The roads leading to La Majada and Brisas del Mar, Santa Barbara, paint a stark contrast to Honduras’ large cities. Urban noise and pollution give way to the peace and quiet of rural hillsides. Before long, however, evidence of massive deforestation emerges. Decimated mountain slopes have caused mudslides, soil erosion and water contamination. Flooding and drought are occurring more often. This is the land where Francisco “Chico” Garcia of Brisas del Mar and Noe Garcia of La Majada live and farm.

Chico and Noe have noticed the changes in their environment and climate. Noe says, “The rains do not come when they used to. My father could predict the arrival of rain and knew when to plant our beans and corn to the exact day. Now, it is changing in unpredictable ways. If we plant when our fathers did, we lose all of our beans.”

Their needs mirror the needs of most rural farming communities in Central America. Traditional slash-and-burn farming practices have steadily eroded their environment and way of life, creating a destructive cycle that decreases land productivity each year and pushes farmers to clear still more forest. To reverse these trends, local families have sought an alternative method of farming that preserves local habitat, water supplies and livelihoods.

Sustainable Harvest International (SHI) began its work conserving micro-watersheds and reforesting degraded lands in 1997, right here in Honduras. Florence Reed founded SHI after serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in Panama, where she witnessed the devastation that slash-and-burn farming inflicts on families, communities and the planet. Her years of dedication to sustainable agriculture initiatives in Honduras — and later in Panama, Belize and Nicaragua — earned her the National Peace Corps Association 2012 Sargent Shriver Award for Distinguished Humanitarian Service.

SHI has converted 16,000 acres of degraded land to sustainable farms, planted more than 3.2 million trees and helped roughly 2,100 families become self-sufficient stewards of the environment since 1997. SHI also estimates that these families are now teaching 14,700 more families how to replicate their success.

SHI’s five-phase program — family selection, orientation and planning; introduction to nutrition, organic farming and crop diversification; advanced crop diversification and introduction to business; identifying markets and strengthening entrepreneurial skills; and family graduation — emphasizes long-term assistance that recognizes the relationship between culturally and ecologically sensitive development. During each of the five phases, SHI evaluates participant families and staff to determine program effectiveness and progress toward achieving environmental sustainability and a decent standard of living. SHI’s programs succeed only when participating farmers become committed stewards of their environment.

Amanda Zehner, SHI smaller world and field coordinator, explains, “When asked about the meaning of projects such as improving wood-burning stoves, planting trees, ending slash-and-burn farming or shifting from chemical to organic agriculture, successful SHI participants express a newly found harmonious relationship with their environment and the tie between personal and environmental health. They also describe the empowerment and community building that comes from families learning and working together to protect and conserve the natural resources on which they all depend.”

SHI received a boost five years ago when American Forests Global ReLeaf began supporting its efforts. Reforestation has been integral to the move toward sustainable agriculture in Santa Barbara, where diverse forest plantations provide food and income while protecting soil, water, habitat and the climate. From July to September 2012, participants in SHI and American Forests’ Global ReLeaf projects in Honduras planted nearly 30,000 hardwood and coffee trees, covering more than 50 acres.

Beyond what numbers can show, however, sustainable agriculture has changed the very essence of farming, food and life for these communities. Chico Garcia grew up working as a day laborer on a farm he didn’t own. When SHI-Honduras began work in his community, Chico took out a loan to buy some land just so he could participate. Chico learned how to work with the land and developed a relationship with his environment that drives everything he does. As time passed, he bought the forest across the valley to protect a water source vital to his community. Chico also became community president of the SHI group in Brisas del Mar, inspiring others to buy forestland adjoining the piece he bought in order to preserve more of the watershed.

Now in SHI’s Phase 3, Chico is committed to conserving and reforesting the land: “My understanding of my place in the world is different now. I want to live a healthy life and that includes my family and my environment. After working with SHI, I now know and value this important system.” Noe Garcia, also in Phase 3, shares a similar revelation: “Before working with SHI, we would cut down all the trees and did not understand how important they were for us and our environment. We didn’t have this consciousness. Now, I want to take care of the trees and give back what I take so we are all healthy.”

Santa Barbara in Honduras has experienced a renewal, as have the farmers, like Chico and Noe, who live there. As much as the work of SHI is vital to the preservation of our planet’s forests, it is these local farmers who carry the message forward and become enduring community leaders in reforestation and sustainability.

Karim Slifka is SHI’s development and outreach coordinator. She writes from Surry, Maine.

Discover how SHI and American Forests are working together for a sustainable Honduras.

The post Passing the Torch: Sustainable Farming in Honduran Communities appeared first on American Forests.

Story and photos By Michael Wojtech 

I spot the neon-orange flag, unmistakable among the more earthly hues of October leaves, and crash through the underbrush to reach it. I quickly begin cataloguing the surrounding trees. On a low-hanging branch, I find familiar looking needles and record eastern hemlock on my data sheet. I peer up through binoculars to recognize the leaves of a broad beauty — an old red maple. The next tree, a tall one, looks like a hickory. Pignut? Bitternut? Mockernut? Its leaves, buds and twigs are too high to see. I write down bitternut, based on the moist, lowland terrain I find myself in, but wish I could be more certain.

The flag marks one of 30 plots scattered throughout this western Massachusetts forest in which I have been inventorying trees over the last several weeks. Although it is still morning, a deepening dusk descends along with a steady drizzle; a downpour seems imminent. It is the wind, though, that spurs me on. With each gust, more of the season’s last leaves rain down upon me — leaves that provide critical clues to species identification. Today is my last chance. The coming storm will leave behind a canopy of bare branches. By late afternoon, I reach the last plot and document the last tree. I leave the forest drenched, but relieved.

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In the following months, as I work toward my master’s degree in conservation biology, I yearn for an easier, all-season tree identification guide — one that would have helped me on that October day. Ecologist Tom Wessels, my thesis advisor at Antioch University New England, suggests a solution: bark. I recognize the peeling, gleaming white trunks of paper birch and the smooth, light-gray bark of American beech, but most often, I see bark as a blur of browns and grays. Bark, however, can easily be inspected in any season, and I decide it is the perfect subject for a regional field guide — one I can create for my thesis.

What I learn as I begin field work is how little I know. Bark’s diversity, especially within the same species, is far greater than I imagined. It will take me three years to complete my thesis and another four and a half years for my field guide to be published.

