I stirred up quite the ruckus over on X by voicing my unfiltered hatred for the Bradford Pear. The post blew up, and—unsurprisingly—most folks were right there with me. But to my utter shock, not everyone was on the same page.
One commenter went so far in her defense of the tree that she called them “part of Tennessee’s culture.” Her occupation? General Contractor. Lord, help us all.
On the drive to Wilmington for the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, the girls and I passed dozens of wooded areas where Bradford Pears had weaseled their way in among the native trees—a heartbreaking sight that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Am I overreacting? Nah, I don’t think so.
Bradford Pears hail from Asia, and sure, they’ve got those pretty early blooms, but they smell like pure cat pee.
The trees grow fast, but they’re flimsy as all get-out—snapping like twigs in high winds, ice storms, or downpours.
But the real kicker? They’re invasive.
The trees became popular in the early 1900s as ornamentals. Back then, folks thought Bradford Pears were a sterile cultivar of the Callery Pear species.
They were mistaken.
No, they cannot self-pollinate – but they can and do cross-pollinate with other pear cultivars creating viable seeds. The resulting fruit is inedible to humans, but birds and small animals love it, spreading the seeds everywhere and allowing these despicable trees to overrun our woodlands.
The Bradford Pear’s bastard offspring choke out native species that our wildlife actually needs. That screws over local caterpillars, which kicks off a domino effect—messing with birds, small critters, and climbing right up the food chain.
And if that’s not enough reason to despise them, these wretched descendants also produce large thorns that threaten everything from unsuspecting hikers to livestock.
Sadly, North Carolina hasn’t joined the growing list of states banning these foul-smelling invaders yet. But there’s a silver lining: we’ve got a bounty program. Chop down a Bradford Pear, show proof, and you score a free native tree to plant instead.
I’m hoping folks start hacking them down like there’s no tomorrow. But I won’t hold my breath… or maybe I will. Nobody wants a whiff of the stench rolling off a blooming Bradford Pear.
Amen. Thanks. These trees are terrible
One distinctive feature of the Bradford is that when twigs form on a young trunk the angle at which they grow is very narrow. As the twig struggles with the main trunk to become the dominant branch both grow concentrically – the growth on both the branches begins to press on the other. Eventually a split develops between the two that isn’t obvious to the casual observer. Every time each branch adds another concentric growth ring, that split get larger. Then one day a gust of wind or the weight of ice is too much and the split gives loose leaving one or both of the branches on the ground.