National Park Service horticulturalist Robert DeFeo carries a cherry tree cutting at the Tidal Basin. (By Frank Johnston – The Washington Post)

By Allan Lengel
Washington Post Staff Writer
Monday, March 29, 1999; Page B01

He's the cherry blossom guru, the horticulturist the masses rely on to predict the blooming date of the Yoshino cherry trees around the Tidal Basin. He's Robert DeFeo, a pretty big deal – or maybe not, depending on which of his two teenage sons you talk to.

"He blows it out of proportion," says 13-year-old Dustin, giving his dad a little ribbing about his role as chief prognosticator. "Whenever he's on TV, he tapes it. He really loves it. He really thinks he's all this special person, but he's really not."

Dustin's older brother, Sean, 17, is a little more benevolent about his dad, who works for the National Park Service.

"I guess it's kind of cool: One week out of the year, he's recognized for what he does," Sean says. "I don't really understand his job. One week out of the year, I really understand what he does."

For DeFeo, it's show time. Every day, he goes out to check the trees' progress. His freckled mug is on television, his voice is on radio, predicting when the flowers will bloom, talking about the different stages from the green buds to the "peduncle elongation." People eagerly await his prediction. This time of year, he is the man.

"At first, I thought it was comical," says DeFeo, 43, recalling when he became the prognosticator nine years ago. "Then I realized a lot of people plan their trips to come to Washington and see the cherry blossoms.

"It's not an exact science. It's just a matter of watching and staying on top of them."

The first year, people kept asking him things he couldn't answer. That bothered him, but not anymore. "I have a much greater confidence to say, 'I don't know,' and I can explain. We give the best information based on facts."

Those facts are often predicated on the weather. "It all depends on what the temperatures are in March," he says.

DeFeo regularly checks forecasts on the Internet and on television and even chats it up with TV weather forecasters to get extended forecasts. He also relies on a chart showing the five phases of bloom. Phase two, for example, "florets visible," means the bloom is about 16 to 21 days along. Phase four, peduncle elongation – the peduncle is the stem of the flower – means the blooms will peak in about five to 10 days. But a cold snap can slow nature down, he says.

Up until last Thursday, he predicted a peak blossom from April 1 to 8. But now he's narrowed it to April 5 to 8. The average date is April 4.

The rest of the year, his job is to supervise contractors who assist the Park Service in maintaining the grounds, replacing trees and bushes at the area's national parks and memorials. That keeps him plenty busy. The blossom role is part of the job – a very small part, but he concedes "it's the most visible aspect of it."

His boss, Don Filsoof, chief of maintenance and design for the Park Service's National Capital Region, says simply: "He's a valuable employee. I can't do without him."

DeFeo grew up in Bergen County, N.J. In 1973, as a freshman at Rutgers University, he took a plant science course "and I loved it." He said he thought about animal sciences, but rejected it after the class in which he saw a baby pig castrated.

He eventually transferred to the University of Florida, where he graduated in 1977 with a degree in plant science. He and his wife, Mary, then joined the Peace Corps and headed off to Kenya. He worked as a plant research officer, and his wife, who has an accounting degree, was a statistician for the U.S. Agency for International Development.

When they returned, he attended graduate school at Rutgers. But after a semester, he left to become a horticulturist for the National Arboretum in Washington. He later joined the National Park Service, then the U.S. Botanical Gardens, and then returned to the Park Service as the regional horticulturist.

He learned on the job how to prognosticate, relying on his predecessor, Bill Anderson, who advised, "You don't say what you don't know."

He fancies himself a "ham-and-egger" kind of guy. He normally wears blue jeans. "I don't even own a suit, never have," he says. "I just don't spend a lot of money dressing up. Just never put a big emphasis on it."

A couple days ago, he walked into his Washington office at 6 a.m., dressed a little snazzier than usual – off-white khakis, black dress shirt with brown stripes.

At 6:05, he was on the phone talking to a contractor about planting trees at the Lincoln Memorial reflecting pool.

At 7, he jumped in a government car and drove to the Tidal Basin for an interview with Channel 8.

"You say the same thing 50 times," he said as he got in the car and slapped on a funky multicolored, flowered tie. Minutes later, he's on air live with Channel 8 reporter Theresa Dickie, a cherry tree in the backdrop. She's sounding upbeat.

He says he's having fun. He's gotten used to the TV appearances. At first he was nervous, concerned he might fumble, particularly on live shots, because of a hearing impairment he thinks was caused by medication he took for malaria while in the Peace Corps.

But he knows the attention is seasonal – and short-lived.

"The minute they bloom," he says, "it's over."