The first time I saw a horse chestnut tree was when I moved to Seattle in July 1992. I had been beating the pavement tirelessly looking for an apartment on Capitol Hill and decided to cut down a street I hadn’t tried. It was one of those rare Seattle summers where it was actually hot. At the bottom of the slope, on the northeast corner of the street was a little park with a giant tree. It was quite apparent that the tree was the reason for the park, as though there were smaller trees around the perimeter of the park, at the very center was this majestic, perfect tree. It’s leaves were broad and deep green and it reminded me of the Family Tree House toy that I had as a child (complete with pop-up canopy, exposing the various room).
I sat under the tree and was in awe of the beauty of it all. Capitol Hill was this incredibly built up part of the city with tall apartment buildings lining the streets, and smack dab in the middle of it was this tiny oasis, a well placed reminder of the city’s greener past. There was a beautiful building across from the park, so after a quiet sit, I popped by to check it out. No for rent sign and no sign of a building manager. I moved on.
About two years after that, my boyfriend at the time (James) and I were looking for an apartment together. It was all so very grown up. You know, first love–first apartment together–it really was quite sweet. We came across the same park and the same building. This time, there was a for rent sign out front. We found the apartment and moved in.
It was the end of October when I picked up the keys from the manager. The late afternoon sun was blasting on the rust colored leaves. When you rent an apartment in Seattle, one of the key things property managers boast is whether the place has “a view.” This typically means a view of the Puget Sound and the Space Needle. We couldn’t see either from our apartment, but we had the best view of all, the tree. From the dining room, we saw the tree. From our kitchen, we looked out onto the tree. From both bedrooms, we saw the tree and from the fire escape out front, we could nearly smell the tree. It welcomed us each day we cam home and provided a constant change of scenery.
I lived in that apartment for nearly ten years, during which time countless days were spent hanging out underneath the tree. Thomas Street Park was a place where locals met. It wasn’t a destination park, just a neighborhood hangout. James moved out and a string of roommates moved in. John, Doug, Kevin, Mark, Michael, Bill, and Jordan all shared the space, and each of us found comfort in the shade it provided. Once for Alex Moreno’s birthday, we hung a piñata on its lowest branch and used a broomstick to whack it. Mid-whack (I believe it was Andy Common’s at the stick), the broom handle broke into two pieces. Gay Gilmore was next up and with a bit of swagger, took the two stick ends and wielded them like two samurai swords. Whack! Whack! On the third hit, the handle came down onto her leg. The broomstick was metal and the sharp edge cut deeply into her leg. Eric Rockey took her off to the emergency room and that pretty much ended our time with the piñata. Gay returned a fallen hero. The doctors had given her something like twenty-seven stitches. We poured her another drink and the party carried on.
On a trip to Vancouver one year, I came across a street vendor selling roasted chestnuts. Smoky and nutty, I loved them. They’d been roasted over coals and the cup they were in even warmed my eternally frozen fingers. I was certain that I could recreate them in Seattle, as the nuts from “my tree” looked just the same. (“Look the same” and “are the same” are two distinctly different animals).
After collecting a good quantity of nuts, I popped them into the oven and roasted away. Once they split, I eagerly picked one off the cooking tray, peeled it, and took a bite. It was horribly bitter. It was then I learned that this beautiful tree across the way was not a chestnut tree, but a horse chestnut tree. Horse chestnuts (buckeyes to some, conkers to others) look like chestnuts, but are toxic. They are used by some people to treat varicose veins, hemorrhoids, and enlarged prostate, but they are not eaten for pure enjoyment. I disappointedly emptied the tray into the garbage.
In the summer of 2000, my friend Broc Dobervich moved to Seattle for an intership. He and I were hanging in the apartment out one Sunday afternoon when there was an enormous crack followed by a crash. “OH MY GOD! The tree fell down,” was all he yelled. Sure enough, the tree had split down the middle and half of it now covered the park. We darted out the building. A crowd began to form. Police came. Yellow tape went up. “Can’t believe no one got hurt,” on person exclaimed. “It just fell,” said another. “Is it really dead?” someone asked. That night, Broc and I sat on the fire escape, looking with sadness upon our fallen friend.
Over the course of the next few days the cleanup took place. First the fallen part was cut up and taken away; then amidst protest, the rest of the tree was chopped down. It was then that I knew my time in that apartment, and in Seattle needed to come to a close. I needed a new path and a new direction. That’s when I moved to Europe.
Lee and I live in south London in a neighborhood called Furzedown. It’s a small suburban area between Tooting and Streatham. Most Londoners have never heard of it. Close to our house is Tooting Common. (For the Americans there, a “common” is sort of like a park. It was once the common land for the people to bring their cattle to graze and all that. South London has three large commons: Clapham, Tooting & Wandsworth Commons. As Tooting Common is our closest common, it’s my running route of choice. From our place, around the common and back is 4.8 miles. Perfect distance for a lunchtime run. One of the best parts of the run is that Tooting Common is full of horse chestnut trees. The Brits call them “conker” trees, because the fruit is used to conk people on the heads. There are several conker-lined paths in the park and it is a great place to run.
A couple of summers back now (July 2007), I was out for a run and I noticed that several of the trees were turning color. I thought it was odd that fall was already descending on us. As the weeks passed, I began noticing that it was only the conker trees that were affected and upon closer inspection found that they had signs of disease. The leaves had blotches of infection and the bark was oozing a reddish sap.
Two years on, I’ve learned a great deal more. The conker trees in Britain (and through much of the EU) are under threat of disease and pests. Bleeding Canker is killing them from within, and the horse chestnut leaf miner is attacking the leaves. http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2008/apr/02/conservation.wildlife and http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-438490/Tiny-conker-tree-moth-biggest-garden-pest.html sum up the problems facing the trees.
One morning in July this year I counted 110 affect trees on the common and then in August I took out my camera and captured them. It’s so sad.
