Wood Lit - Spring 2006
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Trees of New England: A Natural History
Trees of New England by Charles Fergus is not another field guide, and thank goodness for that. If I were to lug around all that are available these days, or even a selection of those of most interest, there would be no room in my backpack for much else, and my peanut butter sandwich would get flattened into a messy tortilla. I wonder if there’s a correlation here – that the less contact we have with nature, the more books are published about nature.
So it was with some trepidation that I opened this new tree book and began reading. But quickly, my fears were put to rest. Right away the author lets us know you can leave this book at home (or in the car) and not feel guilty. It really does, as the author claims, “take up where a field guide leaves off,” presenting information about trees in an unadorned narrative style – and alphabetically by common name, so readers can flip directly to species accounts, which include description, range (accompanied by a helpful map), ecology, information on how each tree interacts with various kinds of wildlife, and on how humans have made use of the tree. The straight narrative approach – text not broken into sub-categories such as leaves, flowers, buds, general comments – does have a tradeoff, however. Though pleasingly uncluttered, it does convey the impression that the book is to be read sort of like a collection of short stories. But since it is really a reference book, sub-categories would have facilitated quick finding of specific information within an entry.
The book, in fact, is chock-full of information that is both helpful and interesting. While this is a pleasant discovery, it is not entirely unexpected. Fergus is a prolific and eclectic author on the outdoors. He has written 15 books, whose subjects range from general natural history, to specific animals, to memoirs, to hunting. His books on hunting, in fact, confirmed my feeling that many hunters are keen naturalists, with eyes sharpened, awareness broadened, and sensitivities heightened by this particular, very personal, interaction with nature.
The black-and-white illustrations of Amelia Hansen are admirable companions to the text. She, too, has an impressive resumé, including a long list of publications (several with Fergus), in various media. Here, the clear, crisp, pen-and-ink renderings of trees, tree components, and landscapes are a good visual fit to the style of the book. I only wish there were more.
So why do we need this book now, when there are so many books out there about trees, forests, and nature in New England? A good question, and it’s puzzling that Fergus does not pose it or answer it. My answer is that this is the only recent book that has taken an in-depth popular approach to the natural history of trees in this region. Trees of New England is not thickly scientific or scholarly but rather is geared more to the average person with an interest in trees – of which there are many. Fergus really is breaking new ground here, even though the ground itself is quite old and well trod.
The book is timely, too, including information on the many species now threatened by serious diseases and insect infestations (mostly of non-native origin, such as butternut canker on butternut, beech scale/nectria fungus on beech, woolly adelgid on hemlock), as well as by acid precipitation generally. Many of these threats, individually or collectively, have the potential to transform the forested landscape in New England much in the way the chestnut blight and Dutch elm disease have done.
Fergus could have added other new threats lurking in the wings, such as the emerald ash borer and Asian longhorned beetle. He also might have addressed the issue of global climate change, which, according to several respected scientific computer models, could eliminate species such as sugar maple and hemlock from New England forests within 50 years. And the book would have benefited from a sharper copyeditor. But these do not detract from its value. There is a lot to like about it and a lot to learn from it, and I have great respect for what Fergus has done. His book is a welcome member of the household now, sitting on a nearby bookshelf, waiting comfortably and patiently for the field guides to come home.
Charles W. Johnson
© 2006 by the author; this article may not be copied or reproduced without the author's consent.
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Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder
It’s a pleasant Saturday morning, and a small suburban park is filling with people. While the adults set up lawn chairs and dig out soccer equipment, the youngsters frolic on the grass. Just beyond the park’s mown periphery stands a patch of deserted woods that is separated from the playing field by a tall chain-link fence. Herein lies what might be called Richard Louv’s nightmare. Is the fence meant to keep the children in or the woods out?
Louv’s book, Last Child in the Woods, offers a chilling examination of the present state of modern society and where it’s headed if a course correction isn’t undertaken soon. He describes the unbalanced world in which children are more familiar with TV characters and computer games than the wild, unstructured terrain that exists beyond parks, playgrounds, and strip malls. As one child quoted in the book says, “I like to play inside better because that’s where all the outlets are.” Unfortunate youngsters such as this are suffering from what Louv calls “nature-deficit disorder,” a malady which though non-clinical must still be taken seriously.
We should be alarmed that woods, mountains, and fields represent alien territory for most kids. The absence of a direct relationship with these natural places imperils children’s physical and emotional health, Louv warns.
