Tag: trees

Development, neighborhoods

Activists Want to Save “Grandma Brooks’ Cedar.” Her Family Says They’re Misrepresenting Their Mother’s Wishes

By Erica C. Barnett

UPDATE: On Monday morning, police intervened as protesters attempted to block construction at the site. According to the Instagram account PhotogSteve81, posting at about 10:15 Monday morning, “arrests are being made” at the site. Video posted by the account showed protesters skirmishing with police officers and a man and woman lying on the ground, surrounded by police.

Erich Armbruster, of Ashworth Homes, told PubliCola that protesters showed up at the site last night and occupied an area behind a fence set up by the Seattle Department of Transportation; at some point, one broke onto the property itself and refused to leave until police arrived last night. This morning, protesters returned and re-occupied the site as well as the street in front of the property, with at least one person lying down in the street and refusing to leave, while others stood inside the fencing itself. Police came out and attempted to deescalate, eventually arresting at least one protester.

Look back for more updates later today.

Original story follows: 

On February 9, several dozen people gathered outside a construction site in northeast Seattle to rally around a large Western red cedar tree, which is slated for removal as part of a new development that will replace a one-story bungalow with four new townhouses. The city had recently posted a notice that the tree could come down as February 10, so neighbors who wanted to save the tree scrambled to respond.

“We were shocked because it was too close [in time],” said Saraswati Sunindyo, who lives down the street. “We didn’t have enough time to do much of anything.”

Tree Action Seattle, a group that has pushed for revisions to Seattle’s tree ordinance that would make it harder to remove trees for development, quickly got to work, organizing the rally and creating an action page for the tree, which is located just off busy NE 65th Street, between two apartment buildings and across the street from a drive-through coffee stand.

Formerly one of several anonymous large trees on the block, the cedar now had a name—Grandma Brooks’ Cedar—and a backstory: According to Tree Action Seattle, the previous homeowner, Barbara Brooks, “lovingly cared for” and “cherished” the tree for for more than 70 years. “On hot summer days, she would carry a bucket of water to the tree to water it,” according to the website, and even swept the driveway of the neighboring apartment complex until she was almost 90.

When the apartment complex owner offered to buy her house, the site continues, Brooks refused, because he said his plans would require cutting down the tree. “Barbara passed away at 103, and requested her family only sell the property to a buyer that would preserve the tree.”

According to Tree Action, Legacy Capital Partners, the real estate firm brokered the deal, “offered to save the tree,” but “immediately filed plans to remove the cedar” once the land was in their hands. A representative from Legacy did not immediately respond to a request for comment, and the owner of the apartment building did not return a call last week.

According to Seattle Department of Construction and Inspections spokesman Bryan Stevens, developers are allowed to remove “Tier 2” trees—those with a diameter of 24 inches or more—if retaining the tree would reduce the amount of developable land on a lot to less than 85 percent of its total area. Anyone who removes a tree for development must replace the tree with a tree or trees that will result in a similar or greater tree canopy once they mature.

Those trees, however, will take a long time to grow to full height—longer than many of the people mourning the loss of the cedar will be alive.

“The whole neighborhood really loves the tree,” Sunindyo said. There are other Western red cedars in the area, she acknowledged, but “they’re not as big as that one. My kids grew up with that tree. A neighbor who is 70 years old said, ‘When I was little, it was already big.’ So everyone is attached to that tree.”

 

Not everyone.

“Mom hated that tree,” said Beverly Brooks, who grew up in the house and lived with her mother for the last seven years of her life. “My mother never took buckets of water to water the tree. She was 101, not 103, [when she died], and she never told any neighbor that she loved that tree. We all hated that tree.”

As for protesters’ claims that their family told Legacy they had to keep the tree in place, Beverly said, “We never said anything to anybody about that tree.”

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“Our mother hated that tree,” Beverly’s sister Barbara confirmed. “It’s a huge tree, and it sheds all the time.” Her mother maintained the tree to the best of her ability, removing piles of needles from the roof, gutters, and sidewalk, but she certainly didn’t “cherish” or “lovingly care for” it, the sisters said.

“My mom would cut back the branches and clean it up just constantly,” Barbara said. “We didn’t have a lot of money growing up. Mom always said, ‘If I could afford to get rid of this tree, I would.'”

