Herbie, Beloved Elm Tree, Dies at 212

On a quiet street in Yarmouth, Maine, just after 11:45 a.m. yesterday Herbie lost a long battle with Dutch elm disease. The 212-year-old elm stood 110 feet tall. His caretaker for more than 50 years, 101-year-old Frank Knight gathered with other residents, watching as the magnificent tree was cut down. Knight treated Herbie through several bouts of the fungus. “Without Frank, this tree wouldn’t have made it these last 50 years,” Marcia Noyes, director of Yarmouth's community services, told the Boston Globe.

The Dutch elm disease fungus, Ophiostoma ulmi, was first introduced to the U.S. on diseased elm logs from Europe sometime before 1930, and in subsequent decades devastated one tree after another in elm-lined city streets. Two species of bark beetles transfer the fungus from tree to tree, but it can also spread by root grafting. Once infected, the tree’s vascular tissues clog, preventing water movement to the crown. Ultimately, the tree wilts and dies.

RIP, Herbie.

While Herbie was certainly a marvel, he was a youngin’, and a shorty, in comparison to other trees across the country.

The world’s tallest trees may reside in Redwood National Forest. Topping the list of redwoods are Hyperion, 379 feet; Helios, 376 feet; and Icarus, 371 feet. To put that in perspective, the Statue of Liberty, from the foundation of her base to the tip of her torch, reaches 305 feet. 

The oldest living tree is a 4,765-year-old bristlecone pine named Methuselah (left). The tree lives in a secret location in California’s White Mountain range.

A few notes about the trees’ apt names:

According to the bible, Methuselah was an ancestor of Noah who lived for 969 years.

Hyperion was the Titan god of light, son of Ouranos (Heaven) and Gaia (Earth). The name means "watcher from above" or "he who goes above" from the greek words hyper and iôn.

Helios, son of Hyperion, was the god of the sun, and also the god of the gift of sight. 

Icarus, a mere mortal character in Greek mythology, flew too close to the sun, melting the wings his father had made for him, and crashing to his death in the sea.

Who says scientists aren’t romantic?