Honoring the Ash Trees
Map
Map
Story & Experience
Our group in Ithaca, New York ended up doing our 2026 Global Earth Exchange two months late, because of our various scheduling conflicts. We chose this year to honor the ash trees.
Ash trees across the eastern half of the United States and Canada are being decimated by emerald ash borers. The beetles lay their eggs in the bark of the tree, and the larvae feed on the wood until the tree dies. The problem is exacerbated by climate change, because warmer winters mean the insects are less likely to freeze, so more of them make their ravenous way west.
Here in Ithaca, the emerald ash borer has wreaked havoc, and both private land owners and public preserves have cut down ash trees in an effort to halt further damage. We did our Global Earth Exchange in Slim Jim Woods, a section of Cornell University’s Newman Arboretum, for a small stand of the 1,700 ash trees the university had to remove over a four-year period.
Eight of us, including three-year-old Henya, gathered at the foot of the short trail that winds through a woodland of cut and “lingering” ash, trees that have remained healthy for at least two years after others in the vicinity have died from infestation and from which arboretum staff are collecting scion, or twig samples, for propagation. We walked in silence up the sloping trail to spend half an hour alone getting to know the trees.
Afterwards, we met again to perch on the stately fallen giants and their stumps and share stories of what we’d discovered.
“Maybe the dead trees like having a little three-year-old walk on them.”
“I wondered if the trees felt the emerald ash borer eating through them and knew they were being devoured? Did it feel like a cancer?”
“I was thinking about the chestnut trees that died a century ago. People must have felt so sad about that.”
“I found I couldn’t help being fascinated by the different shapes of the trees, how they find the light and grow in relationship with their neighbors.”
“One particular tree called to me, and I spent the whole time there, leaning against it. I felt so sad that this tree had lost its limbs. Yet, even in its brokenness, it was beautiful.”
“Where we live the ash trees died, but there are cherry trees coming up in their place. So even out of this something good can happen.”
“Being here with people I like and trust was such a good experience. I wondered how different it would be to do this alone.”
“I thought I would feel sad about these trees, but I kept noticing all the young, healthy ash trees growing up at the edge of the woodland.”
We made what turned out to be a very fierce-looking RadJoy Bird, flying determinedly up the slope. We concluded our time together by speaking aloud some wishes for the ash trees. When we were ready to leave, several of us expressed sadness — not for what had happened to the trees, but because we were sorry to leave this place that we had come to know, share, care about, and learn so much from, even in just a couple of hours.
Our group in Ithaca, New York ended up doing our 2026 Global Earth Exchange two months late, because of our various scheduling conflicts. We chose this year to honor the ash trees.
Ash trees across the eastern half of the United States and Canada are being decimated by emerald ash borers. The beetles lay their eggs in the bark of the tree, and the larvae feed on the wood until the tree dies. The problem is exacerbated by climate change, because warmer winters mean the insects are less likely to freeze, so more of them make their ravenous way west.
Here in Ithaca, the emerald ash borer has wreaked havoc, and both private land owners and public preserves have cut down ash trees in an effort to halt further damage. We did our Global Earth Exchange in Slim Jim Woods, a section of Cornell University’s Newman Arboretum, for a small stand of the 1,700 ash trees the university had to remove over a four-year period.
Eight of us, including three-year-old Henya, gathered at the foot of the short trail that winds through a woodland of cut and “lingering” ash, trees that have remained healthy for at least two years after others in the vicinity have died from infestation and from which arboretum staff are collecting scion, or twig samples, for propagation. We walked in silence up the sloping trail to spend half an hour alone getting to know the trees.
Afterwards, we met again to perch on the stately fallen giants and their stumps and share stories of what we’d discovered.
“Maybe the dead trees like having a little three-year-old walk on them.”
“I wondered if the trees felt the emerald ash borer eating through them and knew they were being devoured? Did it feel like a cancer?”
“I was thinking about the chestnut trees that died a century ago. People must have felt so sad about that.”
“I found I couldn’t help being fascinated by the different shapes of the trees, how they find the light and grow in relationship with their neighbors.”
“One particular tree called to me, and I spent the whole time there, leaning against it. I felt so sad that this tree had lost its limbs. Yet, even in its brokenness, it was beautiful.”
“Where we live the ash trees died, but there are cherry trees coming up in their place. So even out of this something good can happen.”
“Being here with people I like and trust was such a good experience. I wondered how different it would be to do this alone.”
“I thought I would feel sad about these trees, but I kept noticing all the young, healthy ash trees growing up at the edge of the woodland.”
We made what turned out to be a very fierce-looking RadJoy Bird, flying determinedly up the slope. We concluded our time together by speaking aloud some wishes for the ash trees. When we were ready to leave, several of us expressed sadness — not for what had happened to the trees, but because we were sorry to leave this place that we had come to know, share, care about, and learn so much from, even in just a couple of hours.
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