Elegy for the Ash: A Forest in Decline
Ash dying in a Waddington forest (2024)—only the first wave.
I’ve been obsessed with trees for as long as I can remember—seriously. I can recall specific trees killed by the Ice Storm of 1998 when I was just four years old.
You may remember, about a decade ago, seeing strange purple boxes hanging from roadside trees. Those were traps for the emerald ash borer (Agrilus planipennis), an invasive beetle from Asia. The beetle itself is strikingly beautiful—I’ll include a macro shot from the NYS Department of Environmental Conservation (DEC) here.
Emerald Ash Borer (DEC photo)
But beauty aside, the emerald ash borer (EAB) is a death sentence for ash trees (Fraxinus spp.). After laying eggs on the bark, the larvae bore into the tree and feed on the living tissue between the bark and the sapwood—specifically the cambium and phloem. This feeding disrupts the tree’s ability to transport water and nutrients, effectively girdling it. By the time symptoms appear—defoliation, crown dieback, epicormic shoots at the base, and bark balding—it’s usually too late.
According to the DEC, ash makes up approximately 8% of New York’s tree population, meaning millions of trees are at risk.
I remember traveling to Rochester to visit my grandmother, noticing dead and dying ash trees along the Thruway. I prayed it would be years before our trees faced the same fate. Now, it's happening. Last year, I observed widespread mortality along the St. Lawrence River. This spring, most of the ash trees I’ve checked lack buds or any sign of life.
Some forests in our area consist of over 50% ash. Their loss will be profound—visually, ecologically, and culturally. Ash trees hold special significance for the Haudenosaunee people, serve as a vital food source for birds and wildlife, and are common in our cities as ‘street trees.’
It’s heartbreaking to imagine future generations never experiencing the grandeur of a roadside ash or the peace of standing under its canopy. I know of a few mammoth ash trees in the old-growth forests of the Adirondacks—towering, beautiful, and soon to be ghosts.
Just like the American chestnut (Castanea dentata), lost to blight; the American elm (Ulmus americana), felled by Dutch elm disease; and the American beech (Fagus grandifolia), succumbing to beech bark disease and the newer beech leaf disease, ash will soon exist only in memories and textbooks. Our forests are becoming less diverse, less resilient—because of us.
Last week, I stood beneath two incredible ash trees and did my best to savor the moment. I studied the color and texture of their bark, the branching structure, the moss and lichen clinging to their trunks. I wanted to remember everything.
Old growth White Ash, North Hudson (Adirondacks)
In the St. Lawrence Valley, the damage is already immense—and it will only get worse. My parents own a forest in Potsdam where more than half the trees are ash. Their death is tragic enough, but the understory is now dominated by invasive buckthorn (Rhamnus cathartica), which forms a canopy so dense that almost no light reaches the forest floor. Without light, regeneration is nearly impossible. Without intensive management, healing is unlikely.
Ash often thrive in wetter soils—niches that not many other native species can easily fill, especially not under deep shade.
I’m reminded of Aldo Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac, in which he writes:
“One of the penalties of an ecological education is that one lives alone in a world of wounds... An ecologist must either harden his shell... or he must be the doctor who sees the marks of death in a community that believes itself well…”
We live in a community marked by ecological death, and I cannot look away. The pale gray silhouettes of dying ash trees haunt me. I mourn them, and I mourn the loss of habitat, food, and the beauty they gave to the world.
Next up: our hemlocks (Tsuga canadensis), threatened by the creeping northward spread of the hemlock woolly adelgid (Adelges tsugae). God help us.