The blooms have come. It’s that time of year, folks, and it’s not just love that’s in the air, as putrid tangs disseminate throughout USC Village to the nauseated chagrin of many students. One wonders where this smell could come from — and no, it’s not because it’s Valentine’s Day, though the serendipity is not lost on me. It’s from the Callery pear — Pyrus calleryana — a plant that managed to impregnate the urban forests of the United States and one whose abortion has been long overdue.

The Callery pear’s arrival to the U.S. is a tale intimately intertwined with the history of its landscaping. In the late 19th century, as the U.S. started replacing ranches with plantations, farmers began searching for foreign species to diversify their agricultural portfolios. 

Daily headlines, sent straight to your inbox.

Subscribe to our newsletter to keep up with the latest at and around USC.

The U.S. Department of Agriculture employed Frank N. Meyer, a Dutchman selected for his stamina and vigor, to brave the virgin wilderness of China to find a genetically compatible mate for the disease-ravaged French pear back home. In his travels, Meyer encountered a remarkable specimen: the Callery pear. Soon after, he sent heaps of seed back to the states for testing. Meyer never saw his beloved pear make it back to the U.S., though, as he drowned in the Yangtze River in 1918.

The seeds he sent did reach the U.S., however, and successfully strengthened the French pears through their rootstock. But in the 1950s, a man named John Creech encountered a variant tree grown from Meyer’s seeds and tested its ornamental qualities in a Maryland neighborhood. The clones soon became popular for their burst of profuse white blooms in the early spring, and it was planted across the Eastern and Midwestern states.

Lawn owners from Chicago to Charleston could proudly choke on the offensive odors emitted from this tree in their yards, but many began to notice that these blooms had fecundated their native forests and roadsides. They began crowding out native trees, forming impregnable monocultures hostile to wildlife. The very qualities that made this tree useful for agriculture made it not just the enemy of anyone with functioning olfactory bulbs, but ecosystems across the U.S.

The problem escalated to the point where multiple states banned the sale of these trees outright, as its spread has become somewhat of a national emergency. While Ohio, Pennsylvania, South Carolina and soon Kansas will have barred nurseries from distributing this stinky menace, California has yet to declare it a problem. While currently on “watch” by the Invasive Species Council of California, their continued planting could lead to an escape from urban confinement. Trails across the state could be smothered by this tree, and already vulnerable ecosystems may collapse.

Why then, when former President C. L. Max Nikias erected USC Village, did he include this particular foliage at its base? Could the blooms have reminded him of escapades with the billionaire donors of USC? The reason is perhaps more insidious. 

Nurseries in California have a chokehold on the state’s landscaping. They profit from pumping out the same set of exotics that they have been for decades, and disruption to that cash flow will not be tolerated. While enacting legislation barring the sale of this promiscuous tree is the ethical move for the state, the reality is far more convoluted.

The quintessential example of this reality is the shutting down of Assembly Bill 1573. This landmark bill, proposed almost exactly a year ago, would have mandated that 75% of all new landscaping in California be local native plants. If enacted, urban landscapes would have the critical mass of native plants to support active ecosystems within cities.

But major industry representatives gathered to lobby against the bill. Among their arguments were that not all California natives are drought-tolerant and that they aren’t suited to be grown in nurseries. These – fallacious – arguments weaponize sustainability in the name of complacency. The only conservation these companies are interested in is that of profit. The bill was shuttered Sept. 7, 2023.

What perhaps stinks more than the Callery pears is USC’s half-hearted attempts to promote sustainability themselves. In a previous article, I calculated that less than 50% of USC’s “native” landscaping is genuinely native, signaling the fact that they, like these massive nurseries, refuse to go any further than drought tolerance in landscaping. It’s the kind of bare-minimum thinking that is holding us back from genuine progress. They’ve shafted us and the environment as a result.

But for USC, the first step toward redemption is clear. Yank the Callery pears from campus. The noses of all creatures will be thankful for it.

Daniel Pons is a sophomore majoring in geodesign writing about USC’s architecture and how it impacts the community. This is a Valentine’s Day edition of his column, “Walls of Troy,” which runs every other Monday.