City Trees

I BEGAN HIKING every trail I could find in Wellfleet, "off map" or on. What fun to learn the terrain, to discover the patterns of plant communi- ties, to see how things connected beyond the roads. I'd look up the names of shrubs and ground covers I didn't know, write them down, and catalogue them. There were few benefits to coronavirus-in- duced social isolation, but this was one of them—the opportunity to slow down, walk a lot, and explore the immediate surroundings in an intimate way. I couldn't say before that I knew a bayberry (Morella pennsylvanica) when I saw one, that sweet pepper- bush (Clethra alnifolia) was near every wetland, or that the bear oak (Quercus ilicifolia) leaf has five main lobes shaped as if about to give a bear hug. But my eyes scanned for any sign of Nyssa sylvatica, and to my delight they started appearing. The distinct hori- zontal branch pattern with stubby twigs poked out of a stand of trees growing from the muck between closely connected Herring Pond and Gull Pond, two of a series of seven "kettle ponds" on the border of Wellfleet and Truro. This is exactly where I would expect to find a tupelo, standing quietly with sassafras (Sassafras albidum), highbush blueberry (Vaccinium corymbosum), ferns, and other plants that love wetter, more nutri- ent-rich soil. And there wasn't just one, but a grove of them—intermixed with other trees, but a grove none- theless. I wasn't quite sure if I was happy, relieved, or disappointed to find them! This meant that my find on Gross Hill was not such an anomaly after all. The next grove I found took my breath away. I had my head down looking for another mini obsession, wild cranberry (Vaccinium macrocarpon), along the Head of the Meadow bike trail in Truro. The grove borders the East Harbor Tidal Restoration area, a brackish marsh separated from the ocean to the east by a line of dunes. I lifted my head, and I saw it from 400 yards (366 m) away—a dome rising above a field of black- berry (Rubus sp.), beach plum (Prunus maritima), arrowwood (Viburnum dentata), and swaths of non-na- tive cattail (Typha angustifolia). This was distinctly not a forest; what were these tupelos doing here? I made a beeline to the grove, and found there was no path inside, a thicket blocking my way. The grove was easily overlooked by bikers and passersby, although just a few steps away. It was like finding a secret fort. I pushed away some branches and ducked in, step- ping into a magical, terrarium-like world. The cattails and brush were replaced by ferns, moss, and grass. There was a channel of water. The 60-foot-tall (18.3 m) trunks of the tupelos rose straight up, then began to twist like the columns of the Baldacchino in St. Peters Basilica. Again, there was a clear epicenter of older trunks. The root systems were likely all con- nected; these might all be the same tree, genetically speaking. The whole space was enclosed by a curved mat of fine twigs in the sky like a living bubble. These Nyssa were living a very different life than the street trees I've planted in Providence. Starry- eyed, I retraced my steps back to the parking lot and drove out to Route 6. There were two smaller groves along the way! I'd missed them before, but now I was primed for what to look for. From then on, I scanned the horizon every time I passed the area on trips to Provincetown on the scenic highway. >> The 60-foot-tall trunks of the tupelos rose straight up, then began to twist like the columns of the Baldacchino in St. Peters Basilica. urban-forestry.com 35

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