My siblings and I grew up spending hours in the swampy woodlands behind our home, where the neighborhood kids would gather for adventures. To enter the bigger expanse of woods, we had to cross a rambling section of a brook that at certain times of the year was more pond than stream. When the water was deep enough, we poled along the edges in my father’s rowboat, peering through the plexiglass window he had installed on the bottom of the boat to see crayfish and turtles hiding beneath the water’s surface. In the woods, we caught snakes and frogs and carefully rolled over logs to find red-backed salamanders. In winter, my father strung lights along the edges of the small, frozen pond that formed; it was just large enough for figure skating with a flourish of swinging arms as hockey players whipped by after a puck.
One summer, my older brother dammed the brook with fallen logs and sticks, instigating our first experience with town politics. He got in trouble and had to remove the dam. As children, we didn’t really buy the argument that the dam was causing basement flooding – the entire neighborhood was built on a wetland. Somehow, the act of being scolded – of external rules being placed on what had seemed like our private domain – shifted our relationship with the woods; soon, the vagaries of adolescence separated us further. Eventually, the town dredged part of the swamp to alleviate flooding. Later, a newcomer to the neighborhood filled the wetlands right up to the edge of the brook to extend their lawn. One of our friends returned years later and was shocked to see the little pond that had been the source of so many childhood memories was gone.
Like Lisabeth Willey in “Community Voices” (page 36), my childhood experiences influenced my education and career choices. It’s no accident that for much of my professional life I’ve been involved in projects to protect wetlands and waterways, and intrigued by the difficult terrain where people communicate different land use preferences and values toward woods, water, and wildlife.
In this issue, we are launching a series of articles that explore the important connections between forests and water, starting with the elegant prose of Catherine Schmitt in “At Chapman Brook” (page 42). Schmitt’s article, focused on the western mountains of Maine, lays a foundation for articles in future issues, addressing the important role that intact, well-managed forests play in maintaining healthy streams – and the many benefits that come from this stewardship.
The perfect companion piece as we wade into this complex terrain: John Litvaitis’s examination of wild brook trout restoration in the Northeast (page 50). These articles, and the developing series, promote more thoughtful planning and decision-making. Keeping forests as forests, and managing them with the multiple benefits they provide to communities in mind, is critical to community resilience in the face of climate change.
In Mike Freeman’s exploration of shelterwood management in the “Quiet Corner” of Connecticut (page 60) we peer into Yale-Myers Forest research on methods for harvesting timber through irregular shelterwoods to encourage preferred species while also improving wildlife diversity. This research can help land managers understand how to strengthen the resilience of northeastern forests when timber production is one of the land use goals.
But I highlight the Freeman article for another reason: working woodlands exist throughout the Northeast, and active timber management close to suburban and urban areas can help people understand the many values forests provide. Like the timber harvest mentioned in the Schmitt article, harvesting wood and the work to maintain recreational opportunities, biological diversity, and water-quality protection, can go hand in hand.
Forests provide wildlife habitat, jobs, wood for heat, paper, and materials for home building and other infrastructure. These same forests clean our air and filter our water, store and sequester carbon, inspire our creative impulses, and refresh our spirit. We can find common ground in viewing forests – working timberland, protected areas, and backyard woods alike – as integral to our community well-being, and as places for friendships to flourish.