But last year, that family of four was reduced to just three. Construction of a hotel killed one of them, and its place, a cell phone tower now stands. I still take my spatial bearings by it, but I miss the beauty of that magnificent tree crown.
But our brave new world of internet communication has created a sort of counterpart to this story. On a hike to Big Mountain, a popular hiking spot in the Wasatch Mountains, I spied what seemed to be an odd-looking tree, one that stretched far higher than the surrounding forest. Perfectly straight stubby branches with spiky foliage poked out at precise horizontal angles from its trunk.
It was actually a cell phone tower that had been disguised as a conifer tree to blend in with the habitat. If you were driving by, you might be fooled, but anyone walking by would instantly spot it as a fake.
Cell towers disguised as trees are increasingly common, especially in cities and suburbs, where residents demand fast cell service but don't want unsightly cell towers in the places they live and work.
Camouflaged cell towers originated with companies that built artificial landscapes for theme parks. Since the 1990’s, tens of thousands of disguised cellular transmission sites have sprouted up around the country.
Many people prefer these fake trees over those metal monopoles topped with the tangles of cables. In fact, city officials are willing to spend twice as much money to camouflage the regular cell towers in our landscapes.
The spread of these stealth towers presents philosophical questions about the use — or exploitation — of nature in our lives. I’m not sure how I'd feel if that tower in Costa Rica had been disguised as the beloved “fourth sister” fig tree it replaced.
It’s these conundrums that make us think deeply about the complex relationships that continue to shift between people and trees.
