20 percent. The competition for space is underway in every city, and city decisionmakers know the value of streets and buildings. By measuring and calculating the value of the work trees do to clean our air and water, we can prove trees' worth against the likes of asphalt and concrete. AF

Deborah Gangloff is American Forests' executive director. Gary Moll is one of its vice presidents. [TOP]