My Tree Grew in Brooklyn

"...all this [passage of time] happens in a couple of new fissures, an inch of added rings. The tree bulks out. Its bark spirals upward like Trajan's Column. Its scalloped leaves carry on turning sunlight into tissue. It more than abides; it flourishes, a globe of green health and vigor." — The Overstory by Richard Powers

In the summer of 2023, I read Richard Powers's novel The Overstory, and I appreciated how it turned trees into a main character -- a mute, but not silent chorus literally standing its ground as the human world flits about. As a scientist in the novel says, "motionless things that grow in mass mixed communities must have evolved ways to synchronize with one another."

That made me think about the impressive oak tree outside my Brooklyn window, which stretches up six stories and has clearly been on the block for generations. As I write this blog entry, the oak tree's leaves have lost their chlorophyll and turned a pleasant ruddy brown, as they wait to fall off the branches.

It towers above all the other trees on the street, and when you're on the rooftop of my building the treetop almost touches the balcony. Once the tallest landmark on my block, it was surpassed by my apartment building in 2017 and an even more obnoxious, ostentatious building across the street in 2019. Nevertheless, most of the surrounding early 20th-century apartment houses remain.

Here's the oak tree on a rare snowy day. It's a real character on the block, and every day a number of neighborhood regulars walk past and greet each other.

Now for some family history: There's an amazing website called 1940s.nyc, where a software engineer and obivous history enthusiast named Julian Bolien hosts a map of the five boroughs with hyperlinked street photographs of New York City properties, taken by the NYC Tax Department and the Works Progress Administration between 1939 and 1941! What was once mundane photos to visualize property value has become, after eight decades, an astounding time machine. 

If you have family that lived in New York City and is listed in the 1940 Census, or shared their residence and place of employment in World War II draft cards, definitely take the time to look up the photos of those locations. Many NYC streets changed businesses and resident populations over the generations, and sometimes what remains bears little resemblance to its past.

Here's one example: 72 Orchard Street in Manhattan's Lower East Side, where my Great-Grandma Bess was born in 1900. The left photo, which I took in 2022, shows how Orchard Street has become a trendy land of boutiques and bars -- The Great Frog sells punk trinkets made from human bone!! On the right, the circa 1940 photo shows the tail end of traditional Lower East Side business, the Jewish-run clothing manufacturers. My Great-Great-Grandma Fannie is said to have worked in a sweatshop on Hester Street around the corner when she met her husband Paul around 1896. That world has been fossilized at 1940s.nyc.

The interactive map is lovely too, full of users' memories of local landmarks. Here's my Mom's corner of Flatbush, Brooklyn (some say Midwood) where she grew up:

I wondered what the lot of my current home looked like, and I saw the neighboring building had a conjoined twin, now long-gone, matching another building on its right. I'm not sure why only one half of the building was razed. I also saw one larger tree and one smaller tree in front of my apartment building's lot and I wondered if I was seeing a "baby photo" of my old oak tree?

 

I took some photos of the oak tree in August but by sight alone I couldn't tell. Plus the trees' relationship to the sidewalk in the c.1940 and 2025 photos don't really line up. I put aside this question for months, but last night I realized this sort of logic question is perfect for artificial intelligence.

Yes, there is terrible irony. AI has a horrible environmental impact, soaking up electric power and water and worsening climate damage at an exponential rate. I'm not 100% sure whether the AI-powered answer I'm about to share is right, or just a finely-tuned computer program telling me what I want to hear, but it did reach a fascinating conclusion. 

I uploaded the following three photos of my oak tree from August to Claude.ai and asked the following:

"Answer like an expert botanist. Estimate the age of this roughly six-story-tall oak tree and explain your reasoning."

Claude.ai answered: 

Based on these images, I would estimate this oak tree to be approximately 80-120 years old, with my best estimate around 100 years old. Here's my reasoning:

Size Assessment

• Height: At roughly 6 stories (60-70 feet), this is a mature specimen but not exceptionally tall for an oak
  
  
• Trunk diameter: From image 3, I estimate the diameter at breast height (DBH) to be approximately 30-36 inches based on the trunk's proportion to surrounding objects
  
  
• Crown spread: The canopy extends significantly, appearing to span 50-60+ feet, indicating substantial maturity

Growth Rate Calculations

Using typical growth rates for urban oak trees (likely Quercus rubra - Northern Red Oak, or Quercus palustris - Pin Oak, both common in NYC):

• Urban oaks typically grow 0.25-0.5 inches in diameter per year
  
  
• At 30-36 inches DBH, this suggests: 30÷0.35 ≈ 85-145 years
  
  
• However, urban conditions can slow growth, so I'm centering my estimate

Contextual Clues

• Urban setting: The tree is clearly a street tree in what appears to be Brooklyn or a similar NYC neighborhood
  
  
• Established root base: Image 3 shows significant root flare and sidewalk displacement, indicating decades of growth
  
  
• Building ages: The surrounding brownstones and older buildings (likely early 20th century) suggest the tree could have been planted during that development era or shortly after
  
  
• Crown architecture: The well-developed branching structure with multiple large scaffold branches indicates significant age

Conclusion

This is a mature urban oak in its prime, likely planted between 1900-1945, making it roughly 80-125 years old, with 100 years being my central estimate. The tree appears healthy with good vigor for its age.

