Pat Valentine, 58, treasures the importance of trees. A native of New York City and graduate of Barnard College, the Columbia resident recalled seeking her green fix in iconic Central Park. The urban oasis, she said, "was my savior. The pathways are so beautifully designed."
The park was designed so that nature-lovers could stand in certain places and not see buildings.
Living in one of the world's biggest cities, Valentine said, gave her a deep appreciation for the one tree you have in front of the home you live in.
Valentine will tell you that every rose has its thorn. The arborist's employer, Neighborhood Design Center, in Riverdale, is under contract with the Prince George's County Department of Public Works to plant trees in public right-of-ways. And she also knows that trees, things of poetic splendor, can sometimes go rogue.
Take one species, the Bradford pear, the county's official tree. You don't want to mess with this tree, she warned.
"After a week, they're trouble. They're pollinated by flies and smell like rotten meat or fish," the Columbia resident said.
In 2011, the Bradford pear left physical and emotional scars on some residents of Montpelier in South Laurel, dropping branches on cars and, among other irritants, causing residents to be late for work.
"The cleanup costs were astronomical," Valentine said.
So the county, faced with this potential threat to life and (human) limb, invested some of its budget to tear down 800 of the Bradford pears.
"We replanted 15 different species," she recalled. "We're all about species diversity."
Over the brutal winter, Valentine was the driving force behind the planting of 40 regal prince oaks along Sweitzer Lane. She says many of the county's trees took root 60 years ago. Not only do they grow old, they don't always garner the respect they deserve.
"Trees are not treated well," she said flatly. When it snows, "they have salt thrown into them. They get stressed out and they need to be replaced."
In her position with the Neighborhood Design Center, Valentine is charged with public outreach. She educates residents about what needs to be done and how the county plans to go about doing it. Often, she has to use diplomacy when a resident isn't happy with where the experts propose placing the new growth. It's a mixed-bag.
"There were times when they didn't want to take them down, and other times when they were begging us to take them down," she said of managing neighborhood trees.
When she's face to face with someone who doesn't like trees, she makes sure to fire up her street cred by underscoring their value. She tells them they provide shade, which is good for lawns, and they're good for filtering pollutants. Others might complain that the new tree is too close or too far from the mailbox. She also gets her share of grumblers who dread having to "rake leaves once a year."
The graying of America is also part of the job, she said.
"We're alienating an aging population who are living in houses they are no longer able to maintain. There's no one around to rake the leaves," Valentine said. Widows, for example, would gladly pay youngsters to gather leaves, "but there are no kids around."
Other species, she said, are victims of foreign invaders. Take the case of the emerald ash borer. It's a destructive beetle from China that eats its way into the bark, which robs the tree of vital nutrients. Valentine says it's like the tree is "choked to death." The beetle eventually hitchhiked its way from Asia to Michigan in material used to pack auto parts. When a nurseryman in Brandywine bought an emerald ash, the insect busted loose, fanning out across the county on a diabolical path.
"We cut down 50,000," she said, a note of sadness creeping into her voice. "It's horrible." One community in Prince George's, Kettering, really got hammered, she said. "Within a year, the emerald ash planted on three or four streets saw 80 to 90 percent of their canopy lost.
Valentine said when she was studying environmental conservation and management at Barnard, it was practically unheard of to explore such a field.
"It was just getting started," she said. "Rachel Carson was writing her books. Colleges were scrambling to keep up."
She said she likes the work of naturalist John Muir, "who captured the essence of forests," with black and white film. "He knew how to capture the grandeur." And she's humbled by the Grand Canyon, saying "No two pictures are alike because the sun and the clouds change. The lighting changes the rocks."