A NEW LANGUAGE 

A friend traces the deep furrows of bark with his finger. “That’s an eastern white pine,” I tell him.

When he asks, “How can you tell?” I am speechless. Over a year into my project, I recognize most tree species by their bark, but still struggle to describe them for others.

Hundreds of bark photographs are spread across my office floor. Although I have been sorting through them for months, it has been difficult to explain why some photos are similar and what makes others look so different.

I need a new language, which I find by discovering how bark’s multiple layers affect its surface appearance. The growth and function of these layers help provide criteria for separating the photos into categories, which I call bark types — the first level of identification in my bark key. Differentiating the species within each bark type will require a second level of identification, but with this start, I begin to see the forest — and the photos on my floor — through new eyes.

I gather together photos of trees with smooth, unbroken bark, which become my first bark type. These are mostly young trees, with bark that will change in appearance as they grow older. Now, to develop my next bark type category, I need to sketch out the multi-layered structure of bark.

The inner bark layer, the phloem, transports sugars produced by photosynthesis throughout the tree. This living layer is the food of beavers, porcupines and other mammals, including humans — the phloem of eastern white pine and other species can be dried and ground into flour.

The layers that are part of the outer bark are collectively referred to as the periderm. The outmost periderm layer — made up of cork cells that die soon after their protective qualities have developed — is the visible, touchable surface of smooth-barked trees. Cork protects the tree by helping prevent desiccation and keeping insects and pathogens from penetrating to the living tissues beneath it. The dead, mostly air-filled cells also help insulate the tree and account for the light weight of the bark.

Beneath the cork in the periderm are the cork cambium, an area where cell division occurs, and the thin, green cork skin, found by gently scraping away the outer bark on a young twig. The cork skin is capable, to a lesser degree, of the same energy-producing photosynthesis as leaves. Supplemental energy from bark photosynthesis helps trees stay healthy and can boost recovery from defoliation due to insect infestation, disease, storms or severe drought.

Distinctive pores, called lenticels, facilitate the controlled gas exchange — necessary for bark photosynthesis — of carbon dioxide and oxygen through the protective outer bark. Lenticels are readily visible on many species, especially on smooth bark, where you can also feel how they protrude from the surface. They become criteria for another pile of photos and are the distinguishing characteristic of my second bark type. The variety of shapes, sizes and colors of lenticels — from the dark, horizontal lines of yellow birch to the diamond-shaped structures of young bigtooth aspen — will later help me identify the species within this bark type.

TEASING APART THE BROWNS AND GRAYS 

A few species, such as American beech, maintain smooth, unbroken bark for their entire lifespan, as their initial periderm continues to grow around the increasing circumference of the trunk and branches, but many of the uncategorized photos still spread across my floor show bark that has broken apart and grown thicker in a multitude of ways. These trees have all reached a point where their wood is growing faster than — and pushing outward against — the bark that surrounds it. The bark of each species responds differently to this pressure, resulting in specific bark characteristics that provide clues for species identification.

On some species, such as paper birch, this pressure causes thin layers of the outer cork to separate and peel away from the trunk and branches in horizontal, curly strips — creating my third distinctive bark type and a new stack of photos.

More often, pressure exerted by the wood splits the entire periderm, including its protective cork layer. The first visible sign of this process is often vertical cracks in otherwise smooth bark, a feature I noticed long ago on northern red oak. I designate this as my fourth bark type.

Because the periderm protects the tree from outside elements before it breaks apart, a new, active periderm forms beneath the old one, within the active phloem tissue. The cells outside of this new periderm then become isolated and die. This process, which can occur once or multiple times depending on a tree’s age and species, results in alternating, non-living layers of old periderm and old phloem tissue called the rhytidome — the Greek word for wrinkle.

My remaining, uncategorized photos all seem, at first, to display the same rough, thick, multilayered rhytidome — the iconic representation of bark that I held in my mind’s eye before starting this project. Slowly, though, as I closely observe my photos and get my hands on living specimens, differences begin to emerge.

On some bark, gaps appear between the outer rhytidome layers, where one could easily catch an edge and pry pieces away from the trunk. Bark with this characteristic can further be divided into three new bark types: scales of bark like on a black cherry; thick, irregular plates like on a black birch; and vertical strips like on a red maple. Other trees have rhytidomes with more tightly adhered layers, creating an additional three bark types: intersecting ridges like on a white ash; ridges broken horizontally like on white oak; and uninterrupted ridges like on northern red oak.

For the first time in months, I now have a clear walking path through my office thanks to 10 neat piles of photos representing each of my 10 bark types, which become the foundation for an identification key. I enjoy months in the woods searching for my next set of descriptive clues to differentiate the species within each bark type. At a particular stage in the growth of white pine, for example, I discover fine, horizontal cracks that are evenly spaced, like writing paper. I spend weeks looking at nothing but sugar maple trees before noticing that the surface of their bark is crackled, like old china.

BARK ECOLOGY 

After almost three years, I complete the bark key and hand in my thesis. But my field guide is still missing an important piece: I have yet to address the environmental influences behind bark’s grand diversity. Drought, fire, temperature extremes, limited growing seasons and interactions with other organisms all have influenced the evolution of different bark characteristics. I begin to research this missing piece by investigating the functions of paper birch’s bark features, which I have been wondering about for some time.

The habitat and range of the thin-barked paper birch includes high altitudes and the far northern regions of North America — places where temperate fluctuations are most extreme. Trees can be damaged by sunscald and frost cracks, where abrupt transitions from sun-soaked warmth to cold, or the reverse, can crack or kill sections of bark and open pathways for insects, fungi and other harmful invaders. Yet, this species only maintains a thin outer bark as it matures, even though thick, multi-layered rhytidomes generally provide the best thermal and structural protection.

The white coloring of paper birch bark helps make up for its lack of insulating thickness by reflecting sunlight and reducing the potential for damage. Its peeling, curly strips keep the outer bark thin, allowing more sunlight to reach the photosynthetic cork skin — even on the trunk. The peeling mechanism also strips mosses, algae and lichens from the surface of paper birch’s trunk and branches where, if left to accumulate, they could block sunlight for bark photosynthesis, prevent gas exchange by clogging lenticels and, if dark-colored, contribute to damage from overheating.

