“Endurance (noun): The ability to continue with an unpleasant or difficult situation, experience, or activity over a long period of time.”
It was a beautiful fall morning. I was nearing the end of my first month as a freshman at the University. How an 18 year old middle class kid from a solidly blue-collar family was there at an Ivy League school in October 1968 is a tale for some other time.
Suffice to say that so far, life at the University had been trying. I had a roommate whom I despised. I was one of only four non-jock students housed on the 3rd floor of the dorm building. Although back home I academically had been a big fish in a small pond, here at the University I was not even in the water. I was an profound introvert who did not fit into a time and place when extroverts certainly ruled. Finally, I was desperately homesick, a condition that lasted all four years that I was at the University.
On that particular morning, I was running late for my 8:00 AM Anthropology 101 class. Now, I was then, and remain today, a perfectionist, so my idea of “running late” is being anything less than 15 minutes early for whatever event it is I am rushing toward. This neurotic compulsion, for such it is according to my therapist, has been an endless source of self-induced anxiety for me my entire life. It has also been an equally endless source of amusement and entertainment for my second wife, who has, as far as I know, never arrived on time for any event in her life.
Anyway, I rapidly completed my morning ablutions, sped up by my habit of showering the night before, and quickly exited the confines of my cell, or dorm room, which was located on the Lower Quadrangle of the dormitories at the University. It was less than a five minute casual stroll across campus to the building where my Anthropology class awaited me. But me being me, I was in my usual ridiculous hurry. I nearly ran out the door of dorm building and was immediately halted in my tracks by the most disgusting odor I had ever encountered up to that point of my life. I was glad I had not yet eaten breakfast, because that odor caused me to gag so violently that I am certain I would have thrown up my breakfast, and perhaps also my dinner from the previous evening as well.
Some unfortunate individuals, apparently suffering from an as yet undiagnosed olfactory disorder, have described the odor in question as being like dirty gym socks. I grew up with three brothers. I can swear under oath that the combined impact of four pairs of our dirty gym socks never came remotely close to the foulness of this odor. Other folks, evidently of a culinary bent, claim that the odor resembles that of rancid butter. Again, I am not sure that such people have adequately functioning senses of smell. I suspect they must find that to be a significant handicap in both the preparation of food and the subsequent pleasure of eating it.
Much closer to the truth are those people who compare the odor to dog vomit. They are on the right track, but are focusing on the wrong end of the dog. Those souls who say the odor I was experiencing at that moment smells like dog poop have nailed it, but only if they are referring to that particular smell that dog poop emits when one has just accidentally stepped in it. THAT, dear reader, is what I was smelling on that long ago fall morning.
I looked carefully at the bottoms of my canvas-topped Vietnam War era surplus combat boots, and noted that I had not accidentally stepped into anything, dog poop or otherwise. Curious about the origin of the odor, but more concerned about being late to class, I hurried on. I arrived at said class a full five minutes early, but nonetheless recklessly late by my standards.
For the next four weeks or so, I encountered that horrific odor everywhere I went on campus. I learned that said odor arose when the so-called fruit of Ginkgo trees fell to the ground or sidewalk and smashed open. I had no prior knowledge of Ginkgo trees, but I quickly learned to recognize them by their unique leaves. Their leaves are large, fan-shaped, and have two lobes. No other tree on Earth has such leaves.
In addition to the odor the smashed Ginkgo fruit produces, the resulting slime is very slippery. I nearly fell many times during my four years at the University when I carelessly stepped in the Ginkgo slime. More than one of my classmates broke a bone after slipping and falling due to this stinky, slippery stuff. The trees and their slime were almost impossible to avoid. They lined many paths and sidewalks around campus. Once I learned they were the source of the odor, and once I learned to mostly avoid their slime, their presence just became part of the background of my experiences on campus.
In November, their green foliage would turn a beautiful saffron-yellow. I came to look forward to this transition each year. That first November on campus in 1968, the Ginkgos revealed one more surprise for me. I had been enjoying their beautiful yellow foliage every day for several weeks. One morning, hurrying to class as always, I ran out of my dorm and was again stopped dead in my tracks. Nearly all the leaves had fallen from all the Ginkgo trees overnight. The paths and sidewalks were now covered with a carpet of golden Ginkgo leaves. I was stunned and delighted by this singular occurrence. I recall this amazing happening as one of the best memories from my time at the University, four years which were otherwise some of the most difficult and unhappy of my life.
“Nature always wears the colors of the spirit, and the ginkgo’s golden hue is a radiant reflection of life’s eternal dance.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
I wish I could say that as a budding biology major, my curiosity about the Ginkgo trees was further aroused, but in truth I came to take them for granted. To be fair, there were many distractions on campus in those days to keep me otherwise occupied. Recreational drugs like marijuana and Quaaludes were easily available. I also discovered the joys of repeatedly visiting the Zoo and the Museum of Art.
