I am picking my way through second growth forest in Lovell, in search of the tallest surviving American chestnut tree in North America. From the deep, well-drained soil, towering white pines, like masts on a clipper ship, reach toward the canopy. Muscular red oaks vie for space in the shaded woods. I alternate between craning my head upwards, searching for a glimpse of the chestnut’s distinctive white flowers, and scanning the forest floor for last year’s burs and dropped leaves. It’s here somewhere. Maybe this time I’ll find it…