Many large trees, especially elms, about a house are a surer indication of old family distinction and worth than any evidence of wealth.
Thoreau’s observation holds true for communities and society as a whole. Cities with impressive, towering street trees gain our notice and respect. Some of the most memorable streetscapes in Utah include:
You feel like you are in an important place, one worthy of respect, as you pass under the dense and lofty canopies of these treescapes.
Learn more about Utah's trees in the following article by Roger Roper (first printed in Beehive History 26).
Wallace Stegner on poplars
Settlers’ first plantings
Salt Lake’s first tree ordinance
Trees in small towns
Bluff’s Old Swing Tree
Fruita’s Mail Tree
Silkworms and mulberry trees
An amazing arborist
Developer tree plantings
Trees in Utah today
By Roger Roper
Trees are indeed potent symbols of the cultural landscape, the built environment we have created for ourselves. They tell us much about the lives and attitudes of those who planted and used them. They symbolize both practical and passionate aspirations we have for the world we create around us. Much about Utah’s history can be deciphered from the trees we find on the landscape.
When it comes to trees and the Utah landscape, one tree dominates the memory, the Lombardy poplar. Rows of these tall, columnar trees planted as windbreaks provide one of the most evocative images of Utah. Wallace Stegner observed:
Wherever you go in the Mormon country...you see the characteristic trees, long lines of them along ditches, along streets, as boundaries between fields and farms.... These are the ‘Mormon trees,’ Lombardy poplars.
Stegner then proffers an interpretation of this distinct landscape feature:
Perhaps it is fanciful to judge a people by its trees. Probably the predominance of poplars is the result of nothing more interesting than climatic conditions or the lack of other kinds of seeds and seedlings. Probably it is pure nonsense to see a reflection of Mormon group life in the fact that the poplars were practically never planted singly, but always in groups, and that the groups took the form of straight lines and ranks. Perhaps it is even more nonsensical to speculate that the straight, tall verticality of the Mormon trees appealed obscurely to the rigid sense of order of the settlers, and that a marching row of plumed poplars was symbolic, somehow, of the planter’s walking with God and his solidarity with his neighbors.
While Stegner’s comments ring true for many, the story of trees and their influence in the lives of those who have lived in Utah is more complex than this image suggests. While Lombardies may be important symbols, they don’t tell the whole story.
We know that trees had great practical and spiritual significance in the lives of Utah’s aboriginal peoples. The relationships between native peoples and native trees were probably multifaceted and deep. On the other hand, Anglo-American settlers, though they may have had deep feelings about trees, probably differed in their arboreal relationships.
For one thing, the colonizers used trees as one of their strategies for manipulating and creating landscape. Indian alterations of the landscape were far less dramatic—and probably did not include tree plantings.
Settlers planted trees for both aesthetic and practical purposes. Actually, the first tree planted by the pioneers was a black locust tree—not a “producing” tree but an ornamental. Purportedly, it was planted the day the pioneers arrived in 1847 on the lot that would later be occupied by Brigham Young’s Beehive House.
The black locust quickly became a favorite street tree throughout Utah. Its wood was strong and durable for farm implements, though it is doubtful that the thought of harvesting the wood in thirty years was the primary motivation for planting that first tree. Intentionally perhaps, that tree symbolized a long-term commitment to this land and a sinking of roots.
There was also probably a desire to re-create part of the past and former homes in this new land. Although pioneer accounts indicate that there were actually more than one tree in the Salt Lake Valley in 1847, the legend of a “lone cedar tree” in the valley has endured through the years. The perception that this was a near-treeless wasteland likely added to the motivation to plant trees in the territory.
Many of the early settlers of Utah were experienced arborists and quickly set about importing and propagating desirable species of trees. Among the first pioneers, “George A. Smith brought peach stones,” “Edward Kay brought locust tree seeds [to Mona],” Harriet Decker Young also brought locust seeds in the toe of her sock, and Eliza Saunders Johnson brought a variety of tree seedlings and cuttings in her wagon crossing the plains and would soak them in streambeds whenever possible to keep them alive. These tree pioneers were committed to a vision of leafy maturity that would take decades to fully develop.
In 1851 Salt Lake City passed an ordinance stating that “every holder of lots...are (sic) hereby required to set out in front of their lots such trees for shade... [that would] be the best calculated to adorn and improve the city.” Three years later Bishop E. D. Woolley instructed a group of men in his ward to “see that shade trees be set sixteen feet apart around each block.”
Smaller towns also made trees a priority. Only twenty years after pioneers struggled to settle Ephraim, a traveler enthused at its loveliness, “with its neat cottages, and streets shaded by long lines of trees....”
