the tree deserves to die with dignity
In the eucalyptus groves of Galicia, a 150-year-old giant named O Avó — Europe's tallest eucalyptus at 68 meters — is entering its final chapter, hollowed by fungal disease and insect damage that have stripped away most of its vitality. Specialists who spent days studying the tree have concluded that it cannot be saved, only accompanied: through careful soil treatments, antifungal measures, and selective pruning, they hope to grant it another three or four decades of standing. The decision not to fell the tree speaks to something older than arboriculture — a growing human instinct to honor decline rather than erase it, and to let witnesses of time fall on their own terms.
- Europe's tallest eucalyptus has lost 70% of its vitality to fungal pathogens and a leaf-stripping insect, and the deterioration, though gradual, is now unmistakable.
- A six-person team of specialists spent three days using drones, soil samples, and visual inspection to map the full extent of the damage — and what they found was sobering.
- Felling the tree has been firmly rejected; instead, experts are proposing a palliative care plan of soil support, antifungal treatments, and structural pruning to slow the inevitable.
- The tree's own fame is accelerating its decline — thousands of annual visitors have compacted the soil around its roots, and violent storms now threaten its weakened frame.
- Authorities have expanded safety perimeters and restricted access during high winds, while projecting that O Avó could remain standing for another 30 to 40 years with proper care.
In a grove near Viveiro, in Galicia's Lugo province, stands O Avó — a eucalyptus 68 meters tall, the largest of its kind in Europe, and for 150 years a quiet sentinel beside the Landro River. Declared a Natural Monument and long considered Galicia's most distinguished tree, it is now dying. Fungal pathogens have taken hold in its wood, and the goníptero insect has stripped its crown bare. The tree has lost roughly 70 percent of its vitality.
To understand the full picture, the regional government commissioned a detailed study. A team of six specialists from the firm Arbogal spent three days examining the tree from roots to canopy, combining visual inspection, soil analysis, and drone flights. Their conclusion was sobering but not without hope: the tree's condition was relatively stable, and with intervention, it might endure another 30 to 40 years — what the experts distinguished as its ornamental life, the period during which it remains visually and symbolically powerful even as its biological vigor fades.
The proposed response is one of accompaniment rather than rescue. Soil treatments, antifungal applications, and selective pruning will slow the decline without reversing it. Bernabé Moya, Spain's foremost authority on monumental trees, visited the site and endorsed the approach. The consensus among all specialists was clear: O Avó deserves to die with dignity.
The tree's fame has complicated its survival. Thousands of visitors each year have compacted the soil around its roots, and extreme weather poses a constant threat to its weakened structure. A protective fence was installed in 2015, and authorities have since expanded the safety perimeter, restricting access when winds are strong. The decision to tend rather than fell O Avó reflects a broader shift in how aging and irreplaceable things are understood — not as problems to be solved, but as presences to be honored until they are ready to fall.
In a eucalyptus grove near the town of Viveiro in Galicia's Lugo province stands a tree that has become something of a pilgrimage site across Europe. O Avó, as locals call it, reaches 68 meters into the sky—the tallest eucalyptus on the continent. For 150 years it has stood at the edge of the Landro River, one of the first of its kind planted in the region when the species arrived to fuel a new industry. It earned the title of Galicia's most distinguished tree and was declared a Natural Monument. But now, after a century and a half of growth, the giant is dying.
The decline has been gradual but unmistakable. Fungal pathogens have taken hold in the wood. An insect called the goníptero, which strips eucalyptus leaves bare, has fed on its crown. The tree has lost roughly 70 percent of its vitality. When the regional government of Galicia decided to understand what was happening, they commissioned a detailed study. A team of six specialists from the local firm Arbogal spent three days examining every part of the tree—its roots, its trunk, its canopy. They used visual inspection, soil samples, and drone flights to build a complete picture of its condition.
What they found was sobering but not hopeless. The tree's overall state was relatively stable, the experts concluded, but the damage was real and significant. The fungal infection and pest pressure had taken their toll. Yet the specialists believed the tree might endure another 30 to 40 years—a distinction they made between what they called the tree's ornamental life and its strictly biological one. A tree can remain visually impressive and symbolically powerful long after its vigor has faded.
The proposed treatment plan reflects this philosophy. Rather than fell the tree—an option that experts have firmly rejected—they recommend soil treatments to support the root system, targeted antifungal applications to slow the pathogen's spread, and careful, selective pruning to maintain the tree's structural integrity. These measures will not restore what has been lost, but they may slow the inevitable decline. Bernabé Moya, Spain's most respected expert on monumental trees, visited the site and endorsed the diagnosis. All the specialists agreed on one principle: the tree deserves to die with dignity.
The challenges facing O Avó extend beyond disease. The tree's fame has become a burden. Thousands of visitors now make their way to the grove each year, and their footsteps have compacted the soil around the roots, destabilizing the tree's foundation. In 2015, a fence was installed to limit direct contact while still allowing people to see and photograph the giant. But extreme weather poses a constant threat. Heavy rains and violent storms can snap weakened branches, and the tree's advanced age makes it vulnerable to every gust of wind. The authorities have expanded the safety perimeter and now restrict access on days when winds are strong.
O Avó has become more than a botanical specimen. It is a symbol of Galicia's natural heritage, a living link to the region's industrial past, and a destination for people who want to stand beneath something genuinely ancient and vast. The decision to let it age rather than cut it down reflects a broader shift in how we think about old things—not as failures to be removed, but as witnesses to be honored. The tree will continue to weaken. One day, perhaps decades from now, it will fall. But for now, it will be tended, protected, and allowed to remain standing.
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All experts agreed the tree deserves to die with dignity rather than be felled— Arbogal specialists and Bernabé Moya, Spain's leading expert on monumental trees
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why not just cut it down and replant? Wouldn't that be cleaner than watching it slowly fail?
Because it's not just a tree anymore. It's a monument—it has legal protection, historical meaning. And there's something about letting something old complete its own arc rather than deciding when it ends.
But if it's dying anyway, doesn't the fence and the restrictions mean people can't really experience it?
They can still see it, still feel its scale. The fence protects the roots from being trampled to death. It's a compromise—you don't get to touch it, but you get to witness it.
The experts said it could last 30 to 40 more years. That seems optimistic given the fungal damage.
It is optimistic, but it's based on a real distinction. The tree doesn't have to be biologically perfect to be worth preserving. Its ornamental life—what it means, what it looks like—can outlast its vigor.
What happens when a branch falls on someone?
That's why they close it during storms and why the perimeter keeps expanding. It's a constant negotiation between access and safety, between letting people experience something and protecting them from it.