A “stolen” seedling. All photos courtesy of the author.

I was a few years into my career, working for Olde Colonial Tree and Landscape, then in Dedham, now in Hingham, Massachusetts, when the owner and my first mentor, Jay Ippolito, convinced me to go to the Stockbridge School of Agriculture. That decision changed my life. Although I was not a good student, I was passionate about trees and eager to learn.

Stewartia Seedlings

By March 1993, I was working in Cambridge, Mass. I was young and skinny and still had brown hair. I was so excited because, after surviving my freshman year at Stockbridge, I had landed an internship at Mount Auburn Cemetery. As much as I loved my first job – and Ippolito had an incredible impact on my life – I felt like Mount Auburn was the “big time.” I felt so privileged to work there. What an amazing place – the history, the horticultural pedigree, the endless variety of plants and the biggest specimen trees I had ever seen.

I was again fortunate to have another great teacher, Paul Walker. He was the head arborist at Mount Auburn, and he was so good to me. He treated me like I was a seasoned pro, even though I was just a cocky kid. He let me run the bucket truck, climb, prune trees and so much more. He trusted me even though I had never heard of some of the trees I was working on. However, the best thing he let me do was to take home seedlings from all the different trees.

My addiction begins
Tending the seedlings became a bit of an addiction. I would bring home dozens of the coolest varieties in Dunkin Donuts Styrofoam cups. My parent’s backyard became a bit of a jungle, but that’s a story for another day. In Mount Auburn, a place full of remarkable trees, I found my favorite, a New England Champion Japanese stewartia near the Asa Gray Garden, not far from the entrance. This Stewartia pseudocamellia was the biggest I had ever seen.

Unfortunately, this tree is in a high-profile spot in the cemetery. Even though Walker gave me permission to take some seedlings, his bosses and some of the visitors might not have liked the sight of an unwashed intern poking around with a trowel and coffee cup. So, to acquire these particular beauties, I needed to be stealth. I waited for a rainy day when no one was around. I thought I was so smart when I snuck a handful of seedlings into my car. I felt a rush like I had pulled off a bank robbery.

The New England Champion Stewartia in September 2025.

My sapling gifts
Out of the roughly half-dozen seedlings, three of them survived and turned into worthwhile saplings over the course of several years. As time passed, I graduated Stockbridge and UMass and moved on with my career. But I continued to prune these saplings to promote the best long-term structure. I was a little surprised how fast they grew.

Fast forward to 2000, and my best friend, Sean, bought a house and got married. For a housewarming gift, I planted one of the three stewartias. Looking back, it did not seem like a great present. Even though it had a great pedigree, it was more like an awkward, lanky teenager that looked tiny on the right side of his house.

In 2003, my wife, Jennifer, and I bought our first house and, of course, I planted one in my backyard. Time goes on. Eventually, we had three wonderful children, and life was great.

In 2005, tragedy struck when one my best friends died in a car accident. I could not think of a better way to honor him than to plant the last stewartia at his sister’s house to memorialize him.

Memorializing and celebrating
There is no better way to mark time, memorialize people or celebrate the seasons than by planting a tree. I usually don’t like the word “hope,” because it is passive. However, planting a tree is the greatest expression of hope. For all you jaded arborists in the room rolling your eyes, I agree, proper after-care is more important than hope. However, with some TLC, trees grow.

Interestingly, the compounding interest of a tree’s growth almost goes unnoticed, just like with your children – one minute they’re in their crib and the next minute they are coming home from college with bags of laundry. The metamorphosis is subtle, yet, over the course of decades, it’s tangible. Isn’t that why we do what we do?

Different-sized offspring from the original three seedlings.

Thanks to the great care these three fledglings received, they are now large trees. That tiny tree at the side of my friend Sean’s house is now more than 30 feet tall and reaches over his roof. For several years now, these trees have produced their own seedlings, and many of those are now themselves significant trees. From these three seedlings I saved, pruned, loved and shared, I have given away dozens of trees. From these three tiny seedlings I took home in Styrofoam cups in 1993, I have had the joy of perpetuating the legacy of this magnificent tree. Do you know what my favorite part is? When I visit family, friends, co-workers and my kids’ old schools, I get to visit these trees and admire where each is on its own life journey.

Off and on throughout my career, I have had the privilege of working at Mount Auburn Cemetery as a subcontractor. Almost every time I’m there I still visit the New England Champion that started it all. Even now I may sneak out a seedling. Is it nostalgia, my love for this tree or an addiction? You be the judge.

David M. Anderson, CTSP and Massachusetts certified arborist, is a manager with Mayer Tree Service Inc., a 33-year TCIA member company based in Essex, Mass. He also is a member of the TCI Magazine Editorial Advisory Committee.