“That tree was a burden to my mom for years and years,” Beverly said. Eventually, it became her burden as well. For 30 years, into her 70s, Beverly climbed up on the roof to remove needles from the house and gutters, then cleared the sidewalk. “I didn’t want anybody to fall and get hurt,” she said. In all that time, “Not one of the neighbors asked if they could help or nothing. They saw me up on the roof and every man turned the other way.”

“They call my mom ‘Grandma Brooks.’ I don’t like that,” Beverly added. “Her name was Mrs. Brooks. She wasn’t a grandma to any of them.”

Both sisters recall that a neighbor across the street told their mother she needed to put a covenant on the property so that any future buyer would have to keep the tree, but their mother said no. They were surprised at the vitriol the new owner, Legacy, has received for their plans to remove the tree. “In our minds, we just thought ‘let’s get rid of it’ because it’s going to cause the next people problems,” Barbara said.

Today, the Brooks’ house is gone, reduced to a pile of rubble. After the city received an anonymous complaint about potential groundwater pollution from asbestos, the new owner, Ashworth Homes, stopped demolition to do a second asbestos remediation on what’s left of the house, stopping work on the project.

Remnants from the recent protest, including a circle of rose petals surrounded by a wreath of cedar boughs, remained visible on the ground as of last week. The tree, which towers over the three-story apartment complex next door, is now surrounded by protective fencing that neighbors have festooned with signs reading “SAVE THIS TREE!!!” and “MAKE AMERICA AN ENDLESS EXPANSE OF OLD-GROWTH FOREST WITH NO CERTAIN BORDERS AGAIN.”

There is no old-growth forest remaining in Seattle neighborhoods, although isolated old-growth trees can be found in a few local parks. Western red cedars like the one in the Brooks’ former yard take about 50 years to reach their mature height of 80 feet or more, and were part of the landscaping planted to replace the old-growth forest that was destroyed to develop single-family neighborhoods across what is now Seattle.

Tree Action Seattle argues that it would be a simple thing to keep the tree in place and redesign the site plan, by shifting around the buildings and converting two of the four proposed garage spaces into surface parking spots. “I showed the plan to two architects,” Tree Action’s Sandy Shettler said over email. “One of them laughed and said there are so many ways to design the site with the same amount of housing around this tree you’d have to go out of your way to remove it.”

Ashworth Homes president Erich Armbruster agrees it might be technically possible to keep the tree–but not on the site plan he purchased the plans for the property based on a layout that has more value because of the size and floor plans of the homes that can be built there, including garages and more usable ground-floor space than Tree Action’s proposed site plan would allow.

“Had I been presented that plan, presuming it was possible, might I have purchased it? Yes, I might have, but not for the price I paid,” Armbruster said. Tree Action’s plan, he said, lowers the value of the finished development by replacing garages with less desirable surface parking and changing the layout of the building next to the tree to make the first floor “harder to lay out for any sort of meaningful use.”

Property records show the Brooks sold the property to Ashworth for a little more than $1 million.

“A bank would have required it to be less because the finished value isn’t as high,” Armbruster said. “I purchased a permitted site plan that was all negotiated according to the rules in place today.” Renegotiating the plan now would be like buying a car, driving it off the lot, and getting a call from the dealer asking you to pay more for the tires. “We can’t renegotiate it, because I’ve already purchased it.”

A rendering of the approved townhouses on the site of the Brooks’ former property.

Armbruster said that after tree activists began protesting the removal of the cedar, the tree service provider he hired to remove the tree backed out and he had to hire a new one—an event that’s reflected in city records. Once they’ve completed asbestos remediation and received a permit to remove the tree, work can move forward again, Armbruster said.

There is one way for homeowners to prevent future developers to remove a tree on their property: Before selling a property or passing it on to heirs, an owner can place a covenant on the land to protect the tree. Although both sisters recalled a neighbor telling her mother repeatedly to protect the tree with this kind of covenant, she didn’t. “He would tell my mom, ‘When you sell this house, put it in writing that this tree has to stay,’ and she said, ‘No, don’t tell me what to do,” Beverly recalled.

The sisters say the pressure from neighbors has made them feel uncomfortable returning to their old neighborhood. But Barbara did stop briefly by the recent protest. “I went to their little event,” she recalled, “and said ‘Don’t homeowners, after they pay taxes for 75 years, have the right to sell the place?”

“I’ll be honest with you,” Barbara said, “It’s just like killing my mom over and over. … It’s been three years. Can’t that poor woman just be left alone?”