In addition to imports, settlers made use of native trees, transplanting junipers, cottonwoods, and evergreens from the hillsides and streambeds onto town lots. Small towns throughout Utah are still dotted with remnants of these first plantings or with trees transplanted by later generations. For example, our c.1906 house in Spring City is fronted by seven full-grown “white pines” brought down as seedlings from the mountains by the original homeowner, a second-generation Utahn.
Existing trees sometimes served “structural” purposes in early Utah. The settlers of Pleasant Grove named their town after the grove of trees that gave them shelter that first winter of 1849-50. Though trees were sparse in Utah Valley and the need for construction timbers was great, the Pleasant Grove settlers chose to preserve their sheltering trees and instead ventured several miles south to the Provo River bottoms to obtain cottonwood logs for building.
The 1879–80 settlers of Bluff in southeastern Utah used a towering cottonwood along the banks of the San Juan River as a meeting place in the early days. The tree offered welcome shade in this desperately hot region, and it probably created a sense of enclosure and protection for them as well. These settlers, exhausted from their arduous, five-month Hole-in-the-Rock trek, were willing to take whatever shelter they could find. The “Old Swing Tree,” as it was known, was lost to the river in a 1908 flood.
The residents of Fruita, in what is now Capitol Reef National Park, also used a large cottonwood for community purposes. The Mail Tree, named for the mailboxes nailed to its trunk, was a social gathering place in this small town for many years. Al-though the mailboxes have long since been removed, the tree still stands and is a significant feature of the Fruita Rural Historic District.
The Mormon pattern of systematic settlement and their intent to make Utah their permanent home fostered a cooperative and committed effort toward planting trees. Garden clubs and horticultural societies were formed throughout the state.
The St. George area was especially active in this regard, due in large part to Joseph E. Johnson, a horticultural expert and ardent promoter. Johnson’s foremost contribution was in growing fruit trees and grape vines (more than 100 varieties), though he also advocated the introduction of ornamental plants and shade trees. In the early 1870s Johnson even published a statewide horticultural newspaper, the Utah Pomologist.
Through the efforts of Johnson and others, a wide range of trees and other plants was brought into Utah and “tested” under the various soil and climatic conditions. Some prospered and some did not. Fruit and nut trees grew reasonably well, especially in the more temperate southern parts of the state.
Old fruit trees, especially apple trees, still remain on many home lots in rural Utah. Often overgrown and untended now, these old trees probably descended from or replaced fruit trees planted by the original settlers. A self-sufficient, family-farm economy characterized rural Utah life in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, as most families had a cow, chickens, pigs, a garden, and fruit trees to provide them with much of their food. The trees are often all that remain to document this way of life.
Mulberry trees represent a distinct phase of Utah’s history. The silk industry, which started in Utah the 1860s and continued in some places for decades, relied on mulberry leaves as food for the silk worms. Many households planted their own trees. Because silk production required no special buildings or structures, all that remains of this remarkable, and seemingly exotic, industry are the nondescript mulberry trees.
Of course, the Lombardy poplar was another import that thrived. Introduced to Utah in the early 1860s, the Lombardy was a fast-growing tree that adapted very well to local conditions. Dozens of other species took hold in Utah as well and have gained almost-native status through their longevity in the landscape. Examples include the Carolina poplar, white poplar, catalpa, black locust, Siberian elm, ash, tree of heaven, and others. These trees are still present in most Utah towns, though they have fallen out of favor over the years because of their various “vices.”
The qualities of the various species of trees came under scientific scrutiny during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. One of the foremost arborists of this period was Joseph Alastor Smith (1852-1924). Smith, a native of England, established a remarkable tree-covered estate in Providence, Cache County. Between 1887 and 1924 he planted thousands of non-native trees on his 40-acre Edgewood Hall property. In one stand alone he had more than 1,500 ash trees.
Smith proved that a wide variety of trees could prosper in Utah. In the laboratory of his estate he successfully planted dozens of varieties of fruit and nut trees and a vast array of hardwoods: birch, alder, beech, elm, linden, hawthorn, hackberry, oak, sycamore, and more. His nursery provided thousands of saplings to surrounding communities, greatly expanding the spectrum of Utah’s tree plantings. He also shared his careful records of soil and climatic conditions with the nearby Agricultural College.
One tree Smith did not promote was the poplar. He actually held a deep antipathy toward these trees.
(O)ne sees in passing from village to village, poplar trees, always poplars.... In Logan the poplar has become a nightmare. It stands on every street, on every block, on every lot.... Its limbs are sere and issue from a withered trunk. Others are only half decayed, and present the melancholy spectacle of life in death. All give the effect of wearied, futile, unconscious indifference.
