Death of the Ironwood

The hophornbeam has been failing for the last couple of years. At one point, it was the only large tree on the property, apart from the few remaining boundary spruce. Now its fall will scarcely change the appearance of the yard, though it is sad to see such a fine tree dying by inches.





For the last two summers, few branches have sported leaves. Most were ominously dry sticks carrying some lichen and no new growth.

 Only the very top branches lived on, and this year there is scarcely any canopy left. Last fall, I trimmed it back to avoid the power lines and Peter's trailer, which he parked in the driveway.

Also, there is a curious zig-zag crack running from the bole right up the main stem. In a strong wind, it champs slightly, like one of the orifices of Tolkien's Old Man Willow. The bark is sloughing off like old snakeskin, and more and more branches bow down toward the ground.

I feel there is a House of Usher moment approaching, and I want to bring it down before then. I will be stealing scaffolding from the front gable project so that I can take it down piecemeal, starting with  the branches I trimmed last year. I wonder how hard it will be to cut? It is, after all, IRONWOOD.