 

City Council, Density, Historic Preservation

Muckleshoot Tribe Opposes Pedersen’s Last-Ditch Tree “Protection” Plan
Many common trees, the Muckleshoot Tribal Council’s letter noted, will reach 12 inches’ diameter within a couple of decades. “”This not a standard to determine whether a tree was a tree that was historically modified by native people in the Seattle area.” Image via City of Seattle.

By Erica C. Barnett

The Muckleshoot Tribe came out strongly this week against a proposal from City Councilmember Alex Pedersen that would require state approval for the removal of any tree larger than 12 inches in diameter. The new regulation is necessary, according to Pedersen, to ensure housing developers aren’t destroying trees that were culturally modified by indigenous people before Seattle was developed.

“Most trees will become more than 12 inches in diameter in 20 to 30 years,” the letter, signed by Muckleshoot Tribal Council chair Jaison Elkins, says. “This not a standard to determine whether a tree was a tree that was historically modified by native people in the Seattle area.”

Pedersen, who has frequently used “tree protection” to justify proposals that limit housing density in single-family neighborhoods, said this latest proposal was necessary to protect culturally modified trees, or CMTs, which include trees whose branches were bent to mark important locations. Earlier this year, the developer agreed to reduce the number of units in a housing project in northeast Seattle in order to preserve a large Western red cedar tree the state designated as a CMT after consultation with the Snoqualmie Tribe.

“Rather than enacting this proposed bill, the City Council instead, should fund and the City hire professional archaeological staff as the other major cities in the State of Washington have done. This would be a better, and more effective and efficient way of assuring that cultural resources in the City are not adversely impacted.”

Noting that Pedersen’s proposal was limited to trees, Elkins said it “does not deal with the fundamental problem of the City’s failure to meaningfully deal with potentially impacted cultural resources of all types. The bill also seeks to prevent the City from carrying its duties by, instead, relying on a state agency that has no obligation to do the City’s work.” As we reported last week, the state Department of Archaeology and Historic Preservation (DAHP) says it does not have the capacity to examine every medium- and large-diameter tree slated for removal in Seattle to see if it was culturally modified in the past.

“Rather than enacting this proposed bill, the City Council instead, should fund and the City hire professional archaeological staff as the other major cities in the State of Washington have done,” Elkins wrote. “This would be a better, and more effective and efficient way of assuring that cultural resources in the City are not adversely impacted.”

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DAHP director Allyson Brooks told PubliCola last week that reviewing potentially thousands of trees in Seattle for cultural significance “doesn’t seem realistic—what I told [the city] was, you need a city archaeologist,” not a law passing the responsibility on to a state agency, she said.

A memo from City Council central staff notes that the new requirement “is likely to be administratively burdensome for [the Seattle Department of Construction and Inspections], DAHP, and affected Tribes. It could also lengthen permit processing times and increase costs for applicants.”

During the city council’s meeting on Tuesday, Pedersen said he had seen the letter from the Muckleshoot Tribe and that the city’s Office of Intergovernmental Relations “was engaged” with the tribe.

Elkins did not respond to a request for an interview, and Pedersen did not respond to questions about his proposal, which he will have to formally introduce next week for the council to consider it before the end of the year.

Development, Environment, housing, neighborhoods

Report: Wedgwood Tree Dubbed “Luma” Is Much Younger Than Claimed
In these historical images, included in an archaeological consultant’s report, the tree known as “Luma” is outlined in red.

By Erica C. Barnett

An independent report commissioned by a company that plans to build several townhouses in a historically single-family neighborhood in northeast Seattle suggests that a double-trunked Western red cedar tree in Northeast Seattle is around 85 years old, far shy of its widely reported age of  “roughly 200 years old.” The tree, named “Luma” by activists, was designated a “culturally modified tree” after an in-person assessment by the Snoqualmie Tribe. According to one media report, “she,” meaning Luma,  “was a sapling when white settlers arrived here.”

The newly released report, which is posted on the Seattle Department of Construction and Inspections’ website, calls that history into question. The analysis, by an independent cultural preservation firm called Drayton Archaeology, uses historical photos and a review of the history of development in the area to determine approximately how long the tree has been around. According to the report, the tree does not appear in aerial photos taken in 1936, and was “relatively small”—just starting to peek over an adjacent roofline in photos—in 1953.

By 1965, the report says, the tree was still “not tall enough to be fully present in the photo and does not appear to be of advanced age.”