Damage to a tree — such as wounds in a tree’s outer bark from fire, sunscald, tunneling bark beetles, gnawing rodents or broken branches — are an inevitable part of its lifecycle. Each species has developed a specific set of chemical and structural mechanisms in their bark that help heal wounds and protect the tree, and some of these defenses offer clues for species identification. For instance, betulin, the compound that whitens paper birch bark, also deters against desiccation and bacteria, fungi, insects and gnawing animals, and the curious, concentric cracks often found on red maple bark result from repeated cycles of fungal infections and attempts by the bark to wall off, or compartmentalize, the intruders.

I also discover olfactory clues to bark identification that result from a bark’s defensive mechanisms. A protective chemical in black cherry bark that deters browsing animals yields a bitter, almond scent when the outer bark is scraped away from a twig. But this smell of the chemical doesn’t deter humans, as it is used to make cough medicines, expectorants and throat lozenges. Safrole in the bark of sassafras deters insects and other pests, but I find its sweet, licorice-like odor quite pleasing.

Then, there are the beneficial associations between bark and other organisms. Helpful fungi often congregate around lenticels and branch junctions — where invasive organisms are most apt to gain entry — and deter or feed upon other harmful fungi. Slugs often leave trails across the bark of American beech as they glean algae that could otherwise block sunlight for bark photosynthesis.

I’ve discovered that the environmental influences on bark are even more varied and numerous than the many different bark characteristics that can be used for species identification. Even after finishing a chapter on bark ecology and seeing my field guide published, I know I have only touched the surface of this seemingly infinite web of interactions.

Now, when I walk through a forest, I look at each tree and imagine what is going on beneath the visible surface of its bark — as if, in a way, I have x-ray vision. I have learned to use visual and tactile clues to see and understand what used to leave me feeling lost in a sea of complexity. Instead of a blur of brown and gray trunks, I now see individual trees with species names and a host of ecological relationships.

Beyond the practical reasons for learning to identify bark, I realize that I have been learning and teaching the art of perception. Bark may not seem exotic. It may not, at least initially, leave you in awe like the panoramic view from a hilltop or a glimpse of a crimson morning sky. But learning to see formerly mundane or hidden layers of beauty and function opens up a world of detail and nuance that allow what is local to become spectacular, bringing us closer to home.

Michael Wojtech, a freelance writer, educator, photographer and illustrator, adapted this piece from his book, Bark: A Field Guide to Trees of the Northeast. Learn more at www.knowyourtrees.com. 

The post The Language of Bark appeared first on American Forests.

By Robert T. Leverett

Mirror, mirror on the wall,which northeastern forest is the tallest of them all? Is it Cook or is it Mohawk? The mirror isn’t telling, but the Native Tree Society (NTS) is devoting a lot of time and energy to answering that question.

Since 1997, NTS has measured and monitored the outstanding trees of all native species in Mohawk Trail State Forest in Massachusetts and Cook Forest State Park in Pennsylvania. These measurements challenge us to think about great eastern forests of the past and what could be possible in the future. This is what brings me to these forests time after time to measure new giants.

On this particular day, it is beautiful outside, and the white pines of Mohawk Trail State Forest are calling. I park my car at the forest’s headquarters and walk up a paved road lined by towering pines. Cutting into the forest, I leave the hard, impersonal asphalt and feel the vitality of the soft duff beneath my feet. I’ll first check on the Pocumtuck Pines, one of Mohawk’s tall-tree groves. The Cabin Pine — named because it watches over the occupants of rustic cabin number six — lifts its feathery crown 160 feet above roots firmly anchored in the soil. It is the first of the “160s” that I encounter. I pass through a gate and head downhill, passing the Trees of Peace. I could happily spend my whole day in this tallest of Mohawk’s groves, but the inner voice I have come to trust is telling me my search continues in the Rachel Carson Grove today. I arrive at my work destination and will be occupied for several hours, oblivious to the ticking of the clock. I begin the search by visually scanning the tops of the trees looking for pines that combine long distance and high crown angle, the mark of truly tall trees.

PLACES OF INSPIRATION 

Mohawk Trail State Forest covers 7,758 acres and boasts a section of the original Mohawk Indian Trail that connected the waters of the Hudson and Connecticut Rivers and served as both a trade and war-making route from the early 1600s until the end of the Revolutionary War. Being a younger woodland, Mohawk has the beauty and appeal of an athlete in his or her prime. One does not think so much of wisdom, but vitality. It has become an adult that has shed the awkwardness of adolescence and entered into the full flower of its arboreal potency.

In comparison, Cook Forest State Park, located on the Allegheny Plateau of western Pennsylvania, is the forest one would expect in a scene from a Tolkien novel: soaring trunks, mossy logs, a timeless appearance, truly a fairytale setting. The old pines, thrusting their lofty crowns skyward, appear wise. One looks upward through a hardwood canopy more than 100 feet high to the gnarled, weather-sculpted crowns of the pines towering above. Borrowing an idea from the Iroquoian and Algonquin peoples, we call these pines the Standing Ones; they connect earth to sky and hold the memories of the cycle of countless seasons.

Among Cook’s approximately 11,000 acres are 2,355 acres of old growth — forests that have been shaped by natural processes over several centuries with minimal human intervention. Cook was the first state park in Pennsylvania established specifically to preserve a national natural landmark, the Forest Cathedral. Though Cook’s sizable acreage of old growth is sufficient reason to hold it in reverence, there is something more, a little-known fact. Within its forests, the park holds claim to the tallest trees in the Northeast, great white pines between 250 and 350 years old.

Unlike Cook, with its more than 2,000 acres of old growth, Mohawk sports 500 old-growth acres at most, and instead of 250 to 350-year-old pines, Mohawk’s pines are typically between 100 and 200 years old. They are also mostly second growth — forests that have been directly manipulated by humans through logging and other forest-clearing actions. As a consequence, I often think of Mohawk as the godchild of Cook. Although it has old growth, most of Mohawk is younger forest, giving us an opportunity to observe the process of succession as it moves toward Cook’s status as an old-growth treasure.

FRIENDLY COMPETITION 

In 1997, Cook Forest State Park’s then-new nature interpreter and educational specialist Dale Luthringer, a highly disciplined former marine, joined the newly founded NTS. He quickly took to tree measuring and became an invaluable member. He understood the role of numbers in presenting Cook to the public as the outstanding forest that it is. At the time, as the executive director of NTS, I was focusing on both Mohawk and Cook and the role each plays in showcasing the Northeast’s tallest trees. A comparison of the two properties seemed logical and could serve both forests well, and thus, a friendly competition was born to discover which of these forests could claim to be the tallest.