As you age, you may discover that unbidden and quite suddenly, certain long-forgotten memories will unexpectedly bubble up to the surface of your consciousness. So it was several months ago for me. I awoke one morning and those Gingko trees from the campus leaped to mind as my first thought that day.
The Gingko trees kept nagging me for attention until I finally gave in. As someone who focuses much of his writing efforts on creative nonfiction, I routinely begin with research of the topic at hand whether I know anything about it or not. I have spent time intermittently over the past several months researching Ginkgo trees. Imagine my joyful surprise to learn that my old Ginkgo friends from the campus still had a few more surprises in store for me.
The Ginkgo tree, formally known as Ginkgo biloba, is the only surviving member of a once large family of related trees. Some refer to the Ginkgo as the Maidenhair tree because its leaves bear a resemblance to the leaves of the Maidenhair fern. These two plants are not related in any way. Technically, the Ginkgo is a conifer, and as such, produces no true flowers. The Ginkgo is also a dioecious tree, meaning there are both male Ginkgo trees and female Ginkgo trees. More about this later.
Recently, genetic testing has revealed the only native, naturally occurring population of Gingko trees are in southwest China, specifically on the southern slopes of Jinfo Mountain in Chongqing Province. There is evidence that Gingkos were first cultivated in China for their edible seeds. One of the Ginkgos growing in China is the oldest such tree known, being over 3,000 years old.
Ginkgo trees are referred to as a “living fossil.” In fact, the fossil record indicates that the Ginkgo tree has existed, unchanged for at least 270 million years. They are therefore the oldest living tree species.
Ginkgo fossils have been found all around the world. When the dinosaurs were wiped out by an asteroid, the Gingko survived. When much of Earth’s plant life was destroyed by the Ice Age, the Ginkgo persevered. The heartiness of the Ginkgo is legendary. During World War II, the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan. Six Ginkgo trees were growing less than two miles from the center of that bomb’s explosion. Although charred, all six of these trees survived and recovered fully.
“There is no other tree with a pre-history so deeply intertwined with that of our planet.” ~ Peter Crane, botanical researcher
Today Ginkgos are found on every continent except Antarctica and Australia. Ginkgo trees were brought from China to Japan in the early 1000s. In the 1730s, they were imported to Holland, and from there spread throughout Europe. In 1784, William Hamilton imported the first three Gingko trees to North America from England to be planted in Philadelphia. Hamilton planted two of these trees on his Woodlands Estate which is now the Woodlands Cemetery in West Philadelphia. Hamilton gifted the third tree to his friend John Barton who planted it in what is now Barton’s Gardens in Philadelphia. That tree, which you can visit in Barton’s Gardens, is the only one of those three trees which still survives. It is 55 feet tall and is the oldest living Gingko tree in North America.
The popularity of the Gingko in Europe got a huge boost when in 1815 Johann Wolfgand von Goethe wrote and published a love poem about the tree dedicated to one Marianne von Willemer. The poem:
Ginkgo biloba To my garden here translated, Foliage of this eastern tree Nourishes the initiated With its meaning’s mystery. Is its leaf one self divided, Forked into a shape of strife? Or have two of them decided On a symbiotic life? This I answer without trouble And am qualified to know: I am single, I am double, And my poems tell you so.
I fail to understand how this poem increased the popularity of the Ginkgo biloba. It was originally published in German. Perhaps, as they say, something was lost in translation.
Ginkgo trees are popular ornamental trees. Although Ginkgo biloba is the only species, numerous varieties have been developed. These varieties each have at least one unique characteristic that makes them ideal for certain uses. Examples include:
“Fairmount” variety is valued for its narrow, upright growth.
“Autumn Gold” variety exhibits a bright yellow fall foliage.
“Chase Manhattan” is a dwarf variety.
“Majestic Butterfly” variety has green leaves with yellow variegation.
“Pendula” variety has a broad, umbrella-shaped crown.
“As the foliage is of that kind which must be viewed nearby, to understand its peculiarity, and as the form and outline of the tree are pleasing and harmonizes well with buildings, we would recommend that it be planted near the house where its unique character can be readily seen and appreciated.” ~ Andrew Jackson Downing, nurseryman and horticulturist, 1841
The defining, identifying feature of the Ginkgo tree is its leaf. As I noted before, no other tree on our planet has a similar leaf. The leaf is large, fan-shaped and bilobed. In the early spring, Ginkgo leaves are light green. As summer advances, the leaves turn a darker, richer green. Finally, in late October or early November the leaves turn a brilliant saffron-yellow. The leaves are said to have medicinal properties.
“In the ginkgos leaves, we find the essence of endurance, hope, and timelessness. It’s not just a tree; it’s a living testament to Earth’s grand narrative.” ~ Anonymous
I mentioned earlier that there are both male and female Ginkgo trees. Unless genetic testing is used, it is impossible to tell the sexes apart until they reach maturity, which takes 15 to 20 years. The critical importance of this fact will become evident shortly. Interestingly, under certain circumstances, a male tree can turn into a female tree, and vice versa. This very rare event has been repeatedly documented.