The cause of this distressing plague is easy to find. It originated in the unwise enthusiasm of certain dealers in trees who flooded the country with cheap and undesirable varieties, and added to by defective information issued by the Agricultural College in its early bulletins.8
Smith’s views may have been colored in part by the condition of many of the first generation of poplar trees, which were probably dying at the time. But modern arborists reaffirm Smith’s judgment.
During the late 19th and early 20th centuries, developers used the promise of tree-lined streets to help sell homes in their residential subdivisions. In the 1910s One Salt Lake developer, Kimball and Richards, reportedly planted 7,000 ornamental shade trees in its massive Highland Park development.9
On the current landscape, trees still provide us with hints about larger issues and events. Urban growth and sprawl are forcing the orchards from traditional fruit-growing areas such as “Fruit Way” in Willard and Perry, Fruit Heights above Kaysville, and Orem. New orchards are emerging, however, around Santaquin and Goshen in southern Utah County. And whether for nostalgic or practical reasons, some of these new orchards are bordered with vigorous wind-breaking rows of poplar trees.
Trees are often the center of controversy between downtown business owners and those promoting Main Street revitalization efforts. Shade trees, brick pavers, and period benches and lightposts, all designed to make the streetscape more pedestrian-friendly, are common upgrades for old commercial areas trying to make a comeback. But business owners tend to dislike the trees once they start to fill out; business people feel that the trees block their signs and obscure their businesses. As a consequence, dozens of Utah towns bear evidence of a cycle of tree planting, pruning, and even removal.
In larger towns, the choice of trees that can be planted along the street is often regulated by a city forester. Lombardy poplars do not fare well under these regimes. A published guide of shade trees rates them as “less suitable.” While Lombardies are noted for their rapid growth, tolerance of city conditions, and hardiness, they are condemned for their “invasive root system, weak wood, profuse suckering, and trunk canker disease.”
Other large shade trees of decades past do not rate well either. The black locust, sycamore, black walnut, cottonwood, green ash, Fremont and Carolina poplars, and catalpa are among the trees deemed “less suitable” for street plantings. Their faults, in addition to their overall size, include invasive roots, messy fruit, heavy leaf drops, and proneness to disease.
Many small towns are losing their old shade trees because they have replaced the open ditch system with piped, pressurized irrigation. This results in greater water efficiency, but the ditch-reliant trees suffer. Even in towns without pressurized irrigation, not all the ditches remain in working order, so many trees are literally left high and dry. For whatever reasons, town leaders and residents today do not seem as concerned as their forebears were with planting and maintaining street trees.
Most trees recommended for planting today, especially street trees, fit into a safe middle-ground of practicality. Large trees such as sycamore, ash, and elm are discouraged, as are many of the trees common in early Utah. The native box elder tree is viewed as a “weed tree,” and poplars and cottonwoods of all kinds are roundly criticized for their weak wood, invasive roots, and propensity for disease. If a fast-growing tree is needed, then a hybrid strain of poplar is deemed more acceptable than the traditional Lombardy. The old-time mulberry tree is recommended against because of its messy fruit, though the more recent fruitless variety is okay. The black locust, the first tree planted in Utah, has fallen out of favor, though its faster-growing and less-imposing cousin, the honey locust, has become a mainstay.
The urban foresters and tree experts probably know what they are talking about. Their recommendations make sense to those looking for attractive, non-aggressive, low-maintenance trees: small-to-medium size with moderate crown—nothing too tall or spreading, flowering but fruitless, shady but not too shady for grass and flowers below, fine leaf for minimal autumn cleanup, and no invasive roots or suckers. Perfect. They won’t offend or cause trouble for anyone. They fit in well with our busy lifestyle. These “perfect” street trees are probably pretty good symbols of our current society and culture.
Regardless of any faults they may have had, early Utah trees were cherished for their good qualities. Those who planted them had a vision of making Utah a better place, and they succeeded: Joseph Johnson and his fruit trees in St. George; Joseph A. Smith and his groves of exotic hardwoods in Providence; and unnamed settlers across the state who planted their hopes and dreams in the Utah soil. Their passion for creating a tree-studded landscape in the Utah desert became, in places, a reality.
If Wallace Stegner were still alive today, he might be surprised to learn that Lombardy poplars are actually hard to find, both on the landscape and in nurseries. My dad couldn’t find one when he decided that he wanted a remnant of the past on his southern Utah property. He had to revert to the old ways to get one. He tore off a small branch from one of the venerable Lombaries in town and stuck the ragged stick in the ground. It has flourished. You can almost watch it grow before your eyes—twenty feet in three years. There is a vigorous life force in there, something that thrives in this near-desert climate.
How would Stegner interpret this lone spire in the corner of the lot?