Tree-of-Heaven is a name that strikes fear into the hearts of many a gardener or ecologist. Ailanthus altissima, sometimes also called the Tree of Hell, is the only species that has been tried in our area, but given the results, I think it's best not to experiment with others, unless they have been somehow proven to be better behaved.
Ailanthus is probably the most invasive tree in temperate climates. In wetter climates, it can replace entire forests, and in our area it aggressively out-competes other trees in riparian zones. Its seeds spread on the wind, and its roots can creep under a fence and grow new trees as well. When the trunk is cut, every root bursts to life and forms a thicket of small trees, making it difficult to eradicate.
You shouldn't plant this tree. But still, it's hard not to admire a tree that can take root anywhere a pocket of soot and urban grime collects in a cracked concrete surface. If the tree was satisfied busting bricks and driveways in back alleys, I might not mind it as much, but the ecological havoc it has caused can't be denied.
I am apparently not the only one crazy enough to have some admiration for this tree. It was used as the titular allegory in Betty Smith's classic, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Tough enough to brave the cold, snowy New York winter and Sacramento's hot, arid summers, it seems this tree's primary habitat is anywhere we don't want it to grow. But maybe we need reminding that we can never completely control nature.
Ailanthus is probably the most invasive tree in temperate climates. In wetter climates, it can replace entire forests, and in our area it aggressively out-competes other trees in riparian zones. Its seeds spread on the wind, and its roots can creep under a fence and grow new trees as well. When the trunk is cut, every root bursts to life and forms a thicket of small trees, making it difficult to eradicate.
You shouldn't plant this tree. But still, it's hard not to admire a tree that can take root anywhere a pocket of soot and urban grime collects in a cracked concrete surface. If the tree was satisfied busting bricks and driveways in back alleys, I might not mind it as much, but the ecological havoc it has caused can't be denied.
I am apparently not the only one crazy enough to have some admiration for this tree. It was used as the titular allegory in Betty Smith's classic, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Tough enough to brave the cold, snowy New York winter and Sacramento's hot, arid summers, it seems this tree's primary habitat is anywhere we don't want it to grow. But maybe we need reminding that we can never completely control nature.