To do the job right, we needed more exacting measuring methods than were commonly employed in commercial forestry or champion tree hunting. We wanted to be able to measure tree height from the ground using state-of-the-art instruments and trigonometry. This became possible with the introduction of the infrared laser rangefinder used in combination with an inclinometer. To be sure that our technique and these instruments were producing accurate results, however, NTS members had to scale some of these massive trees to confirm our ground-based measurements by dropping a tape. We discovered that with this technology, the prevalent source of error that plagues tape and clinometer users — the problem of the top of the tree not being positioned vertically over its base — was eliminated.

As I stand in Rachel Carson Grove, all the measuring challenges are in front of me: trees that lean, trees that have complicated, nested tops and trees with their highest sprigs obscured. I meet the challenge with forest experience, mathematics, state-of-the art equipment and a generous dose of intuition.

Spotting a couple of candidates, I take out my LTI TruPulse 200 and start measuring to determine if the trees top 150 feet — the benchmark we’re using for the Cook-Mohawk competition. It is my lucky day, as both pines exceed 150 feet in height, and I have just added two more 150-footers to Mohawk’s list. Mohawk now has 130 pines that reach 150 feet, and it’s time to celebrate — Cook has some catching up to do.

But while Mohawk has more 150 footers than Cook (130 to 122), overall, Cook Forest is slightly taller than Mohawk. Cook has 34 trees more than 160 feet tall. At their individual best, the average height of Cook Forest’s tallest 10 pines is around 171 feet. No other property in the Northeast can match this achievement. Mohawk only has 15 “160s,” but it is a younger forest, and its pines have a lot of growing left to do.

As we include more species, superlatives stack up rapidly for both properties. Cook Forest has four species that reach to heights of 140 feet or more: white pine, tuliptree, black cherry and hemlock. At 147.6 feet, the tallest accurately measured eastern hemlock in the Northeast grows in Cook Forest. Mohawk has two species reaching 140 feet: white pine and white ash. The tallest accurately measured white ash in the Northeast grows there at 152.3 feet.

As impressive as these numbers are, when looking at trees in person, many people relate more to girth than height. Girth is perceived at eye level, and one can interact with it — by hugging a tree, for example. Being the older forest, Cook’s trees are noticeably larger in girth than Mohawk’s. Many of the Cook Forest hemlocks exceed 11 feet around, and a few reach girths of 13 to 14 feet and are visibly larger than their Mohawk counterparts. Still, there are surprises. Cook’s largest pine measures 13.8 feet in girth while Mohawk’s edges out Cook’s at 14.1. And Mohawk hands-down wins the competition with respect to sugar maple. Mohawk’s largest maple, the current national champion on American Forests’ National Register of Big Trees, is close to 19 feet around.

THE TALLEST OF THE TALL 

In 2004, NTS president Will Blozan climbed and tape-drop-measured Cook’s tallest tree: Longfellow Pine. Every year since, the tree has been monitored and re-measured by NTS — although with lasers and not a tape measure. It’s a hard tree to measure, but it is at least 183 feet tall with a girth of 11.3 feet. Longfellow Pine derives its name from the Longfellow Trail, which it grows below, but we think the poet would have approved. Timber framer and architect Jack Sobon of Windsor, Mass., discovered Longfellow at an old-growth conference in 1997. Sobon measured the tree using a surveying transit to a height of 179.1 feet. We calculate the trunk volume of Longfellow to be between 725 and 750 cubic feet, and as best as we can determine, this champion pine added around four cubic feet of trunk volume this past growing season. That is less than some, but still fairly good considering the advanced age of the tree — close to 300 years.

Mohawk’s reigning height champion is Jake Swamp Pine at 171.0 feet. Jake is named after the Native American leader, Mohawk Chief Jake Swamp, who visited Mohawk Trail State Forest on at least three occasions before his passing on Oct. 15, 2010.

I last measured Jake in late August 2012. The big pine’s trunk volume is between 625 and 635 cubic feet, and the tree is about 160 years old. We began monitoring the Mohawk champion in 1992, when Jake was 9.7 feet in circumference and 155.0 feet tall. Over 20 growing seasons, Jake has averaged a radial growth of one-twelfth of an inch and a height growth averaging 0.8 feet per year. You wouldn’t notice Jake’s annual radial growth, but over several years, you can visually discern the tree’s thickening limbs and greater height. We calculate that Jake added around eight cubic feet of trunk volume this past season.

With the abundance of data the competition has produced, we can make many comparisons: tree-to-tree and stand-to-stand within and among properties. The fruits of our labors have given us an impressive record of standing large and tall trees, unequaled for any other Pennsylvania and Massachusetts public properties, but it’s not just about the size of these trees.

White pines can easily exceed 250 years in age, and we have dated specimens to between 450 and 500 years. These and other maximums can help us recognize when we are reducing forests to shades of their former glory and thereby negatively impacting the species. The bigger, older trees are grand hotels in the forest, nourishing species and ensuring the continuity of forest generations. We should not be eliminating the patriarchs and matriarchs before their missions are complete. To do so is to not only degrade the forest, but also to rob later human generations of the experience of seeing eastern forests in their full glory.

It is not a stretch to say that Pennsylvania’s Cook Forest State Park and Massachusetts’ Mohawk Trail State Forest are the forest icons of their respective states. These exemplary woodlands present us with glimpses into the past and hope for the future. They have served as the proving grounds for advanced tree-measuring techniques, where each inch matters. But despite the official protections that both enjoy, no forest is safe from invasive pests, storms, drought and other adverse impacts. What we hold dear today in these forests can be lost tomorrow. This awareness reinforces what NTS sees as a critical mission: the thorough measurement and documenting of what we have today for both ourselves and posterity. If we can achieve this, then this will be a competition in which everyone wins.

An engineer by education, Robert T. Leverett is the co-founder and executive director of the Native Tree Society. He writes from Florence, Mass. 

Learn how to measure trees like a pro.

The post Cook vs. Mohawk: Where the Tall Trees Grow appeared first on American Forests.

By Kathiann M. Kowalski

After sawing away surface leaves and moss with a bread knife, Dr. David Foster presses a Russian corer into the black gum swamp. After a sharp yank, the tool brings up a half-meter core of oozy, gray silt. Extension rods bring up deeper cores, revealing the forest’s history.

