The Layering Thuja of Parc de l'Orangerie

This tree is quietly making copies of itself. Its lowest branches have bent to the ground, rooted where they touch it and sent up new stems, a process called layering that turns one trunk into a small colony over a few decades. It is the same trick that keeps some ancient yews going indefinitely, and it is rare to see in a public park, because ground-level branches are usually the first thing a maintenance crew takes off. Thuja plicata comes from the Pacific Northwest, the rainforest strip running from northern California to Alaska, where it reaches 60 metres and where the coastal peoples built canoes, longhouses and woven bark clothing out of it. Almost every one in Europe was planted, most of them as hedging, which makes a full-sized specimen doing what the species does in the wild worth the few extra minutes inside the Parc de l'Orangerie. Crush a leaf spray between your fingers as you pass. Western red cedar smells strongly of pineapple, and unlike most conifer scents it stays on your hands. No age is recorded and the city's register is the only source describing it, so the layering and the dimensions are what there is. The great beech of the same park stands a few minutes away, which makes the pair a short walk rather than two separate trips.