By Burt Glover
October 29, 2023

It may be the tree that I love to hate. Then again, maybe it is the tree I hate to love. When it comes to the Bradford pear, it all comes down to the season. Now, with autumn creeping in, I feel a certain excitement starting to build whenever I drive by one the grander specimens. This week, I saw the first color emerging in the tops of the trees. Soon, these Bradford pears will explode with stunning shades of mahogany-red, crimson, and orange-red, tinged with yellow. I will try to keep my car on the road as I drive by these beauties, slack-jawed and amazed; likewise in springtime, when witnessing their masses of delicate white flowers, usually one of the first to emerge after a barren, cold winter. So, why do I feel the urge to carry a chainsaw around to cut down every Bradford pear that I see? Why is the sale of this tree increasingly being banned by so many states? Is it the devil tree that it is now made out to be?

To make sense of it all, you must know how a Bradford pear is made. Yes, it is made. The process begins with the Callery pear, Pyrus calleryana, native to Western China and Vietnam. The Callery pear is a very vigorous tree, able to grow in arid lands, standing water, shade, sun, rich soil and poor, (some say it will even grow in concrete). It is fast-growing and resistant to the diseases that plague other pears, however, it tends to produce long, sharp, thorns along the stems and branches, which make for a very undesirable tree. Graft a more desirable pear cultivar onto the rootstock of the Callery pear, and you have a winner. That is what horticulturists did in the 1950s upon discovery of a single specimen of a Callery pear that was characteristically lovely in leaf and flower, yet uncharacteristically thornless. They took scions from this Callery pear tree — which would be named “Bradford” — and grafted them to common Callery rootstock. Every Bradford pear they “made” was a genetically-identical clone of that original cultivar. Because Callery pears cannot self-pollinate, the trees were sterile — incapable of producing viable seeds.

These Bradford clones were brought to market at garden centers and big box stores across the southern and eastern U.S. The trees were inexpensive, fast growing, and eagerly snapped up by landscapers and homeowners, who planted them as singular specimens and in picturesque rows along city streets, rural driveways, in parking lots, apartment complexes, schools, churches, front yards and backyards everywhere. Entire subdivisions were planted with them. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, Bradford pears were the most commonly planted tree in South Carolina.

The problems arose after plant breeders started making “improvements” to the original. Bradfords will grow 50 feet tall, if allowed. What about a shorter tree? Let’s see some more foliage colors. Wouldn’t a narrower crown be nice? Whatever. Consumer demand led to the production of more cultivars — Aristocrat, Autumn Blaze, Capital, Redspire, and many others. The problem with these trees is that they were no longer genetically identical to the Bradford stock, which meant they were only a bee’s flight from producing viable seeds. The birds did their part by eating the fruits of these trees and pooping the seeds throughout the countryside. Thus began the invasion.

ABOVE: A country lane on Aiken’s southside, sprouted with dozens of Bradford pears. These trees are among the earliest to show color in autumn. Spot them by the red leaves.

The seeds produced from these unions produced all manner of variations, including, notably, trees with the characteristic Callery “thorns.” These thorns can be wicked, often growing upwards of 3-inches long and easily capable of penetrating shoe leather and tractor tires.

ABOVE: Callery pear thorns are spaced about one-inch apart along the stem and can be quite long.

Clemson University deems them as one of the most aggressive invasive plants we have in South Carolina. They establish themselves in fields, forests, roadsides, right-of-ways and take over by means of newly-produced seeds or root sprouts, crowding out any other plant in their path.

ABOVE: Dilapidated Bradford pears in the parking lot behind South Aiken High, the green tree in the left photo a thorny Callery pear sprouted from the rootstock.

BELOW: Nearby are the telltale thickets of Bradford pears, perhaps the offspring from the trees above, sprouting into the landscape.

Deer and any other animal that might feed on their leaves avoid them due to the thorns. Being an introduced species, they are free of the insects and caterpillars that attack native trees, making Bradford thickets food deserts to insect-eating birds and animals. The Callery pear rootstock exudes chemicals that suppress other plant species that grow in their vicinity. They spread/escape to fields, forests and untended waste areas, growing in dense impenetrable stands that outcompete and crowd out native plants for light, water and nutrients.

You may wonder, how can this scourge be contained? We’ll slash and burn them out — yeah! For every stem of this plant that is burned, four more stems sprout in its place. Cutting them down only causes the vigorous Callery rootstock to burst into action. The Callery pear is the South’s equivalent of kudzu, occurring in the 21st century. The best hope for eradication is one tree at at a time — stop selling Bradford pears, stop planting them, and quickly phase out any existing trees in our landscapes, pretty as they may be at certain times of the year.

Love/hate? I’m still trying to decide which side of the coin I’m on. This is, after all, an invasive species of plant. I lived for a while in one of those apartment complexes that originally planted them to shade the parking lot . Come springtime came their beautiful flowers, smelling of….. rotted fish? Baby poop? Seems that Bradford pears evolved to attract fly pollinators with this stinky scent, rather than bees. Ours produced large fruits that collected and rotted in the parking lot. Walking from car to door was like walking in through a minefield of dog doo. Over time, heavy winds and ice storms shattered theirfragile branches, which crashed onto fences, cars, clotheslines…. the apartment building itself. 

Bradford pears? The original invention seemed like such a grand idea. But those unintended consequences… ouch! Let me get my chainsaw. Better, still, a camera. It is probably more effective than a chainsaw and an infinitely more pleasant way to spend a Sunday morning.