On December 18, after this story appeared, the head of the Washington State Department of Archaeology and Historic Preservation, Allyson Brooks, wrote a letter disputing the report, saying that Drayton’s “desktop analysis” mis-identified the tree’s location, using “blurry and pixilated images… which adds ambiguity to the analysis.” According to Brooks’ analysis of the same images, there appears to be a large tree where Luma now stands.

Brooks does not make any claims in her letter about the tree’s possible age. Western red cedar trees grow quickly, adding between two and three feet of height a year, and can grow up to 200 feet tall in forests. Luma is about 80 feet tall.

According to a letter the Snoqualmie Tribe sent to city officials in July, the cedar once served as a marker “that delineated an ancient indigenous trail system connecting Puget Sound to Lake Washington.” The letter adds that the Washington State Department of Archaeology and Historic Preservation independently reached the same conclusion.

However, the head of the DAHP, Allyson Brooks, said it’s up to tribes, not the state of Washington, to decide what constitutes a culturally modified tree. As an archaeological agency, she said, “We see artifacts. We know what an artifact is. But the question about culturally modified trees is one of culture for the tribes.” The Snoqualmie Tribe did not respond to an email seeking comment.

A comparison of old aerial photos showing three different trees in the location where Luma now stands, along with other historical images, suggests that the tree “was not extant in 1936 but may have been planted shortly after, as it had grown large enough by 2021 that its canopy encompassed the space formerly occupied by the three smaller trees.” The tree is now about 80 feet tall.

 

“Based on this information, it is my opinion that the subject red cedar tree was not extant in 1936,” the report continues. If the tree was planted that year, it would be 87 years old today.

According to the website Wedgwood History, the oldest houses still standing in Wedgwood were built around the turn of the 20th century, and the neighborhood had electricity by around 1923. By the mid-1930s, Wedgwood was a developed area, with paved roads and houses (as well as a county-endorsed racist covenant that banned all non-white people, except live-in servants, from living in the area). If the report’s estimate of Luma’s age is accurate, the property where it sits would have already been developed and occupied when the tree was a sapling.

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Regardless of the age of the tree, the developers aren’t arguing to remove it; they’ve submitted new plans to the city that reduce the proposed housing on the lot from three townhouses to a new single-family house with a small backyard unit.

Seattle’s tree preservation ordinance includes protections for exceptional trees, a category that includes all very large trees, regardless of age. Luma’s unusually large diameter—52 inches, according to a separate arborist’s report—is based on a formula that combines its two separate trunks; other single-trunked exceptional Western red cedars in the immediate vicinity are between 30 and 42 inches in diameter. Exceptional trees can only removed with permission from the city under certain limited circumstances.

Asked about the consultant’s report, Brooks, from DAHP, said the agency “cannot comment on an unofficial report to our agency that was sent to us by a third party.”

City Council, Density, Development, housing

Pedersen Plan Would Require State Approval to Remove Any Tree Larger than 12 Inches

 

Screengrab via Councilmember Alex Pedersen’s official Facebook page.

By Erica C. Barnett

City Councilmember Alex Pedersen, who’s leaving at the end of the year, may get one parting shot at developers after his proposal to advance “impact fees” on new housing (co-sponsored with another departing councilmember, Lisa Herbold) failed last week.

Just before budget deliberations began earlier this fall, Pedersen proposed legislation that would require a state archaeological agency to sign off on the removal of any tree larger than 12 inches in diameter—a class of trees that is already explicitly protected by the city’s new tree ordinance, which added new protections to about 48,000 trees, largely by making it more difficult to remove smaller trees. According to the legislation, the new regulations are necessary, in part, because the a new state law exempts “missing middle” housing, such as fourplexes, from state environmental review.

Pedersen’s proposal would require the Seattle Department of Construction and Inspections (SDCI), the agency responsible for review tree removal applications, to notify the Washington State Department of Archaeology and Historic Preservation (DAHP) about every request to remove a “Tier 2” or “Tier 3” tree (those 12 inches in diameter or greater) and to “receive confirmation” from the department about “whether the tree is part of an archaeological site”—that is, whether it is a culturally modified tree. Put another way, the city would assume that every tree larger than a foot in diameter is culturally modified until proven otherwise.

