Our area is bursting with that special aroma again in Linton, the little town that could… plant a forest of Bradford Pears like it was trying to win a contest for “Most Questionable Landscaping Decisions of the Century,” that is.
In a move that surely made some tree nursery somewhere — and likely not even in Indiana — very happy and the Indiana Department of Natural Resources shake its collective head now, our fair city took it upon itself to line the streets, parks, and probably a few storm drains (indirectly) with the infamous Bradford Pear. You know, that ornamental darling that smells — well horrible —and has a knack for splitting in half at the slightest whisper of wind in the weather forecast. Yes, those Bradford Pears! Because nothing says “Welcome to Linton!” like a not-so-tall canopy of structurally unsound trees that reek for a week or two each Spring.
Now, let’s just pretend for a moment that the DNR hasn’t labeled the Bradford Pear an invasive species, or that they don’t literally have a program encouraging people to remove them and plant native trees instead. No, no—Linton knows best! Why go native when you can go notorious?
Meanwhile, we could have done something crazy. Something radical. Something like… say, planting fruit trees instead. Imagine that—trees that not only shade our sidewalks but also feed our community: apples, pears (the edible kind), peaches. Trees that inspire school kids to learn about horticulture, sustainability, and the sweet delayed gratifications and rewards of patience and care. Trees tended by neighbors or local FFA or ag classes, fruit shared at local pantries, maybe even a Linton Harvest Festival featuring actual food grown right here. But nah, where’s the drama in that?
Instead, we chose the Bradford Pear—the botanical equivalent of that one loud guy at a party who smells weird, talks over everyone, and then breaks a chair or two before splitting his pants while breaking wind. And just like that guy, these trees are now outstaying their welcome, making it abundantly clear they were never a good idea to invite into our community to begin with really.
So, here we are, stuck with a town full of Frankenstein trees that look decent for about a week per year, maybe two, stink like rotting *something* when they bloom, and explode like piñatas in storm season a little later on in the season. Bravo, Linton. Bravo!
Perhaps next time we decide to carpet the town in foliage, we might consider trees that contribute—to our diets, wildlife’s little stomachs, our kids’ education, our biological and ecologic environment. But until then, let’s enjoy the lingering scent of poor choices every Spring and marvel at how, in Linton, we turned invasive landscaping into a true art form.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to file a request for a replacement tree with the DNR, who working through several communities — not ours — across the state to eradicate these nuisances.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Citizen with a Chainsaw, Compost Bin, Safety Glasses… and a Crazy Dream
The author, Christopher M. Wathen, is offering this series of sarcastic “Editorials” to promote critical thinking in the planning and management of our hometown — or “truth with a barb, ” as he describes them. Stay tuned to next week‘s cynical, child-of-the-90’s installment. Wathen is also the author of a few books now available on Amazon, including his latest work Finding Telly: A Playful Romance as well as other fiction and non-fiction.