Editor’s note: This article originally appeared in the Lincoln Agricultural Committee newsletter and is republished here with permission.

By Heather Anderson

On a wintry, sun-dappled day in Flint Field, a man wearing a trapper’s hat with ear flaps braves the cold to check on a young chestnut orchard. He has just left the warmth of a senior citizen luncheon at Lincoln’s Parish House where—with all the fervor of a southern tent revivalist—he preaches salvation every Friday.

He’s not a Bible thumper, mind you. Nor is he bent on saving our collective soul. Instead, Mark Meehl — known about town as the Chestnut Man — is on a passionate (some might say evangelical) mission to save the beloved American chestnut tree from the brink of extinction.

“The native tree is largely absent from our forest, and we want it back. So, we’re working on it,” says Meehl, a 73-year-old retiree from North Reading. He adds, “Why wouldn’t you want something back that belongs here? It was man’s fault for its demise.”

By tinkering with Mother Nature, Meehl and a cohort of self-described “chestnutters” are part of a national movement to develop a blight-resistant American chestnut tree. Led by The American Chestnut Foundation (TACF), it’s a decades-old pursuit. Meehl has been a TACF member since 2014. The goal? Restore the tree to its native forests from Maine to Alabama.

So far, the results have been underwhelming. But a new, genetically engineered, blight-resistant American chestnut tree called Darling 54 could save the day. Developed in an academic lab, Darling 54 is on the cusp of federal regulatory approval. In fact, 2026 could be a pivotal year for the American chestnut tree. “Because of modern genetic engineering, the future looks bright,” says Meehl.

This is a story about hope. And, quite possibly, rebirth.

Short history lesson

Once called the “redwoods of the east” for their height (up to 150 feet) and girth, the once mighty American chestnut tree was wiped out by an airborne fungal disease called blight, likely imported on trade ships from Asia in the late 1800s. The blight raged through America’s forests, killing about 4 billion trees by 1950, according to TACF.

Wildlife that depended on chestnuts as their winter food source starved. And an economy that relied on lumber — for cradles, coffins and everything in between — tanked. Historians consider it one of the worst ecological disasters in American history.

As for those chestnuts roasting on an open fire at Christmastime? A different species likely imported from Italy or China, Meehl explains. And those shiny, brown orbs used as ammunition in childhood chestnut fights? An invasive, non-edible (as in toxic) species called horse chestnuts.

Oh My Darling 54

Researchers at the State University of New York College of Environmental Science and Forestry developed Darling 54, claiming it could better resist chestnut blight. The U.S. Department of Agriculture issued a preliminary positive review last June, finding that the tree is “unlikely to pose a plant pest risk,” according to SUNY’s website.

But Darling 54 still awaits federal approval from the Food and Drug Administration (as chestnuts are a food) and the Environmental Protection Agency. All three prongs of government must declare it safe to humans and to the environment before pollen from these transgenic trees can be introduced to Lincoln’s orchard.

Mark Meehl checks on the American chestnut orchard at Flint Field. Meehl is the orchard manager in Lincoln as well as in several other towns statewide.

On a two-acre patch of town-owned conservation land in Flint Field, the young orchard was planted specifically in anticipation of breeding its trees with genetically engineered, blight-resistant pollen, Meehl explains. Started in 2021, the Flint Field Germplasm Conservation Orchard — GCO for short — is basically playing host to a national science project about transgenics.

Speckled with bluebird boxes, this fast-growing orchard is home to 400 wild American chestnut trees from diverse regional climates: 110 exclusively from Massachusetts; 230 from throughout New England, New Jersey and Maryland; and 60 from southern states such as South Carolina and Georgia. All trees are numbered, monitored, and catalogued in a TACF database managed by Meehl.

The reason for diversity? To see which region’s trees adapt best to the local environment in the face of climate change. The idea is to produce the hardiest trees, Meehl explains, and to capture their DNA.

If all goes well, he anticipates a high-volume, nut-producing orchard and, quite possibly, a controlled pollination with Darling 54 this summer.

But government deregulation isn’t the only hurdle. Those opposed to GMOs (Genetically Modified Organisms) are readying for a fight.

“Anti-GMO people are poised and ready to attack deregulation of Darling 54 even though no harm to the environment or to food safety has been shown,” says Meehl, adding that the food fight between GMO and anti-GMO people has been going on for decades. “The same blight-tolerant gene is found in strawberries and bananas, available (for human consumption) every day.”

