While the dawn redwood (Metasequoia glyptostroboides) is not as massive as its California cousin-the giant sequoia-for me, the tree has always possessed an equally mythical allure. Long believed to have gone the way of the dinosaurs-leaving behind only fossilized records of its existence-a wild stand was discovered in a remote region of China in the 1940s, and seeds were brought back to the United States, where it proved particularly adaptable to the primordial climate that still reigns on so much of the East Coast.

I first admired the dawn redwood when I was working in Midtown, not far from one of those corporately operated 'public spaces,' in this case managed by the international consulting firm ____, located between Fifth/Sixth Avenues (closer to Sixth if you're looking for it) and 45th/46th Streets. Many days I braved the line at Moshe's Falafel cart and sat with my sandwich under the trees, which added an improbable and comforting grace to the otherwise soulless plaza of polished marble and abstract sculpture.

I can't mention Moshe's without recommending the falafel – especially in 'this economy' – and be sure to get the hot sauce! (You'll want extra napkins though.)

I later visited Stonecrop Gardens in Cold Spring, where my mind was frankly blown by an entire forest of dawn redwoods, something I had fantasized about creating in my Washington Heights garden, notwithstanding the fact that the plot was only 15' by 30'. Ignoring Stephen's sensible advice, I bought a sapling on the sly and planted it in a corner of the yard. Within a few years it was transformed from a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree into a thriving adolescent, perhaps 12 feet tall, with wide, alated boughs that benevolently sheltered Dante-our first stray cat-in rainstorms.

Sadly but predictably, given the manic tendencies of my early gardening efforts, I managed to kill this first tree in the attempt to transplant it in preparation for the construction of our garden walls. But with somewhat more foresight, we bought a new one, and this time a columnar cultivar of the species-'Sheridan Spire'-much better suited to the narrow confines in which it exists.

This one has also grown at least four feet per year and features the same feathery lime-green needles, which thanks to their opposed placement on the branch lends a prehistoric aura to the tree that makes the China story seem more likely than apocryphal. Although as a deciduous conifer it loses these needles each fall, its russet-toned bark provides 'winter interest' and what it lacks in evergreen quality it more than makes up for in the spring, when the new growth appears translucent in the sun.

Last week, I went back to the visit the dawn redwoods in Midtown and was pleased to find them thriving. The plaza, I noted, had been renovated to make way for a 9/11 memorial that resembles a shoji screen placed between two rock facades.

One of the countless security guards told me that photography was forbidden, as if taking pictures of trees had caused terrorists to fly planes into buildings. But rather than argue the point, I smiled and put the camera away. It's hard to be too pessimistic or angry in the presence of something that despite its fragile beauty has existed for millions of years.

As I looked up and sighed a post-9/11 sigh, the trees seemed to benignly acknowledge this idea, as if to say that whatever we have endured, they have lived through much worse.

Previously: Phyllostachys Aureosulcata Spectabilis

Matthew Gallaway is a writer who lives in Washington Heights. His first novel, "The Metropolis Case," will be published in 2010 by Crown.