“I’m not an attorney, I’m an archaeologist. But I don’t see how a local government can pass a law that binds a state agency.”—Department of Archaeology and Historic Preservation director Allyson Brooks

Asked about the potential impact of the proposed new regulations, a spokesman for SDCI said that although the agency “is committed to identifying workable protections to preserve Culturally Modified Trees, we believe this proposal would cause significant delays in permits for new housing… create resourcing issues, and cause delays on permit approvals including Master Use Permits, construction permits, and simple over-the-counter permits.”

Generally speaking, “culturally modified trees” are trees that were altered by indigenous residents in the past to serve a cltural purpose, such as peeling bark for baskets and construction materials, marking important locations, or wayfinding. Earlier this year, a developer agreed to preserve large Western red cedar tree in the Wedgwood neighborhood that the Snoqualmie Tribe said had been culturally modified to “mark a trail system that predated the city, and settlers in the area,” according to KUOW. The developers’ own analysis concluded that the tree was around 85 years old, but supporters claimed it was 200 or older, which would make it an ancient outlier among other Western red cedar trees in Seattle.

The decision to save the tree, which Wedgwood residents named “Luma,” on cultural modification grounds paved the way for Pedersen’s legislation, which would make it more difficult and expensive to remove any medium-to-large tree in Seattle.

It’s unclear, however, if the city has the authority to require a state agency to do anything—especially a small agency like the DAHP, which has just six staff to review around 16,000 federal and state projects every year.

“I don’t know how we would do this and on what timeline,” DAHP director Allyson Brooks said. “We don’t even have any staff in Seattle. It’s not realistic.”

“I’m not an attorney, I’m an archaeologist,” Brooks added. “But I don’t see how a local government can pass a law that binds a state agency.”

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Neither Pedersen nor SDCI responded to questions last week, and a spokesman for the City Attorney’s Office said he couldn’t comment on whether the city attorney had offered advice to Pedersen’s office on the legality of his proposal. The Snoqualmie Tribe also did not respond to questions last week.

In its stage-setting “whereas” section, the legislation argues that a state law allowing more density in previously exclusive single-family neighborhoods could threaten the existence of many “previously unidentified culturally modified trees” in Seattle, including trees “of particular importance to the Indigenous peoples who have resided in the Puget Sound area… since time immemorial.”

Similarly, despite Pedersen’s lofty language about cultural preservation, his efforts to “save the trees” have long been inextricable from his opposition to new apartments, and he and other density opponents have relied on many different arguments to push for legislation that makes housing harder to build.

Wedgwood, where the median home price is now well over $1 million, was founded as a whites-only outpost in the 1930s, when a builder dredged and cleared the area for development. Today, according to the to the University of Washington, the neighborhood is still “overwhelmingly White,” and its residents have vociferously opposed changes that would alter its suburban character. In 2018, the neighborhood opposed (and ultimately killed) a bike lane that would remove parking spaces along one side of 35th Ave. NE. Initially, the residents focused on the loss of parking, but eventually pivoted to claim that bike lanes were only for “the privileged.”

Similarly, despite Pedersen’s lofty language about cultural preservation, his efforts to “save the trees” have long been inextricable from his opposition to new apartments, and he and other density opponents have relied on many different arguments to push for legislation that makes housing harder to build.

Brooks, from the DAHP, says the need to identify and protect culturally modified trees and other Indigenous archaeological resources is great, but that if Seattle wants to make it a priority, they should hire a city archaeologist, rather than asking the state to come out every time a property owner wants to cut down a mature tree. Seattle City Light and Seattle Public Utilities, whose work often involves digging, have their own archaeological experts, but they deal with utility projects, not tree removal on private property.

City Council, Density, Development, Environment

Pedersen Fails to Stifle Housing Development in the Guise of “Tree Protection”

By Erica C. Barnett

City Councilmember Alex Pedersen, who’s leaving next year after a single term, had hoped to stuff a new tree-protection ordinance with amendments that would prohibit new development in many historically exclusive single-family areas.

Instead, Pedersen’s colleagues rejected nearly every one of his proposed amendments, leaving Pedersen—whose Zoom background includes a yard sign promoting the Seattle advocacy group TREEPAC—to vote against a bill that would have represented his primary legacy on the council.

The bill that passed out of committee, without Pedersen’s amendments, still creates a Byzantine maze of new regulations aimed at preventing tree removal on private property.

But Pedersen’s proposals would have gone much further—dramatically increasing the cost to remove trees, restricting where new trees could be planted, and shrinking the area where a property owner could build new housing through a series of overlapping protections that would require a PhD. in math to decipher. Pedersen said he based his amendments on a letter from the Urban Forestry Commission.