“In this area, every meter is about 2,000 years,” explains Foster. Using similar cores, Foster has traced the area’s paleobiological record back more than 11,000 years.

Welcome to Harvard Forest. Headquartered in Petersham, Mass., the forest is part of Harvard University, but instead of clusters of ivy-covered buildings, Harvard Forest is 3,500 acres of living laboratories and classrooms. A sprawling hemlock forest abuts the black gum swamp. Oak, maple and cherry dominate other areas. Still other tracts feature northern hardwoods or mixes of southern and northern trees. Bogs, wetlands and pasture add to the diversity.

Founded in 1907 by Harvard professor Richard Thornton Fisher, Harvard Forest has a long history of forest science. Today, it’s one of the National Science Foundation’s 27 long-term ecological research sites. Permanent and visiting scholars include biologists and chemists. Historians, sociologists and artists add their perspectives, too.

“When you study forests, you are studying so much more than just trees,” stresses Foster, the director of Harvard Forest. “We try to do integrated research that will help us understand or address the kinds of changes that are or will occur within our landscape.”

STUDYING FOREST THREATS

Natural disasters and other disturbances can change a landscape dramatically. For example, what will happen after an invasive pest kills massive stands of hemlocks? Researchers are using Harvard Forest to try and find out.

As a foundation species, hemlocks provide habitat for a host of other species: unique mixes of salamanders, fishes and birds, such as the black-throated green warbler and Acadian flycatcher. They also shelter deer, porcupines and other animals, especially in winter. “There’s no other really long-lived, shade-tolerant conifer in our eastern forests,” says researcher Dr. David Orwig.

Targeting this foundation species is the invasive pest hemlock woolly adelgid, which reproduces asexually and literally sucks the life out of trees. Since arriving in Virginia in the 1950s, the Japanese insect has spread from Maine to Georgia. The pest has already killed huge hemlock stands in the Great Smoky Mountains (see American Forests, Spring 2011).

In experimental plots at Harvard Forest, Orwig and his colleagues have girdled trees — that is, cut bark around trunks — to simulate death from hemlock woolly adelgid. Detailed fieldwork catalogs the mix of trees that sprout in the aftermath. The experiment provides insight into what could replace today’s eastern hemlock forests.

Meanwhile, there’s hope for hemlocks in the very long term based on other Harvard Forest research. Foster’s work on core samples shows that something killed most of the area’s hemlocks roughly 5,000 years ago, so perhaps the East Coast’s hemlocks can recover and rebound again — it may just take hundreds or thousands of years.

While invasive pests’ effects can be slow spreading, hurricanes are much more sudden disasters — as last fall’s Hurricane Sandy showed — and have long-lasting effects. To simulate hurricane blowdown in Harvard Forest, workers used winches to pull down selected canopy trees in comparable tracts. Loggers then salvaged lumber from one area, but left another area alone. Surprisingly, many of the mostly uprooted trees lived a few more years, sending up shoots and producing seeds. Two decades later, the left-alone area’s productivity neared pre- “hurricane” levels.

Researcher Audrey Barker-Plotkin concludes that unless there is a compelling reason, people needn’t clean up forests after a natural disaster. “If your goal is to have the lowest forest system impact of a disturbance, then leaving it be is often your best bet.” While slowly decaying trees may look messy, they recycle nutrients and provide habitat for wildlife. In contrast, salvage efforts may interfere more with habitat, nutrient recycling and water resources.

HEATING THINGS UP

Climate change could cause big landscape changes in New England and throughout the world. The United States Global Change Research Program reports that “warming of the climate is unequivocal.” By the end of this century, average temperatures could rise as much as 10 degrees Fahrenheit. What roles can the forest play in mitigating climate change? And how will climate change impact forests? Researchers hope Harvard Forest can provide insights.

Dr. Jerry Melillo of the Marine Biological Laboratory (MLB) Ecosystems Center at Woods Hole heads a team that studies the forest’s response to warmer soils. The experimental treatment area warms the soil by five degrees Celsius with buried electric cables. One control plot has buried but unheated cables. A second control plot has no buried cables.

As heating increased microbial activity, soil gas measurements showed an increase in carbon dioxide emissions. Levels seemed to plateau after a decade, but now, they’re going up again. “We may have seen a shift in the microbial community,” notes Melillo. If carbon dioxide emissions keep rising, they could aggravate climate change.

Microbes aren’t the only forest organisms that will feel the impact of warmer soils. Dr. Aaron Ellison uses experimental plots at Harvard Forest to see how warmer soils will affect ants at the northern boundary of Mid-Atlantic mixed-deciduous forests. Plots at Duke Forest in North Carolina provided data for the southern limits. “If you’re going to see a response to climate change, the first place you look is at the edges,” explains Ellison.

Why worry about ants? In areas like New England, which lacks native earthworms, ants bring minerals and nutrients up from beneath the surface and oxygenate the layers. “So no ants, no soil,” says Ellison. When ants and other insects eat dead trees, animals and other organisms, they also recycle nutrients.

Ellison’s data already shows a change in the abundance of certain ant species. Over time, the mix will likely change, too. The study can help scientists better understand how ants contribute to ecosystem services and how that might change in a warmer world.

Of course, not all animals of a heatintolerant species must move or die. Individuals within the same species naturally vary. Warmer soils should give a selective advantage to individuals that can handle more heat. Thus, says Ellison, “We have the opportunity to see evolution in action here.”

APPLYING SCIENCE LESSONS

Harvard Forest’s interdisciplinary approach, ecosystem diversity and collegial atmosphere make it a unique living laboratory for long-term research. While studies provide specific data about the trees, plants, wildlife and insects of Harvard Forest, their implications reach far beyond the immediate area.

“While we’re very much rooted in the place, we try to do our work in a way that it answers basic questions that pertain much more broadly and that make a difference,” says Harvard Forest Director Foster. Land use changes, invasive pests and weather disasters pose problems for forests throughout the country, while climate change will impact many areas throughout the world.

Meanwhile, work and study continue year-round. “Most field stations close down in the winter or people only go on weekends,” notes Foster. “Harvard Forest is a place where we are all there every day studying the place. So, when there’s three feet of snow, you put snowshoes on, and you go study the forest. And when trees are crashing down in a violent ice storm, you’re out there looking at it.”

