| In the interest of speed and timeliness, this story is fed directly from the Associated Press newswire and may contain spelling or grammatical errors. |
LOS ANGELES (AP) They could just cut it up and use it for firewood, but what kind of respect would that show a tree that helped launch a revolution in salsa and party dip, to say nothing of giving a huge boost to California's economy.
The ``Mother Tree,'' the one to which every Hass avocado in the world can trace its lineage, died of root rot last year in suburban La Habra Heights. It was 76.
It was chopped down last month and now lies lifeless in a Ventura nursery, while agricultural officials try to figure out what to do with it.
``It was a special tree, no doubt. It spawned an industry,'' said Derek Knobbel, president of the California Avocado Society, a nonprofit group with 900 members worldwide
There has been talk of turning it into a bar, carving it up into clocks or perhaps commemorative plaques. Even of making it into avocado bowls, which might be its most fitting fate.
For when it comes to avocados, the black, bumpy-skinned Hass is king of them all.
Hass trees produce 95 percent of the avocados grown in California, which is the nation's top avocado-producing state, according to the California Avocado Commission. They also provide fruit for growers from one side of the globe to the other, including farmers in Mexico, Costa Rica, South Africa, New Zealand and Spain.
Those growers have Rudolph Hass to thank for that.
The mail carrier bought the mother tree as a seedling from A.R. Rideout of nearby Whittier in 1926 and planted it in his yard.
Nobody knows what variety of seed produced the tree, according to California Avocado Commission officials, who say Rideout tended to use whatever he found.
After putting the tree in his yard, Hass planned to graft other varieties off it. When the grafts didn't take he considered cutting it down, but his children talked him out of it, saying they liked the taste of the avocados it produced better than any others.
Instead, he named the variety of avocado it produced after himself, taking out a patent in 1935 and entering into an agreement with nurseryman Harold Brokaw to sell and promote the fruit. The patent expired in 1952 the year Hass died.
By then, the Hass avocado had taken off because of its taste, durability and extended shelf life. It passed its green rival, the Fuerte, in the 1960s, and now accounts for about 80 percent of consumption and brings in about $350 million a year.
When the 65-foot tree that started it all developed a fungus several years ago, Harold Brokaw's nephew Hank set out to save it.
He nursed the tree for more than a decade, trying to clear away the vegetation choking its base and using chemicals to kill the rot. He lost the battle last year.
``I felt responsible,'' Brokaw said. ``People kind of depended on me to take care of the tree the tree which I lost.''
Now he's trying to figure out a way to give it a proper send-off, and in the past month the Brokaw Nursery has received more than two-dozen suggestions.
A self-proclaimed avocado lover in Pasadena wants a wood guacamole bowl. The Hacienda Country Club, close to the original site of the tree, wants to build a bar. A Saticoy avocado grower wants a piece to hang on his wall. And the California Avocado Commission has suggested plaques, gavels or clocks.
The World Avocado Congress has also been asked to weigh in with an opinion when it meets Oct. 19-24 in Spain.
Such a fuss over a fruit tree, although unusual, isn't altogether unheard of.
Citrus growers have their own mother tree in Riverside, the one that started the navel orange phenomenon. The tree, more than a century old, stands behind a small metal fence on a downtown corner.
Ted Batkin, president of the California Citrus Research Board, said avocado and citrus growers tend to grow more attached to their trees than others, in part because the trees tend to last longer.
``If you're a tomato grower, the tomato tree lasts for 90 days. It dies. Who cares? If you plant a peach tree, it's good for 15 years,'' Batkin said. ``But avocado and citrus trees they last a long, long time.''
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On the Net:
California Avocado Commission: http://www.avocado.org/