Nest of Birds Delays Copper Beech Tree Removal

The historic copper beech tree located next to The First Church of Belmont, Unitarian Universalist, is not going anywhere yet.

The removal of the Beech Leaf Disease-infected tree was set to begin Monday morning, but has been delayed for a few weeks after a nest of federally protected American robins was discovered.

Asplundh Tree Experts were ready to begin work, but halted when the arborist discovered the nest. Animal Control was then contacted, said Belmont Tree Warden Will McPhee.

The tree removal will take at least two days, said Asplundh workers. They will remove branches and leaves first, then take a chainsaw to the trunk. They will then grind down whatever is left.

Belmont resident Jeanne Mooney was present Monday morning. She said that the robins are currently nestlings, meaning they are still being fed by their parents. They will remain in the nest until they are ready to fledge and leave on their own.

Mooney, along with artist Derrick A. Te Paske, hoped to secure some of the tree’s wood to make something for the church.

The tree is at least 150 years old, said McPhee. The Belmont Historical Society has photographs of it dating back to the mid-1800s, he said.

Beech leaf disease is a problem affecting trees across the region, McPhee said.

The tree has been treated for the disease for many years, but McPhee said “at this point…it’s no longer viable…It’s not going to survive.” Not only would it not be economically viable to keep the tree, but it will not be safe to stand under, he added.

“We will be planting another tree…something of a stately stature,” said McPhee.

That planning will begin soon, but don’t expect to see a new tree for a while. It will take the tree’s roots at least five years to break down, McPhee said.

The roots extend 1.5 to 2 times past the width of the tree’s canopy, into the grass and possibly a little into the road, so a new tree cannot be planted right next to the old site.

Notes left from the ceremony honoring the tree still fluttered from low-hanging branches. While most messages were sun-bleached, a few remained readable, including one that read “Stay Here Forever.”