This Tree Is Your Tree, This Tree Is My Tree

I live in Glendale, a town where men and women of goodwill commit random acts of kindness and devote themselves to lives of service to others. Where the sounds of songbirds waft on jasmine-scented breezes that drift through peaceful neighborhoods.

Imagine my consternation, then, when my reverie was recently jolted by the sounds of workers wielding shovels and drilling devices, who leaped from trucks like Marines establishing a beachhead on my front lawn.

Holy cow, I thought, Bush and Cheney haven’t even been sworn in yet and they’re already plundering the neighborhoods of America for untapped oil reserves.

But no, this crew planted an oak tree in front of my house faster than you can say Johnny Appleseed and sped off. Before I could even thank them. Or ask why.

In case you’re envisioning a stately coastal live oak spreading its majestic branches in all directions, let me describe this specimen.

It is indeed a coastal live oak, but a newborn. And like a lot of newborns, it isn’t always pretty. It measures about 6 feet in height with a diameter of about 1 inch. I couldn’t carve my initials on it unless my first and last name started with the letter “I.”

It’s located in a bunker that resembles a machine gun nest and is held in place by some contraption that looks like it came off a space station. It may be a thing of beauty several generations hence, but right now it only needs a couch and an abandoned pickup in the front yard to complete the look.

So what to do? Hey, I’m an environmentally sensitive guy. I know all the words to “This Land Is Your Land” and have only consciously done harm to a living thing through inept gardening.

But a man’s private property is holy in these United States, and if I want an oak tree planted, or a sequoia, or a giant Venus’ flytrap, that will be my decision, not some bureaucrat’s.

I needed someone to thunder at. I needed that bureaucrat.

I found my man. He works for the Glendale Public Works Department. You know, those guys who do street repairs during rush hour.

His name is Daniel Hardgrove and he is the urban forester for the city. He patiently explained to me that there is a notification process involved when a tree is planted on someone’s property and that somehow that process broke down in my case.

It figures. I’m positive I won one of those Publishers Clearinghouse contests one time, and they went to the wrong address.

Hardgrove went on to explain that his is a fairly new position in town and that he and a crew of about 12, working with a budget of about a million dollars, have plunked about 465 trees in the ground.

That’s a lot of work. In the city of Los Angeles, it’s even more staggering where an estimated 680,000 trees exist on more than 6,500 miles of streets. And secessionists take note: Los Angeles estimates that its trees are worth $2 billion.

In Glendale, plantings are carried out as the result of resident requests, are done as replacements or, in my case, a proactive program to seek areas where trees will flourish and add to the ambience of a neighborhood.

In a town that for years allowed its hillsides to be torn up for housing developments, this was indeed welcome news.

But, I stammered, what about the horror stories I’ve heard about residents paying out large sums of money for damage to sewer systems caused by city-owned trees? A story last year told of homeowners in West Los Angeles spending as much as $20,000 to replace broken clay pipes.

Hardgrove said that coastal live oaks have 90% of their roots in the top 24 inches of soil, so that kind of damage is rarely a problem. Besides, he said, the city takes care of maintenance, pest and disease control and pruning. All you do is add water.

But, I objected, even if I nurture and love this thing, I’ll be 105 years old before it casts a shadow. Not necessarily true, said Hardgrove. A coastal live oak under the proper circumstances can experience 25% growth in three years.

Despite my lack of participation in this process, I had to grudgingly admit that, if you have to have the government intruding into your life, there are a lot worse things then having an oak tree planted on your front lawn.

So here’s to the urban forestry program, and to Hardgrove as well, a man who told me he started out in political science and government but ended up in forestry because of the satisfaction he receives from it. Even with guys like me on the other end of the phone.

And if you’re ever in the neighborhood, drop by. I’ll be the one out front hugging the tree.