In all, Pedersen proposed 17 amendments that would have imposed new restrictions on development or made it more expensive to build. Every one of his substantive amendments failed—a limp denouement to the Northeast Seattle council member’s years-long efforts to prevent new housing in the guise of tree protection.

Some, like an amendment to change the way the maximum developable area on a piece of property is calculated, would have made it harder to build anything other than a single-family house in neighborhoods where, thanks to a groundbreaking density bill the state legislature passed this year, it’s now possible to build up to four units per property. Others, like an amendment to increase the amount property owners must pay to remove trees, were designed to maximize the financial pain of removing trees for development. A third group of amendments would have created new reporting requirements and enlarged the bureaucracy charged with enforcing the new tree laws.

All of Pedersen’s amendments failed—a limp denouement to the Northeast Seattle council member’s years-long efforts to prevent new housing in the guise of tree protection.

One of the primary new rules in the underlying tree protection bill is a change allowing development on up to 85 percent of residential lots, with exceptions that would make the development area smaller or larger in some cases. Pedersen wanted to change that baseline, in zones where multifamily housing is allowed, to a variable rate based on floor-area ratio—a measure of the total square footage inside a building, including buildings with multiple floors—which could have the impact of reducing the size of new housing developments or making them infeasible to build.

“This almost feels like a proxy for anti-density more than it is about protecting trees,” land use chair Dan Strauss, who sponsored the underlying tree legislation, said before the vote.

Councilmember Sara Nelson—a frequent Pedersen ally—also voted against several Pedersen amendments, citing the need to encourage new housing in lower-density zones. Mid-rise areas, where small apartment buildings and townhouses are allowed, are “where some of the most affordable pathways to homeownership, through townhomes, is happening,” Nelson said, “and so that’s a pretty important zone to just single out [for new restrictions].”

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The committee also voted down a Pedersen amendment that would change the “tree protection area,” where construction is prohibited, from a consistent area defined by a tree’s “drip line” to a complicated, variable formula based on a tree’s diameter, age, root spread, soil health, tree health, and species. At its upper limit, Pedersen’s proposal could have prohibited construction within hundreds of feet of a tree in every direction.

Pedersen also attempted, unsuccessfully, to change the standard for replacing trees removed for development to an “inch for inch” requirement, meaning that if a person removed a 24-inch tree, for example, they would have to plant six four-inch trees somewhere else.

The term echoes anti-development demands for “one-for-one replacement” of dilapidated housing as well as the concept of “concurrency”—the idea that cities should not allow new development until they expand the capacity of its streets, transit systems, sewers, and other amenities to accommodate new residents. The biggest difference between “inch for inch” and “one for one,” of course, is that trees grow.

The legislation still places the burden of tree preservation and replacement on individual property owners, despite the fact that almost half the tree loss in Seattle has occurred in city-owned parks and rights-of-way.

Pedersen also failed to pass an amendment that would require property owners to plant new trees only in areas of the city with low tree canopies. The idea sounds equitable—historically, the city failed to plant trees in neighborhoods where more people of color live, and has an obligation to right that wrong—but, in practice, it would do little to improve tree canopy in underserved areas. And it would create logistical and ethical questions—requiring homeowners building a backyard apartment in North Seattle, for example, to physically take trees to South Seattle and plant them in front of other people’s homes.

A final Pedersen amendment, which would increase the fee to remove midsize trees from $2,833 (in the underlying legislation) to a variable rate ranging from $4,000 to $7,425, didn’t get a vote. (Making the case, Pedersen claimed developers would choose to take lower profits rather than passing the cost of tree replacement fees on to renters or homebuyers.) Instead, the council adopted an amendment from Strauss increasing the fee to remove some protected tree species while keeping the basic fee at $2,833.

The full council will vote on the entire tree protection later this month.

As we’ve noted, the legislation still places the burden of tree preservation and replacement on individual property owners, despite the fact that almost half the tree loss in Seattle has occurred in city-owned parks and rights-of-way. Forcing private property owners to plant or preserve trees on their lawns won’t save Seattle’s tree canopy, but it will prevent some development and drive up the cost of housing as developers pass along their increased costs. The good news is that the council majority seems to have prevented Pedersen, an anti-density crusader to the end, from using tree protections to place a stranglehold on new housing in every corner of the city.

