Over casted skies sweep above a bare canopy of dark and light limbs outstretched in the brisk wind. The melody of Brown Creepers and the droned toots of the Tufted Titmouse can be heard among the larger trees, along with echoes of woodpeckers against bark (Cornell Lab of Ornithology). It is early January, and the fate of the towering and thick oaks and sugar maples has been decided. Fifteen acres of the tree land will be set aside for the conservation easement, promising Puttyroot Orchids and trillium flexipes future springs to reproduce among the understory of the forest (Wright State University Newsroom). Although spring is a few months away, the trees may already sense the irregular 60-degree weather approaching the Dayton Region in the coming days; the woods see more rain that month than snow (National Weather Service, 2017).
|
Some of the oaks that stand in the fifteen-acre easement have stood for hundreds of years, dating back to a time when Native Americans and European pioneers roamed the area. At that time, oaks were the dominant tree, alongside the shaggy hickory, the now disappearing ash, the exquisite sycamore, elm, hackberry, black walnut, wild black cherry, and the notorious Ohio buckeye (Runkle 10). The arrival of people brought in the flames that breathe life into the oak lifecycle when forest maintenance and clearing was underway. Livestock worked similarly as the fires did: kept competing trees, such as sugar maple, from outgrowing the oaks. In the early 1900s, however, fire suppression and a decrease in livestock gave way for the fast-growing sugar maples to drift into the land and take root (Bailey 5). The old growth forest is considered “changing old growth” and oak tree numbers dwindle.
|
As more sugar maples make up the canopy, it is noted that oak is not the only tree shrinking in numbers. Scattered throughout the easement, gray lifeless half-trees stand where proud white and green ashes once did, taken by the white-petaled emerald ash borer (Reed 18). Although more prominent in new growth areas, threatening species such as garlic mustard and tree of heaven also choke up the land they are not native to and can prevent native plants such as pawpaw, Northern Spicebush, and wild ginger, from growing (Bailey 7). Amur and Japanese Honeysuckle hug the old areas and consume the new just northwest of the easement, altering the soil and understory to the point where new trees and native plants cannot sprout and grow into maturity due to the lack of space and sun covered by the honeysuckle (Woods 17). With honeysuckle in sight, the pulse of new growth is not too far. Northwest of the easement the trees begin to change, the forest may even appear quieter. Young black locusts trees dot the area along with stems of other trees.
|
On the southwest side of the easement, far reaching pawpaw clusters gather beneath the old growth canopy, where walking through is not difficult. Beneath the earth, the clonal roots of the pawpaws all intertwine to make one plant, one giant pulsing root system. Beyond the pawpaw cluster, up the slope, and drawing nearer to a trailheads, lies the remnants of an old and very large, uprooted tree, waiting to sigh back into the soil with time and decomposition. Blue jays cackle up above and voices of Ecology, Botany, Aquatic, and Biology students are heard echoing through time between the trees (Wright State Campus Map). Art students interact with creation and the land in the Creative Arts construction barn, located in new growth areas (WSU Woods History 97-10). Friends, young lovers, alumni, and families wander the woods and touch the ancient giants that make up the old growth, looking up to scale the age, to see the leaves, and to stretch the neck in awe. No parking lots will be built here, no clearings will be made. The trees will stay and so will their land.
|