For more information on Harvard Forest and the research being conducted there, visit harvardforest.fas. harvard.edu.

Kathiann M. Kowalski did field work at Harvard Forest in 2012 as part of the MBL Logan Science Journalism Program’s Hands-on Environmental Lab Program. She writes near Cleveland, Ohio. 

The post An Ivy League Forest appeared first on American Forests.

By Dr. Deborah G. McCullough

It’s not like we haven’t seen this sort of thing before. In the early 1900s, people who lived in the eastern U.S. watched chestnut blight, an exotic pathogen, roll through, killing large and small trees and altering the hardwood forest forever. A few decades later, Dutch elm disease, an exotic pathogen carried by an exotic bark beetle, came through, killing majestic American elms along city streets and in forests. Today, more than 450 species of nonnative forest insects and at least 17 significant forest pathogens are established in the U.S. Most go unnoticed, but about 15 percent have had major consequences. And it’s starting again.

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Emerald ash borer, an Asian insect first identified in Detroit, Mich., in 2002, has become the most destructive forest insect to ever invade the U.S. Tens of millions of ash trees have already been killed in forests and swamps, along waterways and in urban, suburban and rural neighborhoods. Populations of emerald ash borer, commonly known as EAB, have been found in 18 states, along with Ontario and Quebec. And almost assuredly, there are more populations, simmering away, that haven’t yet been discovered.

BEAUTIFUL KILLERS 

Adult EAB beetles are beautiful insects and amazingly good at finding and colonizing ash trees. Unlike many insects, EAB does not appear to produce any long-range pheromones to attract potential mates. Instead, the beetles use their vision and the mix of chemicals emitted by ash leaves, bark and wood to find their host trees and each other. They are particularly attracted to the blend of compounds given off by stressed or injured ash trees and to specific shades of purple and green. Once beetles find an ash tree, they nibble along the margins of leaves throughout their three- to six-week life span. Leaf feeding is important for the beetles to mature, but it has virtually no effect on the trees. After 15 to 20 days of leaf feeding, the females begin to lay a few eggs at a time, tucking them beneath bark flaps or in bark crevices. Many beetles mean many eggs — bad news for the tree when they hatch.

The tiny, cream-colored EAB larvae hatch from their eggs in mid-summer and chew through the rough outer bark to reach a layer of inner bark, called phloem. Phloem is the tissue used by trees to transport carbohydrates and other nutrients from the canopy down to the roots. The larvae feed in s-shaped tunnels, called galleries, for several weeks in summer and early fall. As the larvae grow, the galleries increase in size. Galleries often etch the outer ring of sapwood, which ash trees use to transport water up from the roots to the canopy. A few larvae feeding in a large branch or on the trunk of an ash tree have little effect on the tree. Over time, however, as the density of larvae builds, the ability of the tree to transport nutrients and water is disrupted by the galleries. The canopy begins to thin, and large branches may die. Eventually, the entire tree succumbs.

Once EAB populations begin to build, nearly all ash trees in the forest, swamp or urban area are likely to become infested and die — often within a time span of only a few years. In southeast Michigan, where EAB was first established, scientists have documented 99 percent mortality in forest stands dominated by green ash (Fraxinus pennsylvanica), white ash (Fraxinus americana) or black ash (Fraxinus nigra). More than 60 million ash trees, ranging from one inch to five feet in diameter, have been killed by EAB in this area alone.

We know most adult EAB stay within about a half mile of where they emerge. In any population, however, at least a small proportion of beetles seem to fly farther — for reasons that are as yet unknown. Adult EAB are relatively good fliers; they’re much more agile and streamlined than bark beetles, for example. Mature females are probably capable of flying three miles. Unfortunately, EAB has been moved across longer distances by people who unknowingly transported infested ash trees from nurseries or recently cut logs or firewood. Once an ash tree dies or is cut, the phloem dries out, and it will not be re-infested, but any larvae already under the bark can complete their development and emerge as adults. Federal and state quarantines have been imposed to regulate the transport of ash trees, logs, wood and related materials to reduce the risk of additional EAB introductions.

In fact, accidental transportation of infested ash is probably how EAB got to North America in the first place. The introduction of EAB into the U.S. and Canada almost certainly occurred when infested wood crating or pallets originating in China arrived in the U.S. In its native range in China, EAB functions as a secondary pest, colonizing only severely stressed or dying Asian ash trees. In North America, however, native ash trees have no co-evolutionary history with EAB and have few defenses to resist this pest. While EAB beetles still prefer to colonize stressed ash trees, they will also readily infest — and eventually kill — healthy ash trees.

THE HIGH COSTS OF INFESTATION 

The potential economic and ecological impacts of EAB are staggering. National inventory data show more than eight billion ash trees in U.S. forests and woodlands, with a value estimated at more than $280 billion. Ash trees are especially abundant in eastern forests, but the mother lode of diversity is actually in the southwestern U.S., where at least eight of 16 native ash species occur.

Cultivars of green ash, white ash and velvet ash (F. velutina) have also been planted in landscapes and along roadways across the U.S. for decades. Because ash was so commonly propagated, nurseries sustained millions of dollars in losses when the EAB quarantines were imposed. Hundreds of millions of mature urban ash trees are growing on municipal and private land in the U.S. A 2010 analysis in Ecological Economics examined the potential costs of either treating or removing 50 percent of landscape ash trees in urban areas affected by EAB. Projected costs would exceed $10.5 billion by 2019. If suburban ash trees are included, costs nearly double.

Estimating costs of treatment or removal, however, does not do justice to the full economic impacts of losing ash trees, especially large trees, in residential and developed areas. Ash trees comprise up to 50 percent of the municipal trees growing along boulevards and in parks in some cities. Once ash trees die, they begin to decay relatively quickly, posing hazards to homes, vehicles and people. Losing a substantial portion of mature trees dramatically alters the appearance of neighborhoods and diminishes property values. Stormwater run-off increases. Shade decreases, and air conditioners run longer. In southeast Michigan municipalities, water use soared as a result of widespread ash mortality, resulting in surcharges levied by the regional water authority.

