The Governor's Tree

 

Sequoiadendron giganteum Governor Withycombe Heritage Tree

Arising from the bucolic plain three miles south of Hillsboro, Oregon is a dramatic tree, a behemoth redwood (Sequoiadendron giganteum) that dominates all else above ground. It populates the landscape by itself, showing off preposterously just a few feet away from the busy highway. The tree greets passing motorists with a raised appendage, a huge side branch that developed years ago, and my family finds it humorous that I mimic the pose with my own arm: “Good day to you, my friend.” The family grew even more amused when I revealed that I always greet the tree even when I'm driving alone.

Oregon Highway 219

I have known this redwood since my youth, and so I was shocked about 20 years ago when the Department of Whatever announced that it would install a gas pipeline along the highway (OR 219) and that the tree needed to be removed. I was dumbfounded and wondered why the pipeline couldn't be placed on the other side of the road. Others felt the same way, and I joined a protest movement to save the tree, or at least I attended a meeting and signed a petition. We gripers were standing in the way of progress it appeared, and the project engineer was not about to budge.

James Withycombe

Fortunately a tree-hugger knew the history of the tree, that it was planted by Oregon Governor James Withycombe on his wedding day in 1875.* Ahh...a “historic” tree then. The Hugger set the process in motion to designate the Gov's redwood as a “Heritage Tree,” one that cannot be messed with. In short the pipeline was installed on the other side of the road after all the fuss, and total arboreal insanity was averted.

*So how did Withycombe acquire a giant redwood sapling to plant in 1875, especially since the S. giganteum species was first scientifically documented a mere 22 years prior? My theory – which I cannot absolutely prove – is that he got his start from the nurseryman John Porter who was the source of the giants currently growing in front of the Washington County courthouse in Hillsboro, and the twenty-or-so specimens in nearby Forest Grove (my hometown) which date to 1873. For more about the Porter trees see a past blog Murder in the Grove, but finish this post first!

James Withycombe (1854-1919) was born to tenant farmers Thomas and Mary Ann Withycombe in Tavistock, West Devon, England. The family immigrated to the United States in 1871, settling on land near Hillsboro, Oregon. James worked on his father's farm for a few years, but also purchased his own 100-acre parcel at $15 per acre, expanding the total holdings to 256 acres.

Withycombe was passionate about agriculture and he also became a prosperous livestock breeder. His reputation grew as a “scientific” farmer, and for him America was indeed the land of opportunity. James, at age 21 married Isabel Carpenter on June 6, 1875, and after planting the wedding tree he summoned additional energy to produce a daughter and three sons. Fortunately for Isabel, not all at the same time.

Withycombe in front of the OSU Agricultural College

His profitable and innovative farming methods became a model for other farmers in Oregon, and his success gained an appointment as State Veterinarian in 1889. Despite being mostly self-educated he was recruited by the Oregon Agricultural College (now Oregon State University), and he eventually received a master's degree in 1891.

Due to his accomplishments, unlike today's political world, Withycombe gained the attention of the Republican party. He lost his first bid for the Oregon governorship, but won the election in 1914 where he vigorously promoted agricultural development. His administration also backed the “Good Roads” movement, and he created the Oregon Highway Commission while in office. I'm not sure if that is the same bureaucracy that later tried to get rid of his redwood tree...but wouldn't it be ironic if it was. Maybe the Gov's motivation was primarily to improve the road from Hillsboro to his own farm three miles away.

Although born a Brit, Withycombe was a staunch supporter of American involvement in the WWI effort, and Oregonians were impressed enough to re-elect him in 1918. Sadly the 15^th Governor of Oregon served only two months of his second term, dying in office from a heart condition on March 3, 1919. His remains were interred (along with Isabel's later)* at Salem, Oregon's Mount Crest Abbey Mausoleum. Strange, it seems to me, that a man of such great farming accomplishments, a true pioneer of the soil, should have his remains placed in a wall-box in a stone building, and not under his beloved dirt.

*Isabel was born in Oregon in 1856, so she was only 19 when she hitched her wagon to the industrious British farmer. Well that she outlived her farmer-husband for an additional 30 years, and after she died at age 92 in Sacramento County, California, her remains were interred alongside her husband at Mount Crest.

Mount Crest Mausoleum

I had an urge to visit this Mount Crest Mausoleum, I guess to pay my respects to the Good Governor. My 16-year-old daughter drove me to the location – for fear that I might be overcome with grief and unable to find my way home. S. and I were perplexed that the front door (photo above) was locked and the 100-year-old knob spun stupidly. I was ready to give up but she insisted that we walk around the large building to find another entrance, which we eventually did. Inside, we found no receptionist in attendance...other than brass-plated shelves full of human remains which S. found to be rather creepy. The experience reaffirmed my wishes that my ashes be spread behind a tree along a beautiful little stream, at the exact place where I first asked my future wife Haruko if I could hold her hand. What a coincidence, however, that this magical Oregon-coast location is named Oswald West, named for the cad (Democrat) governor of Oregon who presided just prior to Withycombe's election.

S. and I headed back to the car, past thousands of outside graves where the grass had already turned brown from our 100F summer temps. We walked past a half-pruned hedge with shears lying on the ground, but with no worker in sight. I suggested that perhaps a passed-away gardener arose each night to keep the shrubs tidy. S. groaned at yet another not-so-funny Dad joke.

Withycombe Hall at Oregon State University

P.S.

Years ago I was befriended by an Oregon State University horticulture professor (because his hobby was Japanese maples). Every year until he retired I agreed to give a one-hour lecture to the hort students about nursery production. The classes of about thirty consisted mostly of disinterested losers, but each group also had a couple of well-scrubbed, bright eyed men or women who seemed to really care, and who claimed that they appreciated my insights. Loving nothing more than perky coeds I was happy to volunteer. I didn't think about it at the time, but my lectures were presented in Withycombe Hall on the OSU campus.

Withycombe Hall Lab Theatre