A Development Could Kill One of the Oldest Living Things on the Planet
Conservation groups try to protect the Jurupa oak in Southern California from the tentacles of sprawl

Jurupa oak. | Photos courtesy of Aaron Echols
Opinion: The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the official position of the Sierra Club.
Few living organisms can claim to be 1,000 years or older. The ones that can are most likely trees. From Methuselah, the Eastern Sierra’s nearly 5,000-year-old bristlecone pine, to Pando, a clonal colony of quaking aspens in Utah more than 14,000 years old, these ancient beings provide a snapshot of our world.
The US Forest Service rightly protects Methuselah and Pando so travelers far and wide can gain perspective on our brief human lifespan and the mark we leave on Earth. Another of these neolithic wonders is an oak between 13,000 and 18,000 years old in California’s Riverside County, but it’s being denied the protection it desperately needs.
The Jurupa oak, an 80-foot-long Palmer’s oak shrub (Quercus palmeri), is one of the oldest living organisms on Earth. This clonal colony sprouted among saber-toothed cats, giant ground sloths, and mammoths during the Pleistocene era. However, the future of the oak is now in peril thanks to a decision by the Jurupa Valley City Council. In September, it narrowly agreed to approve a sprawling 917-acre development. The council voted 3-2 to allow a massive warehouse complex, chain restaurants, salons, and breweries just 450 feet from the oak. It will increase Jurupa Valley’s population by 6 percent, bulldozing more than 200 acres for homes and 140 acres for industrial and business parks.
Despite the dangers to new residents and the surrounding community, developers are planning to build all of this smack dab in the middle of an area east of Los Angeles that’s designated as a high-risk fire hazard severity zone. So why didn’t the Jurupa Valley City Council protect the ancient and enduring Jurupa oak as the Forest Service did Pando and Methuselah? The simple answers are location and money. The oak’s rocky outcrop is in an area gradually being devoured to accommodate our obsession with online shopping. In its place, the city wants to see a vast landscape of warehouses and roads clogged with trucks going back and forth 24/7. In 1980, the Inland Empire, which encompasses Jurupa Valley, had 234 warehouses. Now, there are more than 4,000, covering nearly 26,000 acres of the region. In the eyes of the warehouse industry and the city, the world’s oldest Palmer’s oak—and the last in its watershed—is disposable.
This enduring oak, with its spindly leaves and ancient roots, shouldn’t be thrown away like packaging from an online purchase. But that’s the kind of casual treatment city officials have provided, feigning certainty that nearby development will not harm the oak while admitting they can’t answer lingering questions.
How far do the Jurupa oak’s roots extend, and where does its water come from? How might increased temperatures from fossil-fuel-driven climate change and the urban heat island effect harm the oak? Could heavy machinery vibrations during construction jar loose the rocks supporting the oak’s roots?
These crucial questions need to be answered to ensure a responsible project that protects the Jurupa oak. Unfortunately, the city approved the massive development without answers to any of them, risking death for the world’s third-oldest organism.
That’s why the Center for Biological Diversity and other environmental groups filed a lawsuit under the California Environmental Quality Act seeking a 100-acre preserve to safeguard the oak. This legal fight should not even be necessary. Anyone who has strolled through the ancient bristlecone forest or stood beneath the 3,000-year-old Grizzly Giant Tree in Sequoia National Park understands that the value of these ancient beings far outweighs another Southern California warehouse.
A tree that once shared the continent with the western camel and the giant short-faced bear is irreplaceable. Its roots endured sweeping wildfires 10,000 years ago that are believed to have rendered the region uninhabitable for a thousand years. While the oak has lost individual stems to extreme weather, animals, or fire over the millennia, new shoots continue to sprout from its ancient roots.
Not only is the Jurupa oak ancient, but it's also rare. The once ubiquitous Palmer’s oak species in Southern California has thinned in recent years, spreading to higher elevations to escape warming temperatures. The Jurupa oak is now the only known Palmer’s oak remaining in the 1,700-square-mile Santa Ana River watershed. The key to its endurance has been its anonymity: an unassuming scrub oak tucked into a rocky outcrop protected for thousands of years from development.
The Jurupa oak survived extensive wildfires and thrived as chaparral replaced post-glacial woodlands. It witnessed the arrival of human settlements and the extinction of Ice Age mammals. The last thing it sees should not be another 1.2-million-square-foot warehouse.
It’s humanity’s responsibility to act as the oak’s mycelium network, lending a hand and ensuring its voice remains unmuffled by whirring rooftop HVAC and endless diesel engine thrumming. It’s crucial that conservationists do everything possible to ensure the Jurupa oak lives to see so much more.