Economic projections, of course, do not address the ecological consequences likely to occur following extensive mortality of ash trees in forests, particularly in areas where ash is a major component of the overstory. Green ash, the most widely distributed ash in the U.S., grows in many types of soils and is often abundant along rivers, streams and other waterways, as well as in forests. White ash is also widely distributed, frequently growing in mixed stands with oaks, maples and other hardwoods. Black ash occurs most commonly in swamps and bogs in the northern U.S. and parts of Canada, often in sites where it is the only tree present. Unfortunately, black ash is also a highly preferred host for EAB and very vulnerable — it generally takes fewer EAB larvae to kill black ash trees than similarly sized trees of other ash species. The long-term ramifications of ash mortality in forests and riparian settings are not yet known, but can be expected to cascade through ecosystems. Nutrient cycling, hydrology, composition of herbaceous plants and the habitat available for birds, mammals, insects and other animals are all likely to be affected.

Along with its ecological value, black ash has cultural and spiritual significance for many American Indian tribes from Minnesota to Maine, as well as First Nation tribes in Canada. Some tribes even trace their origin to a black ash tree that split — one fork became man and the other became woman. The art of black ash basketry has been handed down from generation to generation in many tribes. Basket-making families have traditional harvest grounds, where they carefully select and harvest a few black ash trees each year. Most native basket makers are well aware of EAB and what this invader means for black ash across North America. Cooperative efforts to collect and preserve ash seeds, including seeds from black ash trees, have been undertaken by a number of tribes, along with scientists from federal agencies and universities.

THE SEARCH FOR SOLUTIONS 

Whether anything can be done to protect North American ash from EAB depends on whether your glass is half-full or half-empty.

Detecting new EAB infestations and trees with low densities of larvae remains a major challenge. Newly infested trees exhibit few, if any, external symptoms, making visual surveys unreliable. The most effective detection method involves girdling an ash tree in spring. Girdling — removing a band of bark and phloem around the circumference of the trunk — induces stress that attracts adult EAB, including egg-laying females, during the summer. The girdled tree must then be debarked — or burned or chipped — in fall or winter. If larval galleries are found, then the tree or the site is certainly infested. Despite the effectiveness of girdled trees, this is a labor-intensive survey method and often impractical. Purple or green artificial traps, baited with lures comprised of chemicals produced by ash trees, are also used for EAB surveys in many states. The baited traps, however, are not highly effective — in part because the lures and traps must compete with the live ash trees in the area. Most “outlier” infestations of EAB were not discovered until they were at least four to six years old.

Despite these challenges, much has been learned in the 10 years since EAB was discovered, and progress has been substantial. New systemic insecticides and application technology are available, enabling homeowners and municipalities to effectively and consistently protect valuable landscape trees. Systemic insecticides are typically applied either by injecting the product directly into the base of the trunk or by drenching the soil around the base of a tree. These products have relatively low toxicity to humans and few impacts on non-target organisms. One recently approved product provides two to three years of highly effective protection, reducing costs and logistical issues for homeowners and municipal arborists.

Federal agencies are hopeful that biological control may eventually play a role in EAB management, as well. Millions of dollars have been spent on a major effort to identify, evaluate, rear and release parasitoid wasps that attack EAB in China. Parasitoids are tiny, highly specialized wasps that lay eggs on immature stages of a host insect. After hatching, the immature wasp feeds on the host insect, eventually killing it as it completes its own development. Scientists from the U.S. and China worked together to identify parasitoids that appeared to be important natural enemies of EAB in China. Selected parasitoid species were then screened in quarantine facilities to determine their “host range” and assess whether they might pose any ecological risk in North America. Two species of parasitoids that attack EAB larvae and one tiny wasp that attacks EAB eggs are now being reared in large numbers in a U.S. Department of Agriculture facility and released in states with EAB infestations. Whether these Asian imports will be able to actually control EAB populations and prevent damage to ash trees may take years to determine.

In the meantime, scientists are learning more about native, natural enemies of EAB. In the past, native parasitoid wasps in the U.S. have evolved to find and attack the larvae of native beetles, such as bronze birch borer, that colonize stressed or dying trees. Until recently, however, native parasitoids rarely, if ever, attacked EAB larvae. At least one native parasitoid, Atanycolus cappaerti, now seems to be “learning” about EAB. This tiny wasp had never been studied and did not even have a scientific name until 2010. In the last five years, Atanycolus cappaerti has become increasingly common, usually in sites characterized by heavily infested, dying ash trees. Relatively little is yet known about this wasp and whether it will be able to slow the population growth of EAB.

A bright spot in the EAB saga involves blue ash (F. quadrangulata), a North American species which ranges from southern Michigan to Kentucky, Tennessee and Missouri. Scientists recently determined that blue ash is relatively resistant to EAB, making it likely that this species will survive the EAB invasion. Understanding more about the chemical and physical traits that underlie blue ash resistance may eventually lead to selective propagation of resistant ash cultivars.

Many areas — from individual neighborhoods to large cities — are beginning to implement an integrated approach for EAB management. Healthy landscape ash trees, for example, can be treated with a systemic insecticide, while urban ash in poor condition can be removed, reducing the amount of ash phloem available for EAB reproduction. Another management option involves using girdled trees as “trap trees.” Once girdled trees have been debarked in fall or winter, the EAB larvae in the trees will be killed before they can complete development. A pilot project called SLAM (SLow Ash Mortality) was launched in two EAB sites in upper Michigan in 2009 to evaluate different management options. Results to date show the combination of insecticide injections, selective ash removal and trap trees is slowing the growth of the EAB population in the two areas.

On the other hand, there is still plenty of cause for concern. While practical for urban and suburban trees, insecticides are not a solution for the millions of ash trees in forested or riparian settings. While many scientists are optimistic about the potential success of the Asian wasps imported for biological control, others point out that there are few examples of parasitoids controlling any phloem-feeding insect. Moreover, federal funding for activities such as EAB detection, research and outreach is expected to be cut by 75 percent in the next year. It seems inevitable that we will most likely kiss millions more ash trees goodbye before we find a good solution to EAB.

Dr. Deborah G. McCullough is member of the American Forests Science Advisory Board, a professor of forest entomology at Michigan State University and a member of a multi-disciplinary working group assigned to identify nonindigenous forest insects and pathogens established in the U.S. 

Learn what you can do in the fight against EAB.

The post Will We Kiss Our Ash Goodbye? appeared first on American Forests.

When and why did you become a nature photographer?

