17__ - 2005
By ANTHONY DePALMA
PRINCETON, N.J., April 6 — She was called the mother elm, a sturdy centuries-old survivor in a corner of Princeton Cemetery that managed to escape the dreaded Dutch elm disease when tens of millions of other elms around the country fell victim to its ravages.
Now she too is a victim. Only last year molecular biologists discovered that the tree's monumental strength and classic beauty might have spawned a breed of disease-resistant trees that have flourished in and around Princeton for years. And those trees have provided the genetic material for a new generation of elms that have been planted in places across the country, including Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House. But just as the last trees were being put in place near the White House last week, Edvin Jordan, a nimble 27-year-old arborist from Guatemala, was climbing 100 feet into the crown of the mother elm to begin taking it down. "It was losing bark all along the main branches," Mr. Jordan said. "That means it was not going to grow anymore." There was no time to waste. Bark beetles that attack elms could carry Dutch elm disease spores to other trees, infecting them. By the time he was finished for the morning, all that remained was a 20-foot-high trunk that he left for another day. Whether age, climactic change or just bad luck set off the tree's demise may never be known. Despite advances in genetics and science, trees still hold secrets. The mother elm's link to some of today's disease-resistant elms was established after local residents set out to stop a road-widening project that threatened a row of elms on the edge of town. Samples of the trees were sent to be genetically mapped, and the results clearly connected them to the cemetery elm, helping ensure their survival. But there was no insurance for the big tree, and Wednesday morning, with the catbirds calling and the spring sun illuminating tombstones of the cemetery's famous residents, Mr. Jordan strapped on spikes and scampered up the remaining trunk like a woodpecker. About 9:20 a.m., he took his saw to the gray-brown furrows. The blade sliced easily through about half of the massive trunk and then slowed. The bark darkened, and droplets trickled down. They only looked like tears.