Seeing the Forests and the Trees

The sight of savannas is supposed to soothe us humans, give us a sense of ancient homeland, and remind us subconsciously of our early ancestors. Not me. I'll trade the openness of the plain for the shelter of a forest any day. Any forest. I guess my sense of home is still in the trees with some of our more primitive ancestors.

While I'd much rather explore forests than fields, to some extent I can understand the sense of foreboding that some people may feel about forests. City kids, when first visiting the sanctuary where I work, are often unnerved by the white pines creaking and swaying in the wind. "Get my feet back on the concrete," was one student's initial plea.

Lack of familiarity, lack of knowledge, and preconceived notions about forests and other ecosystems create barriers to the enjoyment and preservation of our forests and other open spaces. As Bob Leverett explains in his article, old-growth wasn't recognized here in New England before the 1980's because most ecologists and naturalists were looking for a western U.S.-type forest.

I, too, plead guilty. My preconceived image of an ancient forest was, indeed, the "forest primeval," dark and claustrophobic -- until I accompanied Bob Leverett and a group of UMass Boston grad students through the old-growth of Mohawk Trail State Forest. I was awestruck by the height of the sugar maples, beeches, and black birches. Trees of power and grace, they formed a canopy farther above our heads than those of the forests to which I was accustomed. I hadn't envisioned the dappled light. Nor had I expected the feeling underfoot of soft humus beneath a gold and rust carpet of newly fallen leaves, or the variety and colors of the lichen, club mosses, and fungi.

Christopher Hardy, the Massachusetts Audubon Society's legislative liaison, describes the Old Growth Forest Reserves Legislation pending in the legislature (see Hardy article, this issue). It's been held up by the Wachusetts Mountain Associates, a private group that wants to expand its ski facilities even at the cost of protecting the mature forest that buffers the only documented old-growth site east of the Connecticut River.

Legislators are swayed by public opinion. How many voters in Massachusetts are familiar with the forest-oriented topics of old-growth in New England (Leverett article this issue), the plight of the American chestnut (Staples article), and the value of forest ecosystem services (Gerwein article)? It sounds obvious, but if people are going to support conservation efforts, first they must know about the issues and feel some personal connection.

A case in point is the Town of Needham's Prop. 2 1/2 question on the Fall 2000 ballot to purchase almost 18 acres of land from a private owner for conservation purposes at a cost of $2 million. The previous year, voters had passed a multi-million dollar override to pay for two elementary schools that was just the beginning of an extensive, long range capital plan. There was vocal opposition to spending the money for something as frivolous as open space when the Town faced many more "important" expenditures. Those of us on the Conservation Commission and Committee for Open Space had no real idea of how the vote would go to purchase the last remaining parcel of open space that abuts the Town's 330-acre conservation land, Ridge Hill Reservation. If the owner did not get Town approval in the fall, he would put the land on the open market.

The Committee wrote several articles and letters to the editors of the local weekly newspapers. We put together a brochure explaining where Ridge Hill was and how the parcel fit in geographically and ecologically. It also described the externalities -- the values-- of the property to humans and other creatures: buffer for wetlands, aquifer protection, recreation, existing trail system, several habitats found nowhere else at Ridge Hill, etc. The brochure was distributed to every household. Tours of Ridge Hill and the property were given to residents and the press.

Many of us who asked supporters to sign petitions had similar experiences -- few townspeople had prior knowledge of the land, but were in favor of the purchase when they had the facts. I was amazed at the number of people whom I've known for 15-20 years who hadn't spend time at Ridge Hill. Other residents had no idea that our conservation land -- complete with hiking and cross-country skiing trails, a fitness trail, and a lovely, former home that is used for meetings, weddings, and other functions -- existed.

On Election Day, the override question passed with quite a comfortable margin. Eighteen more acres of woods and wetlands became part of Needham's conservation land.

As for reiterating the importance of conserving our open space and forests -- no matter how large or small the parcel -- I'm turning over the rest of this editorial to my teen-aged daughter, Pamm Colasacco. Her short essay, an assignment this past autumn (printed below), says it all:

Looking out my bedroom window, I see the back of an old, lonely, worn-down house with chipped paint and a garbage bag covering holes in the walls. I see an unkempt mess of shrubs and leaves and a few half-standing, tattered trees. Through the wreck of the yard, I see more houses across the street. The view was not always like this. For all of my life up until three weeks ago, I loved the view from my back window. Behind my lawn stood lush woodland. Beyond the fence, fifty trees -- at least -- sheltered our yard from the neighborhood. Our neighbor, Ms. Clarke, was a recluse. She never left her house and let her woods grow wildly because, as she said, "The twigs protect me from radiation." She frightened many people, but not me. She was strange but harmless.

I loved my backyard; her trees were my favorite part. Every spring, these trees would blossom first. Every winter, these trees were the last ones to lose their leaves. We enjoyed the emerald backdrop through the hot summers and the rainbow hues throughout the autumns. These woods gave us privacy. They were a home to birds, squirrels, raccoons, and insects as well as a playground for our cats.

A few weeks ago, I heard chain saws. Looking out back, I saw one of the last trees hit the ground, followed by the remaining flakes of orange and yellow leaves. Ms Clarke died, my mom told me. A builder bought the land and a big house will be up by springtime. I always appreciated the natural habitat of Ms. Clarke's yard, but I did not realize how much I would miss it until it was gone.