I’ve been taking nature photos for as long as I’ve used a camera. My dad is a forester and I spent a lot of time in the woods growing up. While out hiking, it was common for my dad to take long breaks to examine a unique plant. I do the same thing now, but as a kid, these pauses in the hike bored me to no end. At some point, I began playing with a camera as a way to keep myself entertained when we weren’t moving. From that moment on, my interest in nature photography grew. I now work as a freelance photojournalist and I cover a wide range of topics, but my favorite subjects to photograph are science and the environment.

Are you drawn to a specific type of nature photography? Wildlife? Landscapes? Detailed close-ups?

My favorite thing to shoot is people interacting with the outdoors. I love to explore all of the different ways that the natural world overlaps with our daily life. In my work, this has ranged from photographing kids exploring a cave for the first time to shooting portraits of loggers to documenting wildlife research work.

What was the most difficult image you ever tried to capture?

For the last two years, I’ve been working on bat research projects around Missouri. Since I started the work, I’ve been trying to capture good bat photos. When it comes down to it, you are trying to photograph a small animal that is either curled up in a furry ball or moving at rapid speeds in total darkness. On top of that, there is always the challenge to not blind the people you are working with when you start shooting off flashes in the woods in the middle of the night.

Do you have a favorite story from your quest for beautiful photographs?

I recently worked on a project documenting work with endangered plants and ecosystems around California. For two weeks, I traveled with several writers and met with botanists and ecologists around the state. While we heard from many amazing people, it was a very difficult assignment to photograph. Many of the plants we were looking at had gone dormant for the year. At the same time, we were covering so much ground in such a short amount of time that it was difficult to really dig into any single assignment. At the end of two weeks, we were wrapping up our coverage in the Mojave Desert and I was still on the hunt for a photo that I would be really happy with.

On the last day, I left the hotel before dawn to go looking for photos in the desert. I headed towards Rainbow Basin Natural Area outside of Barstow. I knew little about the area other than that it was close enough to our hotel to fit a trip in before we had to leave. We got turned around several times on the drive over and it looked like the weather might be poor for finding nice morning light. As soon as we found the natural area, though, things changed. The full moon settled in along the horizon, the light began to change to a beautiful sunrise and just as we reached the basin, a kit fox ran along a nearby ridge, perfectly silhouetted against the glowing sky. For the next couple of hours, I took off with my tripod and ran through the desert photographing Joshua Trees in the golden morning light.

Where is your favorite shooting location?

Any new trail at dawn.

Do you have a favorite photo?
My favorite photo is always changing. I love any image that shows me something new or gives me a new way of looking at something familiar.

Which other photographers do you admire?

I really admire photographers like Melissa Farlow, Joel Sartore and Peter Essick who document environmental stories in a way that does more than just show the beauty of nature. Their photos show the interaction between people and the natural world and they do it in a way that it reaches out to more than just the traditional “outdoorsy” crowds.

Do you prefer digital or film, and why?

I really enjoy film. I really think about every image I’m making when I have a set number of frames and no way to see what I just shot. Even through the end, I love the experience of hiding away in a dark room and watching something I shot weeks before coming to life on a blank sheet of paper. Having said all of that, I usually shoot with digital. Most of my work requires it, the price is unbeatable and there is nothing more nerve-wracking than seeing the perfect photo opportunity just after you finished your last roll. The only time I shoot film now is when I’m working on small personal projects.

The post Close Up With Nature Photographer Benjamin Zack appeared first on American Forests.

American Forests Science Advisory Board member Dr. Jonathan Kusel is the founder and executive director of Sierra Institute for Community and Environment. His research focuses on social indicator use and evaluation, community well-being and assessment and community-based group processes. Some of his accomplishments include leading an assessment of the first federally mandated, natural resource-focused collaboratives —  the Resource Advisory Committees associated with the Secure Rural School and Community Self-Determination Act.

Why did you choose to go into natural resource sociology?

I enjoy working with and studying rural communities and how they affect and are affected by resource management. I not only wanted to contribute to learning about rural places and forests, but to translate and share the knowledge I’ve gained in ways that result in improved resource management and social and economic outcomes.

What was the most difficult moment that you’ve experienced in pursuit of your work?

Working on President Clinton’s Forest Ecosystem Management Assessment Team, which developed the Northwest Forest Plan, there was too little time to do all that was needed to make it as good as I wanted it to be. Knowing that what we were doing was going to affect the lives of tens of thousands of people across the Pacific West and that there was inadequate time to work through disagreement among scientists added to the difficulty.

Do you have a favorite story from your years in the field?

I have a number of favorite stories, and they often involve research that has real-world outcomes. Working on a participatory research project with mushroom harvester groups in southeastern Oregon, I worked with others conducting campground meetings in six different languages, including multiple southeast Asian languages, Spanish and English. We reduced violence in the woods and overcame a deep mistrust and fear of U.S. Forest Service officials, resulting in the harvesters themselves mapping and sharing their oftentimes secret mushroom sites with the Forest Service, which then planned timber harvesting and other activities in ways to protect those areas.

If you weren’t a scientist, what would you be?

A great horned owl.

Where is your favorite spot to experience nature and why?

In addition to my home in Indian Valley in the northern Sierra, the deserts of Utah. The area has always held a special place in my heart for the austere beauty and the natural elements that push nature and the soul. That I met my wife there adds a bit as well.

What is your favorite aspect of your field?

Working with rural people to get them involved in science, engaging people in what they do and where they work and learning from them.

What is the most surprising thing that you have learned in the course of your work?

There is a disconnect between rural and urban areas: Too many urban people don’t know about rural areas beyond the natural resources or about the working landscapes that contribute to their lives. A good example is that southern Californians have little idea where their water comes from (the mountains in the north of the state) and the role of forests in producing that water.

What do you think the biggest issue facing forest health is today?

Lack of understanding and an unwillingness of people to genuinely engage and learn.

Where was the most memorable place you were able to travel to in the name of science and why?

I remember vividly a Resource Advisory Group in southwestern Mississippi and my research studying collaborative group work in communities there. I learned the counties that were successful with collaborative work were building on the gains made through the Civil Rights Movement. Nearby counties that had not been successful and did not engage in collaborative work had not moved beyond some of the longstanding civil rights challenges.

Who is your favorite fictional scientist and why?

I don’t have one, but I think of science fiction writers and how the good ones push our thinking. Ursula Le Guin comes to mind.

The post Forest Frontiers: Dr. Jonathan Kusel appeared first on American Forests.