City Council, Development, Environment, Opinion

Byzantine Tree Regulations Won’t Save Seattle’s Urban Forest

By Erica C. Barnett

Advocates for preserving Seattle’s existing trees could soon achieve some of their longstanding goals when the city updates its city’s tree ordinance, which restricts which trees private property owners can remove and how much they must pay the city to do so. The proposed new rules would impose new restrictions on about 48,000 trees citywide, more than tripling the number of privately owned trees under the city’s regulatory purview.

The aim of the tree ordinance, at least according to the tree ordinance, is to “preserve and enhance the City’s physical and aesthetic character by preventing untimely and indiscriminate removal or destruction of trees” while “balancing other citywide priorities such as housing production.” A secondary goal is to reduce historical inequities in Seattle’s tree coverage—wealthy, white neighborhoods in north Seattle neighborhoods benefit from a lush tree canopy while much of of Southeast Seattle is comparatively barren, and losing ground—by planting trees, using payments from developers to right historical wrongs.

The proposal, which the city council’s land use committee plans to pass later this month, creates complex new regulatory maze for developers, and ordinary homeowners who want to remove trees on their own property, to navigate. The new rules will make it harder, or more expensive, for housing developers and homeowners to remove trees on their property, and ban the removal of large “heritage” trees for virtually any reason.

The rules impose new restrictions on trees between 12 and 36 inches in diameter, requiring land owners to replace the tree with one that will grow to the same size or pay a “payment in lieu” of replacement that ranges from $2,833 (for trees between 12 and 24 inches in diameter) to tens of thousands of dollars, depending on the size of the tree.

Under the new rules, all trees larger than 6 inches in diameter would fall into one of four “tiers” that would correspond with new restrictions on their removal. At the small end, the proposed new rules will allow homeowners and residential developers to remove up to two “tier 4” trees—those with diameters between 6 and 12 inches—every three years—a significant reduction from the current rule, which allows the removal of up to three such trees per year. On high end, the rules will ban the removal of “tier 1,” or “heritage,” trees, under any circumstances other than a documented hazard or emergency.  Certain trees, including madronas and spruce trees, will become “heritage” trees as soon as they reach six inches in diameter.

The rules impose new restrictions on trees between 12 and 36 inches in diameter, requiring land owners to replace the tree with one that will grow to the same size or pay a “payment in lieu” of replacement that ranges from $2,833 (for trees between 12 and 24 inches in diameter) to tens of thousands of dollars, depending on the size of the tree. The proposal decreases the threshold for an “exceptional” tree from 30 to 24 inches; under the formula the city uses, the fee to remove a 25-inch tree, which is just above the new threshold, would be $8,767.

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To monitor and enforce all these new regulations, and many more besides, the city’s Department of Construction and Inspections says it will need to hire three new full-time staffers at an initial cost of $273,000 a year. That more than offsets the revenues the city expects to receive from payments in lieu of tree plantings, which will be used to plant new trees on city-owned property—an estimated $191,000 in the first year.

Analysis of the tree legislation didn’t include the exact cost of replacing trees removed for development. But using the city’s own average “nursery purchase price” of $2,833 per tree, that $191,000 would plant about 67 trees citywide—hardly enough to address geographical inequities in the city’s tree canopy, which has resulted in heat islands across Southeast Seattle and other historically disadvantaged neighborhoods.

Imposing new restrictions on tree removal will probably result in less housing development, especially from affordable-housing developers who can’t just add the cost of new regulations onto their residents’ monthly rent. Tree-preservation advocates, who often rail against development, may well see this as a win. What it almost certainly won’t do is keep Seattle’s tree canopy from shrinking or make the city’s “urban forest” sustainable.

The obvious way to address a declining tree canopy and add trees in the parts of the city that lack them is for the city, not private property owners, to plant (and make room for) more trees. Yet the tree ordinance barely mentions trees in public spaces, which make up 36 percent of the “Urban Forestry Management Units” in the city—mentioning street trees only in the context of property owners’ obligations to maintain and replace them.

At a meeting of the land use committee last week, Councilmember Tammy Morales, who represents Southeast Seattle, was the only committee member who mentioned this obvious point. “I’m interested in how we actually plant more trees… in areas where we don’t have enough,” Morales said, “particularly in some parts of the city [where there are] potential impacts on the cost of housing production, which we also know we need desperately.” With just three meetings left before the committee passes the legislation, time is running out for her colleagues to listen.