If a Tree Falls in the Forest
Sam Aurelius Milam III
I
don't know how to manage a forest. I doubt that anybody alive on
the planet today knows how to manage a forest. Probably, even the
people who want to save the old-growth forests don't know how to do it.
I expect that they're improvising, just like all of us are.
By
forest, I don't mean a commercial tree farm, or some little woodlot behind
a pasture. A forest isn't just a collection of trees. It's
an entity unto itself, a stable (relatively), dynamic (variously) system
in which all of the parts, from the smallest microbe to the largest tree,
and all of the animals therein, are interconnected and interact.
To actually be a forest, and not just some trees, it has to have been in
existence long enough to have established itself and its microclimate,
from floor to canopy.
The
main problem with knowing how to manage a forest is time. When a
forest manager does something, he might not live long enough to see all
of the results. The consequences of his action can be complex and
subtle. They might not play out to completion for decades, or maybe
even for centuries. According to a report in the April 14, 2008 issue
of National Geographic News, a living spruce in the Dalarna province
of Sweden was determined, by radiocarbon dating, to be 9550 years old.
A forest lasts even longer than its trees. It's difficult for us
to comprehend something that lasts so much longer than we do. In
addition, a forest is probably even more complex than we are. It
seems to me to be presumptuous of us to believe that we have the perspective
and the wisdom to manage such things.
I'm
presently trying to take care of about 140 trees, of various kinds and
sizes, in northeast Georgia. They occupy part of a one acre lot.
I'll admit that I'm an amateur. I can't even identify most of them.
Even so, I'm trying to take care of them. There was probably a forest
here, many years ago, but these trees aren't a forest. Almost the
entire lot was bulldozed about 30 or so years ago, in preparation for the
construction of the house. A few trees were spared from that mindless
massacre by the last-minute arrival and intervention of one of my sisters.
Since then, a good many trees, many of them not native to this particular
piece of land, have been added. The newcomers are from various locations,
from as far apart as Massachusetts and Texas, and from as far west as California.
Maybe someday, several centuries from now, if these trees remain unmolested,
if commercial and residential "development" in this region recedes, and
if the kudzu doesn't kill them first, then they might become part of a
forest.
One
problem with this little collection of trees is the erosion of their soil.
That's probably been going on since whatever forest previously existed
here was dismembered. The present collection of trees isn't mature
enough, or widespread enough, to manage its own soil and microclimate.
A forest floor doesn't exist here, just a piece of ground with some trees
on it. Several consequences are evident. Roots have become
exposed and are being damaged on their exposed surfaces. Some trees
have lost branches for no obvious reason. Some seemingly healthy
trees have blown over in the wind. I'm doing what I can to help.
I recently learned not to burn fallen wood, or to dispose of it.
Instead, I let it sit and decay into humus. I run some of it through
a chipper, hopefully creating future soil. I use fallen trunks and
branches to define and maintain the edges of terraces, hopefully retaining
both water and soil. Those branches and trunks will also add to the
supply of dead wood in the vicinity. After I learned that dead wood,
either fallen or standing, is important in a forest, I started leaving
dead trees standing until they fall under their own weight.
I
don't know if I'm doing the right things, and avoiding harmful things,
but I'm doing the best that I can. Maybe it doesn't matter.
After all, considered in terms of the longevity of a forest, my efforts
are the merest flicker, gone from the forest's awareness almost before
I've begun them. I'll keep trying because it seems like the right
thing to do, but I have to wonder. Maybe the best way to manage a
forest is to do as little as possible. I suspect that, given a few
centuries, a forest will solve most of its problems by itself. Given
a thousand years, it will probably solve all of them. So, if a tree
falls in the forest, and there isn't anybody there to hear it, or to clear
it, then maybe that's the best thing for the forest.
| December 2018 | Frontiersman,0c/o
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