Youngsters need exposure to nature, but they’re not getting it for several reasons, according to Louv, including adults’ often irrational fear that menacing strangers lurk behind the next tree or around an approaching bend along the forest trail. Communities and developers also thwart kids’ interaction with nature by creating parks that feature only grassy playing areas and exclude meadows and woods. Homework and after-school activities conspire to make it harder than ever for children to simply play outside, and it’s showing in their bulging waistlines, Louv contends.
His is a compelling argument and one that calls upon us to help children establish a relationship with nature in which they can roam freely and fearlessly in the woods, build tree houses, explore streams, and muddy their shoes. His well-supported case is easily grasped and possesses the true ring of a hawk’s cry.
Fortunately, there is a course that can be followed to help ensure a brighter outlook for future generations, Louv advises. We must reorder our lives to make time for nature. We must take our children into the woods and help them see the wonder that exists there. We must advocate for schools to include more nature-based instruction and for governments and developers to preserve and provide access to forests, meadows, and streams.
“Healing the broken bond between children and nature may seem to be an overwhelming, even impossible, task,” he writes. But it is one that must be undertaken, says Louv, lest we become fenced off from the woods entirely, and lose our way in an artificial world of our own making.
Norman Leigh
© 2006 by the author; this article may not be copied or reproduced without the author's consent.
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The Apple Grower: Revised and Expanded Edition
As anyone who has ever planted a few apple trees knows all too well, growing apples can be a perplexing and frustrating endeavor. The trouble is that apples are very attractive to many of nature’s creatures besides humans. And at least one of these creatures, from deer to apple maggot flies, and from the roundheaded apple tree borer to mice (not to mention the long list of diseases that also affect apples), is sure to be working for its share of the fruit (and in some cases the tree) every day of the year. But if you’ve ever baked a pie made from your own apples, or pressed a batch of cider from them, the trials and tribulations all seem worth it with that first bite or sip.
Michael Phillips’s revised The Apple Grower has as much help as you’ll find anywhere to get you to that first bite of pie or sip of cider. The previous edition, published in 1998, was the bible for many backyard orchardists and commercial organic growers. The new edition, boasting color photos and expanded and better-organized chapters, is a real treat for anyone interested in apples. The new edition’s chapter on diseases and pests will be helpful to those left scratching their head about who or what is eating the apples or trees they are trying to grow.
Phillips sprinkles tributes to other apple growers throughout the text. These persistent and dedicated souls, along with Phillips, are exploring uncharted territory: they are trying, without the use of traditional pesticides and chemicals, to keep ever-evolving pests and diseases away from trees that are themselves not evolving. All named apple varieties are genetic dead ends. A Macintosh today is genetically identical to a Macintosh from a century ago, but the bugs and diseases have spent that time evolving to break through the trees’ defenses.
Phillips presents intriguing ideas about orchard soils. Since people started growing apples in orchards, those orchard soils have largely been bacterially based, meaning that fertility has been maintained by the addition of bacteria-laden manure. Sheep or cattle were allowed to graze the grass and eat dropped apples, adding manure to the soils, and often the orchard was formerly pasture or hayfield, where manure was regularly added to maintain fertility. Bacteria-based soils are great for grasses and hay crops, but not necessarily for trees.
Phillips argues that apple trees are still, well, trees, and like other trees, they prefer forest soils, which rely mainly on fungi to break down organic matter such as bark, wood, and other plant matter to maintain soil fertility. Phillips believes that this soil is what apple trees naturally want, and that it makes them healthier and better able to deal with pests and diseases. He has been experimenting with using fast-growing comfrey in his orchard, cutting it down to add rotting plant matter and to stifle the growth of grass, which can rob an apple tree’s surface feeder roots of nutrients. He advocates adding composted branches, bark, wood chips, and even excess chunks of sheetrock to your orchard to promote the fungi in the soil and to deter grasses.
Phillips’s style is more writerly than reference. His homespun stories about his many years of trying to outwit and outmaneuver the legions of apple-loving creatures are both entertaining and packed with tips. Phillips’s extremely handy compendium of orchard tasks has always served as my basic plan of attack for what to do in my orchard, and the revised and expanded edition will be a welcome addition to my library. I have no doubt that over time it will take on the grimy, thumbed-through, and well-used look of my copy of the first edition of The Apple Grower.
Carl Demrow
© 2006 by the author; this article may not be copied or reproduced without the author's consent.
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