In the late sixties and early seventies, the American Elm tree was ravaged by the Dutch Elm disease, a parasitic fungus spread by the Elm Bark Beetle. Miles and miles of tree-line boulevards were razed, and still the plague spread. In my town was a small section that had survived for thirty-five years, still hanging on, with graceful Elms forming a perfect archway over the asphalt street below. Yesterday I saw that they had finally succumbed, only ugly stumps remained, and what was a cool grotto is now a hot city street. New trees will be planted, and in about twenty years the street will have thick shade again. But the new trees are a mix, and however nice they appear individually, they will never equal the massed splendor of an Elm Canopy.