Mourning and Loss Amidst the Eucalyptus Groves

Every morning, I hike through a grove of Eucalyptus in the Santa Monica Mountains, hoping I won’t be its next victim — impaled by a menacing branch, decapitated by an uprooted trunk, crushed, then left for coyotes, mountain lions, and other mountain predators.

My fear is real. Eucalyptus trees are falling down left and right around my neighborhood, damaging cars, crushing houses, blocking thorough fares, and wreaking havoc on local neighborhoods.

Eucalyptus, Why?

Since arriving in California in the late 19th century, Eucalyptus trees have been extensively cultivated in rural and urban environments. Renowned for their resilience, aesthetic appeal, and rapid growth, these evergreen trees thrive in various conditions, enduring poor soils and seasonal drought with ease.

Yet, biologists claim that the Tasmanian blue gum (aka Eucalyptus globulus), which came to California via Australia, is an invasive species that poses a critical threat to biodiversity and sustainable ecosystems by sucking up water tables, destroying soil viability, and menacing other indigenous plant life.

Eucalyptus are thirsty trees. There’s contradictory evidence about how much water these sizable trees absorb. Some sources suggest that they can slurp up to 1000 liters of water daily, while other sources suggest a more realistic estimate of around 200 liters per day. A big difference, yet a sizable amount either way in California’s drought-stricken desert.

Eucalyptus trees are disruptors of ecological stability. Now add the tortoise beetle Trachymela Sloane that has started boring into Eucalyptus bark, laying eggs, and feeding on the inner bark, leaves, and sap. The result is a deadly combination of structural vulnerability and poor tree health, rendering trees defenseless to other environmental stressors like the heavy rains and flash flooding California recently experienced.

Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” — Will Rogers

Every time a tree goes down, a little piece of my soul goes down with it. Yes, I know they are an invasive species. Yes, I know they are dangerous towers waiting to fall on the unsuspecting passersby. Yes, I know. This is probably my problem — knowing too much about these damn trees. Here’s one of my trees about to be chopped down.

I befriended every Eucalyptus in this mountain grove over the years. I know each one personally. No. I haven’t given them names, but they are numbered. Will Rogers Conservancy (now the State Park) meticulously slapped a number on each one of these beauties back in the 1920s.

Will Rogers, a Hollywood film star and cowboy philosopher, planted two hundred-plus trees along the trails of his Southern California property. Now, year by year, it seems many are disappearing. First, by beetle infestation, then by the park rangers who remove them to avoid a tree felling and a lawsuit.

35–38 are gone. 57–61 are gone as well. 9. 22. 26. 43. 87. Gone. Gone. Gone. There are empty spaces, letting the sun beat right down on the trail. No branches for the California Thrasher or the Acorn Woodpecker, either. They’ll have to find fly a few trees over. Get some exercise, I suppose.

There are empty spaces where these trees once lined the trails. Apparently, this is good for safety and seeing the vista of concrete high-rises that lie below. But, the California sun is hot, and the shady canopy, I deeply miss even if these trees reduce biodiversity and suck up water sources.

The plight of the Eucalyptus trees in California is indeed a complex and multifaceted issue. While these trees have undoubtedly left their mark on the landscape with their towering stature and aromatic foliage, their introduction to the region has also had far-reaching consequences.

Despite their ecological drawbacks, I mourn the loss of these iconic trees and their towering presence along the hiking trails. I suppose I am a bit sentimental about their plight since I’ve lived alongside them for decades. I don’t take their felling and infestation lightly.

Each fallen tree represents a casualty of ecological imbalance and also a personal loss of a tangible memory marker. Under felled tree 43, I had a miscarriage. Under felled trees 57–59, my family held a Memorial Day picnic and played frisbee. Under felled tree 9, my grandson spotted his first lizard. Under these trees, I lived, laughed, sang, cried, and found moments of quiet reflection. I’ve now grown old and found solace and companionship under these trees.

A Eucalyptus topples

A hiker shields her head

the mountain sighs.