Weeping Beech Flushing Queens
In 1998, New York City had a funeral for a 151-year-old tree, the first American weeping beech. Located in Flushing, Queens, it was to be cut down the following year after growing to 60 feet tall and with an umbrella of branches that stretched 85 feet. Despite moves to save it with support cables and "fertilizer injections," it had finally died. According to the New York Daily News, Parks Commissioner Henry Stern said: "This is the vegetable equivalent of an Egyptian pharaoh going into his sarcophagus surrounded by his adoring little offshoots.”
It was an incredible tree, and was named the city’s first living landmark in 1966 by the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission. (The second living landmark was the still-surviving Southern magnolia in Bed-Stuy, also a Great Tree I've visited.) Even more significant, it’s believed every weeping beech in the United States descends from it. If you go to the tree’s former home today, you’ll find Weeping Beech Park, where its offspring stand in a ring around the grassy void where the old tree presided. These are just a few of the innumerable weeping beech trees it spawned around the country.
Horticulturist Samuel Parsons brought the weeping beech sapling from Belgium in a flower pot, planting it in Queens in 1847. Parsons also grew the nearby Great Tree, the cedar of Lebanon (which I previously visited), at his Queens nursery, where he fostered all sorts of rare botanicals.
While I read a March 1999 article in the New York Times that reported the dead weeping beech’s wood was to be turned into sculpture and benches, I have yet to track any down. But visiting the small Weeping Beech Park, you can still get an idea of its scale, as each towering beech tree marks where one of its branches draped to the ground and took root. The pathway and a metal fence, installed for viewing the landmark tree, and its weathered 1972 plaque, are also in place. Alongside is another unexpected monument: the Kingsland Homestead, a 1785 building that houses the Queens Historical Society and was relocated to the park in 1968 to escape destruction. I like that this tiny slice of Queens is the meeting of two historic transplants, one architectural, and one ecological.