Upon maturity, male Ginkgo trees will form what are referred to as “flowers,” but which are not true flowers. These conical structures, which form in mid-spring, are called catkins, and they produce pollen. This pollen is released into the wind. Often, the pollen lands on vehicles or in the nasal passages of those so unfortunate as to be allergic to it. Neither the male trees nor their catkins play any role in the production of the disgusting Ginkgo odor that I have previously commented on.
The intended targets of the pollen are the ovules of the mature female trees. These ovules secrete a sticky fluid that helps capture the wind-borne pollen. Once caught by the ovule, the pollen develops into a sperm-releasing gametophyte, which fertilizes the female gametophyte within the ovule.
Over time, the fertilized female gametophyte forms an almond-like seed which is coated with a fleshy pulp. The pulp in turn is covered with a thin skin. This three-layer pulpy seed is the “fruit” of the Ginkgo tree and is about the size of a cherry tomato. It is not a fruit in the true sense, but is instead a nut. This nut is edible in small quantities once properly cooked, but large amounts are toxic to humans, pets and other animals.
In October, these “fruits” fall from the Ginkgo trees and burst open upon striking the ground or sidewalk. The smashed fruits release butanoic and hexanoic acids which are responsible for the pungent odor. This odor is the source of complaints folks may have about Ginkgo trees. People love the beauty and form of the trees but often cannot tolerate the odor.
Only the female trees produce the stinky Ginkgo fruits, so one can avoid the stench by planting only male trees. Therein lies the rub. Without expensive genetic testing, which is not readily available, the male trees cannot be sorted from the female trees until the trees reach maturity, which takes 15 to 20 years. In addition, cleaning up the pulpy mess makes caring for Ginkgo trees a potentially high-maintenance proposition. It goes without saying that the only way to remove a mature female tree is to cut it down.
Ginkgos grow very slowly. Unlike human beings, they grow without aging, which is to say, on a cellular level, they do not senesce. They tend to be large trees commonly reaching heights of 66 to 115 feet; some grow as tall as 165 feet. Conversely, the Ginkgo is also a popular tree for use in the art of Japanese bonsai.
The trees are resistant to wind, fire, and snow damage. They are disease-resistant and tolerate urban pollution well. They are also slow to decay. Over the centuries, Ginkgos have been used to make furniture, chess boards, carvings and casks for Japanese sake.
As I mentioned, there were in 1968 and still are today many Gingko trees on the University campus. In fact, Ginkgo trees seem to thrive in urban environments. These environments in turn benefit from the presence of the Ginkgos. The trees improve air quality, cool local air, filter and retain stormwater, sequester carbon, and provide habitat and food sources for urban wildlife.
Nothing I uncovered in my research about Ginkgo biloba has touched me so deeply as the symbolism these trees have come to embody. This symbolism finds its deepest roots in Eastern cultures. The Ginkgo leaf, for example, symbolizes the promise that life endures, despite its hardships. The leaf’s bilobal structure reflects Eastern teachings regarding dualism, such as life/death, joy/suffering, and attachment/detachment. It is said that Confucius sat under a Ginkgo tree to think, read and write. Ginkgo trees are often planted near Buddhist and Taoist temples. There, they symbolize the unity of opposites, and are associated with longevity, peace and hope.
The survival of the Ginkgo through cosmic upheavals and climate change provides a lesson for all of us–the importance of staying rooted while embracing change. With their 270 million year history on our planet, they speak to us of endurance.
After the Buddha died some 2,600 years ago, over the next several hundred years, his teachings were collected. Some were pulled together as the so-called “Buddhist perfections” or paramitas. The Third paramita addresses endurance, which is sometimes referred to as tolerance, forbearance, or patience. The basic teaching of the Buddha is “There is suffering.” Patience in the face of such suffering is therefore key.
Patience has:
The characteristic of acceptance
The function of endurance
The proximate cause of seeing things as they are
I see all these aspects of patience as symbolized by Ginkgo biloba. I hear these trees whispering to us, “Stay connected. Adapt to change. Understand where you came from. Embrace your future with hope.” That is a message we humans desperately need to heed in today’s turbulent, polarized world.
May you be safe; may you be healthy; may you be happy; and, may you live with ease. Peace, dear readers.
Thanks for all that useful information and inspiration! I’ll be looking for ginkgo trees now. Another horrible smelling tree is the Bradford pear, which has lovely flowers in the spring but smells like rotting garbage. It also doesn’t exactly make pears, just small, mushy crabapple-like fruit. Landscapers love these trees, but they don’t hold up well.
As for your roomies, at least you didn’t have one who threatened to stab you! Imagine how quickly I left my quarters when this was said!
This is a beautiful essay. I loved learning about this tree. Thanks for the novelty of not being about politics. ~~~peace