Ever since attending the induction of Rutgers' Meckler Woods into the Old-Growth Forest Network, I've wondered whether any woodlands closer by could be rightfully considered old-growth. Rare is the woods that was never logged. The forests we typically encounter are of more recent vintage, having mostly grown up from abandoned farm fields. There's a valley at Herrontown Woods with giant tulip trees whose massive roots have lifted the ground around them, as if perched on a pedestal of their own making. Might these and the nearby big oaks and hickories meet the standard? And what exactly is the standard for deciding? Below is an account of encounters with old-growth, old stuff, and different forms of timelessness during recent travels.When we headed north from Princeton to attend the wedding of a young couple in upstate NY, we had no idea that the theme of the trip would turn out to be old stuff and old growth. On the way up, we stayed overnight with friends whose house is filled with old furniture--a grandfather clock, of course, but also what may as well be called grandfather chairs that had been inherited or adopted from the curb, valued for their uniqueness and style regardless of how practical they might be. Each chair around the dining room table, each lamp, vase, and bureau, had a story behind it. A crank telephone perched on the wall in the kitchen, ready to call up the whisperings of distant ancestors. I found great comfort in this approach to stocking a house, even if a chair's quirky ergonomics didn't conform to modern expectations.
The next morning, we walked through Borden's Pond, a second growth woods whose scattered "wolf" trees and sedge meadows also have a story to tell. When the area was logged long ago to make pasture, farmers left a few scattered trees as shade for the livestock. Those trees, lacking any competition, with sun all around, grew thick lateral branches, so different in shape from the straight, younger trees--the "second growth"-- that grew up after the pasture was abandoned. This can't be called old-growth, I suppose, but it certainly has individual trees that go way way back.
Conveniently, the route to the wedding took us by
Landis Arboretum, which too had some craggy old trees, standing next to the farmhouse. In the woods beyond, though, was an area declared to be old-growth, with a series of signs explaining how to distinguish old-growth from the second growth forest all around.
Don't expect big trees only, but a few big trees lingering in a mixed age stand. Around six old trees per acre is typical. In this photo, only one of the trees can be considered old growth, in this case a hemlock extending back 250 years.
Really old trees lose their symmetry, with thick upper limbs and tops broken off by storms endured over the centuries, creating what's called a "stag-headed top." Look for mounds and pits on the forest floor--undulations caused by the lifting up of root balls as trees fall. And look for coarse woody debris on the forest floor in different stages of decay, where stable conditions and slow decay have allowed opulent growth of moss and fungi. One of the interpretive signs offered a clever way to judge a tree's age, not by its diameter or height--since some trees grow much faster than others--but by how far the moss has managed to grow up the trunk.
One week later, I was in Durham, NC, where I started a watershed association 26 years ago, creating a string of preserves before moving to Princeton. I always get together with my botanizing buddies when I visit, and this time Perry Sugg, Cynthie Kulstad and I decided to stop by the 82 acre Glennstone preserve I had worked with a developer to create. We were walking down a sewerline right of way, with no particular destination in mind, when I thought of a special place to visit.
Just down the hill from the remains of a summer cottage, next to a rocky creek, are the remains of a spring where the owners of the cottage must have gotten their water. A small pipe sticks out of this half circle of stone, near the bottom. The ground there is consistently wet, but I've never seen water actually flowing out of the pipe. Last time I'd been there, I'd found a robust patch of JoePyeWeed, a tall wildflower found nowhere else in the preserve. This was also the only place I've seen smooth alders in the area. Apparently, the stable water source allowed the plants to survive droughts.
On this visit, armed with awareness gained at Landis Arboretum in upstate NY, I was able to focus in more on what sorts of trees were growing nearby. Past logging had left only narrow corridors of the original forest intact. Buffer regulations had forbidden harvest of trees within fifty feet of the stream. One tree in particular caught my eye, a towering shortleaf pine.
The rough bark at its base brought to mind the Landis Arboretum signage:
"The bark changes on most species when the trees are over 150 years old, looking very different from the bark of younger trees.
Excellent signs include balding bark, shaggy bark (separating or curling strips), craggy bark (deeply grooved, fissured bark), and platy bark."
On this particular shortleaf pine, the bark changed dramatically about 20 feet up, from shaggy to smoother, platy bark extending to the top. That would suggest the tree is well over 150 years old.
The bark at the base was deeply grooved.
Other large trees with distinctive, eccentric bark rose from the creekbanks. I doubt that this narrow band of mature trees along a stream would fit the definition of old-growth forest, even if the trees were old enough. The Network prefers stands of at least 20 acres. If there had been time, we could have followed this narrow band of old trees downstream, to better dream of what this woods had been before the logging.
Late afternoon light caught the tops of these towering remnant trees rooted in a distant time yet still growing towards the sun. The experience of being there in that charmed hollow was not unlike the sense of timelessness felt while staying in our friends' house with furniture firmly rooted in the past.
Keeping with the theme of old stuff, the young couple's wedding reception took place in the Hotel Utica, dating back to 1912, with massive, ornate chandeliers and tree-like columns. The groom's father was happy his son had chosen a place so steeped in history, but mourned that the glorious woodwork had been painted over during a recent renovation.
It was the groom's father's idea to include an antique phone booth at the reception, where wedding guests could leave a message for the newlyweds, using an old dial phone.
Below is text from the Landis Arboretum's interpretive signage, describing in more detail the qualities to look for in old-growth forest.
