The Old Log – An American Chestnut?

A large log lies on the ground by the horseshoe bend in the lane. The dead trunk had toppled about two decades ago, but it had stood upright, still dead, for as long as I can remember. I first noticed the snag when I was about eight years old. My mother and I were probably on a walk into our hollow. Our Pennsylvania farm stretched across 160 acres of rolling hills. Each spring and summer, we’d search for wildflowers, birds, and check out the creek. I don’t remember if I ever asked my mother or my dad whether they knew what kind of tree it had been or whether they had ever seen it alive. I’m now 74 years old and still marvel at the endurance of this old bole.

Black cherries, hickories, red maples, and three oak species grow in the woods on the property. An oak might well be this rot-resistant, but a decade or two ago, I began to wonder whether this log was a remnant of the American Chestnut forest that once dominated the Appalachian country. 

My dad would talk about how rot-resistant chestnut wood was and that many fence posts had been made from that tree. The wood was hard and had a good grain. Apparently, after the chestnut blight killed off the forests, people would extract chestnut fence posts so they could use the wood for furniture. Chestnut suckers often shot up around old stumps, but they would die from the blight within a few years. Eventually, the roots would die, too, and with that, no more attempts at a tree. I’d seen suckers in numerous places across Western Pennsylvania when I was young, but never on our farm. My sister has the farm now, and when I visit, I search for any evidence of a living chestnut. But I only find the three Chinese chestnuts my brother planted along the driveway about the time I was a toddler.

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In 1975, a friend and I went hiking in the Allegheny National Forest. There, we found a remarkable living specimen of the American Chestnut. It stood about twenty feet tall and grew along the edge of a woodland. Its branches looked strong, leaves thick, and numerous burrs were developing. Each would have contained four developing chestnuts. This tree might have had a genetic resistance to the blight. I’ve always wished I could have returned that fall to collect some nuts and see if I could germinate them. Unfortunately, I left for Florida and graduate school that September, missing my opportunity. I check places on the farm and wonder what a tree might look like now had I been able to plant some of those chestnuts.

On this fall visit in 2025, I made a point of hiking down the lane to admire this log. She brought warmth to my heart and a feeling of awe. My hand gently rested on her wood, trying to absorb any wisdom that might still be present. The trunk extended twenty or more feet from the root ball. Once, a close to two-foot-diameter tree had risen majestically at this location. I stepped five paces backwards, pausing, before turning to continue into our hollow. For as long as my sister has the farm, I will come to stand and gaze at this venerable bole.