Louise Bergeron, a scientist and past chair of Lincoln’s Agricultural Commission, also highly anticipates transgenic deregulation. She belongs to a niche group of chestnut enthusiasts who host orchards on private land.

Unlike many GMOs, the blight-tolerant gene in Darling 54 is not a pesticide, explains Bergeron, who recently moved from Lincoln to Petersham where she plays host to a 110-tree germplasm orchard. The blight-tolerant gene “is naturally present in native plants and grains such as wheat.”

Ideologically, The American Chestnut Foundation is not against GMO technology, either. But the nonprofit foundation has reservations about Darling 54’s effectiveness and recently pulled its support. By contrast, Meehl—project manager for the chestnut foundation’s Massachusetts/Rhode Island chapter—is keeping the faith.

Who is Mark Meehl?

“I call him ‘Chestnut Man’ and everyone knows who I’m talking about,” says Lincoln’s Carol DiGianni, oftentimes his tablemate at Fridays’ senior center luncheon. “I planted two of his trees in hopes they’d marry” but they’ve yet to pollinate. “They’re growing surprisingly fast.”

(Botany 101: A plant’s mission in life is to produce a seed. Because chestnut trees do not self-pollinate, they need at least one nearby tree to exchange pollen and produce fertile nuts.)

Meehl, who holds a degree in zoology, is strictly a volunteer. He travels across the state—sometimes by motorcycle—spreading his enthusiasm. He lectures, educates, and gives away American chestnuts and saplings at churches, schools, libraries, and senior centers.

Thanks to Meehl, students at Birches School, a nature-based K-8 private school on Bedford Road, are likewise crusading for an American chestnut tree comeback. He enlisted them, along with Auxiliary Program Director Ken Clarkson, to help care for the trees in Flint Field.

“It’s a good educational tool for us,” says Clarkson in a phone call, adding that old town maps show chestnut fields existed right where the school stands now. “Every March, we check in with Mark to coordinate seed planting. We propagate them right here.”

By taking a hands-on role, says Clarkson, “it helps give kids hope in bringing back this ‘mighty giant’ that was one of the most important trees in the ecosystem.”

When he’s not proselytizing, Meehl maintains chestnut orchards in other “host” towns including Weston, Littleton and Westborough; as well as a second orchard in Lincoln. It sits on the former Umbrello family farmstead, located just beyond the railroad tracks that cross Route 117.

Started 23 years ago by violin teacher John Emery, it’s a much older breeding experiment and involves 100 hybrid trees. The hybrids are a cross between American and blight-resistant Chinese chestnut trees. It’s part of TACF’s Backcross Breeding Program intended to create “a variety as American as possible” while retaining the Asian blight-resistant trait, explains Meehl.

Some early-generation survivors of backcross breeding still stand in the Route 117 orchard and produce nuts. But several “ghost trees”—trees that have died and their trunks turned white—haunt the orchard. Meehl, who inherited the orchard, has replaced several dead trees with more hybrids.

But the effort seems more like holding vigil.

The Backcross Breeding Program is all but defunct. “It’s a shame,” says Meehl. “A lot of work, all for naught. …I think the transgenic approach is much better at moving the mission forward.”

But first, the trees in Flint Field must survive New England weather and wildlife.

Standing amongst the scrappy trees, Meehl points to deer damage caused by bucks rubbing antlers against the trunks. On another trunk, he notices a wart-like wound—called a canker—caused by blight.

But a prickly burr that once contained three coveted chestnuts clings to its branches. And the dying tree has sent up new root shoots from the soil.

In other words, the tree has done its job.

“Trees are smart enough to know they’re in trouble,” says Meehl, who believes trees talk to one another through their root systems. “This tree is putting up a good fight.”

Looking out over the orchard, Meehl smiles wide like a proud dad. Overall, he is pleased with what he sees. The trees “are coming along just fine,” he says. “They’re really healthy.”

He’s envisioning a fireworks display of chestnut flowers this summer. Late bloomers, American chestnut trees reach full bloom by July 4, but typically not before they’re five years old. This orchard is approaching its sixth year. About 15 trees blossomed last season. Meehl expects four times as many trees to flower this summer.

Meehl ducks into a car for warmth after a tour of the orchard. He offers up a brown, prickly burr. A souvenir. Asked why he has devoted his retirement to crusading for a tree’s comeback, Chestnut Man is quick to answer.

“Most people want to leave the world a little better, to do something good for Mother Nature,” he replies, adding, “It’s just a wonderful tree. It won’t grow back on its own without man’s help.”

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