The big pink trumpet tree on Coffee Pot Bayou is in bloom. What’s its story?

ST. PETERSBURG — The hot pink petals caught in the breeze over Coffee Pot Bayou, fluttering like snowflakes onto a lawn dotted with admirers. After all, it’s a great place to snap a pretty picture.

Over the last week and a half, a steady stream of people have made the annual pilgrimage to the giant pink trumpet tree at the corner of Coffee Pot Boulevard NE and 23rd Avenue NE, cellphones and tripods in hand. Cyclists and dog walkers pulled off the winding path that runs along the water. Cars and joggers took turns pausing in the middle of the brick boulevard to gawk.

For some, a selfie from across the street was plenty — the long grey branches extend tall and wide, like the two-story palace perched behind the tree. Others got face-to-face with the trunk, stepping onto a lawn blanketed with flecks of flower heads. The bold ones flopped right onto the grass.

The pink trumpet tree, perhaps Historic Old Northeast’s most famous plant, is in full bloom. Also known as the Tabebuia tree (pronounced ta-buh-BOO-ya, as in Tabebuia heterophylla), this plant has attracted its own fan club for decades.

But this year, neighbors have noticed more of a frenzy than ever. The theory is an increase in social media presence (hello, bloggers and influencers) has inspired a new generation of onlookers. Not everybody seems to recognize that the beloved pink trumpet is part of someone’s home.

Who owns this tree? And what’s its story?

A big pink surprise

Linda and Bob Dobbs moved into the century-old house behind the tree on the night of Valentine’s Day 2003. Stepping outside the next morning for a cup of coffee, they encountered the rosy petals for the first time. Nature’s housewarming present.

“It was a mystery,” Linda Dobbs said. “We’d moved from New Jersey, where it was sleet and snow. We were thinking that was paradise just to come outside in February. But to see that, that was like, ‘Oh my!’”

Based on old photos of the house and a chat with someone who grew up in the area, the couple estimate the tree’s current age to be between 80 and 90 years. Over the 16 years they lived in the house, the bloom became the highlight of their year.

First, the tree would shed its leaves in January. Soon after, an eruption of pink.

“Sometimes when the weather’s kind of crazy, you get a double burst,” Bob Dobbs said.

Even when the tree is not blossoming, the Granada Terrace portion of Historic Old Northeast draws people. They pedal down the bike path, ogle the luxury homes and lean over the seawall for a glimpse at the local manatees beneath the docks.

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Each February brought new visitors.

“One couple laid the camera on the wall, leaned over it, threw pink flowers around their heads and kissed — I hope the photo turned out well!” Linda Dobbs documented in a piece she wrote for the Northeast Journal in 2016. “Little girls in tutus danced barefooted along the flowers while their moms snapped away. Little boys enjoyed the tree too — but they were more into climbing, running and yelling.”

Passersby frequently knocked on their door to ask questions about the plant. Some photographers crept up around the side of the yard to capture different angles. One arborist even offered $15,000 to purchase the Tabebuia so he could move it to Lakeland.

“I said first of all, even if I did, the whole neighborhood and the whole city would come and throw tomatoes at us and yell at us,” Linda Dobbs said. “I mean, it’s for people to enjoy. Everybody — not just one person.”

The Dobbses placed printouts with tree facts on the stone wall around their yard, to inform as well as curb the door-knocking. To deter lingerers, they also removed the bench on the lawn.

But they remained committed to spreading their bounty, too. The couple planted the tree’s paper-thin seeds into small pots and placed them on the wall for the neighbors to take home.

Linda Dobbs brought one to Sunken Gardens, where she has volunteered for years. The couple donated another to the city, asking it to be planted at Crescent Lake Park. Over the years, hurricanes knocked down both.

Dobbs, a retired journalist, said she wrote her Northeast Journal piece to make her case for more Tabebuias around town.

“I just thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful if we had a whole line of them, and people could come from all over?” she said. “Forget the cherry blossom festival in D.C. You could come to Tabebuia festival in St. Petersburg in February! But they never took me up on it.”

The Dobbses, now in their 70s, downsized to a one-story house in 2019. They christened their yard with a sapling from the Tabebuia. A young tree can take six to eight years to grow flowers. Last year, a few emerged.

They’re still waiting for this year’s bloom.

A digital bloom boom

Lydia Ellis, who purchased the home with her husband in 2019, didn’t mind people stopping to look. Linda Dobbs gave her the heads up.

“She said she would have people sometimes come right up to the house, or look in the window because they thought it was a public park,” Ellis said.

The family added a pool and surrounded it with a fence — a visual barrier for folks. Each day during the bloom, Ellis spotted a handful of admirers as she scooped blossoms from the water or ran a leaf blower to push sticky flowers off the pavement.

Most weren’t obtrusive — until she spotted a man far into the yard, leaning over the pool fence for a better angle. She informed him: This was a private home.

“He’s like, ‘I’m taking a picture of the tree!’” she remembered.

Still, the hassle was worth it. Now living in Utah, she perks up when friends send her snapshots.

“I am definitely missing the tree this time of year,” she said.

The Steiner family had longed to buy the house for years. They finally purchased it from the Ellis family in 2022, moving that October. Even though they knew of the tree, the crowds during their first bloom last week shocked them.

It was especially hectic over the weekend, right after I Love the Burg posted a video including the tree’s address. Groups arrived by the carload to stage photoshoots and pull off acrobatic stunts on the grass. Some wandered the lawn, or plopped down to rest in the shade. Lynne Steiner didn’t know what tell people.

“My neighbor even said it’s never been like that,” she said. “I was questioning this weekend, like, ‘Well, do we own the tree?”

One day, returning after walking her dog, she crossed paths with someone setting up a tripod. Steiner asked: Did she know it was private property?

“She said, ‘Oh, I didn’t know that. It’s on social media,’” Steiner said.

Andrew Harlan, editor of I Love the Burg, said he’s posted about the tree in previous years.

“That one was shared infinitely more than most stories,” he said. “I think also that fear of missing out is kicking in, because it blooms and then shortly thereafter goes away.”

Harlan is aware the tree is on a private residence, and he said he tries to stick to the sidewalk when filming. He has considered the pros and cons that come with shining a light on someone’s home or business.

“Especially when you’re on one of the most well-trafficked running and cycling paths, in my opinion, it goes with the territory,” he said. “Regardless if I post or not, people are going to go there.”

On Tuesday, the city of St. Petersburg posted drone shots of the property on its official Facebook and Instagram account.

That day, the couple’s son brought over a “No Trespassing” sign for the lawn. He was worried about his parents.

The Steiners don’t want to be scrooges. They said photos taken on the edge of the lawn are OK. It’s a special time of the year.

Just don’t get too crazy.

“People commonly get carried away,” Steiner said.