An Old Chestnut - the American Kind

Under a spreading chestnut tree,
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hand;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

We don’t know whether Longfellow was referencing the American Chestnut tree when he wrote “The Village Blacksmith” in 1839. However, that was several decades before a blight descended upon the American Chestnut. It might have been what he had in mind, since those trees were as impressive among their species as the blacksmith was among his. We may not be able to view them as part of the landscape now, but we can educate ourselves about their value in the 19th century and before.

Where They Grew and How They Benefited Society

American Chestnut trees (Castanea dentata) were throwing shade on this continent when the pilgrims arrived. And chestnuts threw a lot of it, since some of them reached a lofty height of 100′. According to the Tennessee Chapter of the American Chestnut Foundation, there were around four billion chestnut trees in the eastern half of the U.S. early in the 19th century. They dominated forests from Maine down into Mississippi. If you’ve seen pictures of the trees, you can see they’re majestic, but they also provided food for humans and other critters. The fruit (chestnuts) furnished nutrients, as did the leaves–for insects, anyway.

Beyond that, the rot-resistant wood provided the materials settlers needed for furniture, fencing, and housing. Farmers turned their hogs and cattle loose in the chestnut-dense forest to fatten up before taking them to market in the fall. The livestock left deposits, if you will, that enriched the soil in a way that promoted the growth of surrounding plant life. Chestnut trees not subjected to heavy foraging afforded ample gathering opportunities for families who wanted to take chestnuts to market in addition to, or in lieu of, livestock.

And Just Like That, They Were Gone

In the late 1800s, a fungus (Cryphonectria parasitica) arrived with imported Chinese Chestnut trees. While that species appears to be somewhat resistant to this parasite, the European and American species were not. Once the fungus took hold of these trees, their decimation was charted. Within fifty years, billions of trees succumbed to the blight.

While we no longer see towering chestnut trees, they aren’t completely gone, since the root systems were not destroyed. Occasionally, they spring up, but are ultimately unable to withstand the fungus that always finds them. Scientists are working to develop the American Chestnut 2.0 (no, they don’t call it that). There are hopes this species will make a comeback.

Are There Lessons Ingrained in the Chestnut's History?

Almost every time I research a topic, subplots jump out at me. In this case, chestnut trees remind me of the “gifts” of kudzu, Chinese wisteria, and Japanese honeysuckle. Their entries were well-intentioned, and we’d still love them if we could figure out their exit ramp. Maybe that’s too harsh. Perhaps we just need to manage their landscape acquisition. They are pretty, after all. On the flip side, the chestnut trees, as magnificent as they were and as hardy as they appeared, could not withstand a tiny little fungus. I wonder if the first time folks observed the cankers on the bark, they thought, “This isn’t going to end well,” or was it more like, “This too shall pass”?

Either way, before the scourge spread like pollen in the spring, did people appreciate the gifts this tree offered? Or did they assume those amazing forests would always stand strong? What convenience, beauty, or companionship am I enjoying now that won’t be here forever? Do I have an attitude of gratitude equal to the benefits I’ve received?