Pacific NW

PILGRIMS SEARCHING for a glimpse of the divine have long visited holy sites around the globe. For gardeners, such solace is closer by. Standing beneath the spreading branches of a grand, old tree can bring a sense of sacredness and wonder.

Late last autumn, Seattle tree guru Arthur Lee Jacobson treated me to a tour of Seattle's largest, oldest trees. Author of "Trees of Seattle," which gives the particulars of hundreds of special trees, Jacobson is up on all that's arboreal in our city. Yet, despite his measuring and quantifying approach, he remains in awe of his leafy subjects. He responds to the history and majesty of trees even as he winds a tape around their trunks and shoots the beam of a laser range finder up into their branches to record their height.

"When you find a giant, there's definitely veneration involved," says Jacobson as we stand way back to take in the majesty of a red oak (Quercus rubra) on the University of Washington campus. "It was possibly planted by Dr. Meany around 1890."

No need to enumerate all the ways we humans show our age, but what about the telltale signs in trees? "Above all, it's grandeur of size," says Jacobson. As a tree ages, it accumulates more lichen, and its bark grows rougher and thicker. The university has hired specialists to reinvigorate and care for its mammoth tree. They've treated the soil, added mulch, cleaned out old deadwood, and bolted heavy branches to prevent them from splitting off the trunk. But by summer's end the tree was suffering from lack of irrigation. This elephant of a tree needs more water so it'll continue to shelter undergraduates for generations to come.

Our next stop was a Pacific yew in a private garden on Mercer Island. The Pacific yew is the slowest-growing kind of native tree around, yet this specimen is more than 50 feet tall and could be 600 years old. Its bark is ropy and peeling with long, vertical grooves like ancient wrinkles. "We bought a tree," says the owner, who clearly respects and cares for the dinosaur that came with the house. Jacobson points out that despite some dieback, the tree has a swelling at its base that indicates it's healthy.

Our last stop is Holy Names Academy on Capitol Hill, where an Atlas cedar on the front lawn, at 95 feet high, towers more than nine stories above the street. Jacobson measures its girth. "I knew it'd be more than 16 feet around; it's still growing," he says contentedly. Jacobson points out the smooth bark on the lowest branches where generations of kids have climbed and played.

Are just certain types of trees so long-lived?

Jacobson explains that trees have a natural life span, and some, like willows, conk out after a mere 50 to 75 years. "Redwoods and eucalyptus grow like nobody's business and they live hundreds of years," he says, adding that, unlike people, trees keep growing their entire lives. And while trees in cities often struggle with pollution, construction and compacted soil, trees growing in nature have their share of challenges, too, like lightening, fire, insects, fungi and chain saws.

In the new year, let's all get out there and worship at the feet of our city's trees, venerable or not, because they provide shade, shelter and nurture for insects, animals, birds and humans. They form a green canopy above our streets and gardens while purifying the air we breathe. Trees, especially the biggest, oldest ones, elevate our spirits and give us a sense not only of nature in the city but also of something far grander and ancient than we.

Valerie Easton is a Seattle freelance writer and author of "Petal & Twig." Check out her blog at www.valeaston.com.