So AI detected what I suspected, that the oak tree was old enough to be present in the c.1940 photos! I then uploaded those old tax photos to Claude.ai and asked: 

"These are New York City tax photos from circa 1940, showing the exact same location in Brooklyn. Is one of the trees in these photos the same oak tree?"

Claude.ai answered: 

Excellent detective work! Yes, I believe the tree on the left in images 1 is indeed the same oak tree from your original photos, now 85+ years older.

Evidence Supporting This Identification:

Location Match

• The map confirms this is the same Brooklyn block 
  
  
• The building configuration matches - same brownstone row houses
  
  
• The street layout is identical

The Tree in Question (Left side, Image 1)
Looking at the 1940 photos, the tree on the left shows:

• Already substantial size - appears to be 20-30 feet tall with a trunk diameter of roughly 8-12 inches
  
  
• Positioned at the property line between buildings, exactly where the mature oak stands today
  
  
• Crown structure beginning to develop its characteristic spreading form

Age Calculation Revised
If this tree was already ~20-30 years old in 1940 (planted around 1910-1920), that would make it:

2025 - 1915 (average) = approximately 110 years old

This perfectly aligns with my original estimate of 80-120 years, now refined to roughly 105-115 years old.

Growth Comparison

1940: ~10-12" DBH → 2025: ~32-36" DBH

This represents ~24" of radial growth over 85 years

Growth rate: ~0.28 inches/year - completely consistent with urban oak growth rates

The Other Tree (Right side, Image 2)

The younger tree visible on the right in image 3 appears to be gone in your current photos, likely removed during later development or due to decline.

Conclusion

This is almost certainly the same tree, now a magnificent centenarian survivor of Brooklyn's urban development. It's a living connection to pre-WWII New York!

Online sources say the building to the east of my home was built in 1921 and the "conjoined twin" that lost its mate was built in 1930. So it's possible my oak tree was planted around the time of the older building's construction? 

When I took the photos in August, I compared the taller tree with my oak, and became discouraged when I saw they did not resemble each other. So what was the other tree's story? Claude.ai gave a surprising answer: 

The "Missing" Tree (Right Side, Image 2)

Based on its winter silhouette, this appears to be a different species from the oak:

Most Likely: American Elm (Ulmus americana)

Strong evidence:

• Vase-shaped crown architecture - notice the distinctive upright, spreading form with branches that arch gracefully outward
• Fine, delicate branching pattern - the twigs appear more numerous and finer than the oak's coarser structure
• Symmetrical form - characteristic elm "fountain" or "vase" shape
• Urban context - American Elms were THE dominant street tree in NYC before Dutch Elm Disease devastated populations in the 1950s-1970s

Why the Elm Likely Disappeared

If this was indeed an American Elm, it almost certainly succumbed to Dutch Elm Disease, which:

• First appeared in NYC in the 1930s
• Reached epidemic proportions in the 1950s-1960s
• Killed an estimated 77% of NYC's elm population by 1975
• Would explain why a healthy 1940 tree is absent by 2025

The Oak's Survival

The oak's survival while the elm perished is textbook urban forestry history:

• Oaks were resistant to Dutch Elm Disease (a fungal disease specific to elms)
• Oaks are generally hardier in urban conditions
• This explains why oaks replaced elms as NYC's dominant street tree after the 1960s

This tree is not just old - it's a botanical survivor that witnessed one of urban forestry's greatest ecological disasters!

I find this to be a pretty compelling case, and regardless of whether it is correct, I appreciate the reminder of a very dramatic moment in "urban forestry." There are several surviving elms in New York City, which the Parks Department officially recognizes as "Great Trees", since they date back to historical times. One of them, the Camperdown Elm at Prospect Park, is a short walk from where I live. It was planted in the park back in 1872, and when I passed by it in March 2024, I spotted a charming stray cat staying warm in one of the old holes in its trunk.  

Today's moral: Keep your eyes open for all the interesting stories around you. They don't even have to involve people!

Questions? Comments? Please email me at ruedafingerhut (at) gmail.com.