Fire on the Hill: Burning the Longleaf Pine Forest at the Mobile Botanical Garden

It was an early morning on Tuesday, but well worth it for the electric anticipation of what was going to happen: eight acres of the forest was going up in flames this day. The sun rose over the 35 acres of the treasure forest. The way it lit up the trunks and made the needle glow seemed to foretell what was coming.

Burning the longleaf forest, June 16, 2015

 (Click for more photos of the burn and other scenes of the Longleaf Pine Forest through the spring)

A crowd gathered as time got closer to when the fire crew would light the first part of the fire. Volunteers had their tasks and news crews stood ready with cameras as the fire crew came riding down Pat Ryan Drive. After Andrew said a few words, the first stream of flames were released and a defining line of fire licked away at the duff. The tell-tale smell of a campfire filled the air and smoke billowed into the morning.

Part of the fire crew watched as the fire line moved down the main drive and south through the forest. Other members of the crew went to other parts of the perimeter to set more fires. Volunteers and bystanders moved to get a better view of the expanding fire. People driving down the street slowed down to look at the flames eating away at the brush in the forest. The wind played with the smoke, blowing it this way and that; giving the scene an otherworldly appearance.

As the morning moved on, I took a moment to go closer to the smoking line to see how the Sabal palms bent beneath the touch of the fire. I then spotted a couple of ground bees flying lazily around a small opening in the fire break. Lucky, the brush had been raked away and their home wasn’t in the line of fire. The bees themselves seemed pretty confused as to what was going on as they flew in circles around the opening. Amazing luck.

I was taking a photo of them when the burn master came down from the hill and asked if I’d been to the top of the hill yet. I hadn’t because of my knee, but the tempting view helped me overcome that. 

My slow footsteps were warmed by the smoldering brush as I passed over the fire line and into the center of the burn. Spot fires were growing in front of me and the comforting crackle of fire sage and other brush catching called out from them. A large fire rose higher into the canopy as the flames reached a particularly willing patch of brush. It was a large tongue, licking the lower branches of the longleaf pine full of glistening needles. It soon calmed down and coalesced with the rest of the fire. 

A stand of longleaf pines as old as me stood in a cluster along the road, living remnants of a good seed year, much like the one we’d had this past year. I made my way through the brush towards the trail to join up with the rest of the burn crew and to see my tree cohorts wrapped in the fire. They looked good in their state of transformation, through the smoke and flashes of orange and red. 

"A Pine that Fire Built", the title of a pamphlet  in the office rang true. As I stood there watching, fire creeping along the ground and smoke filling the air, I knew the next year was going to bring new life to the forest. Fire, although seemingly impatient and all-consuming, can teach us a lesson about time and temperance. Change seems to happen in almost an instant, but real change is slow, patient and accumulates over time. This fire is just one of many that will happen, and without this one the next would not be as effective. Time is a continuum and fire is just a part of it.

Eva Colberg's Adventures in Madagascar: ISP and Reflections

Here's the last installment of Eva's updates. Everything below is Eva's own words. I hope you enjoy!

Check out Eva's Instagram for more photos of Madagascar and her other adventures:


If you would like to contact her, feel free to email her here.
~~~

Final Mada Update

Eva Colberg

December 19, 2014

It still doesn’t quite seem real; my semester in Madagascar is over, and I’ve now been in Alaska for five days. It doesn't seem so much like reverse culture shock as it does simply figuring out how to live in this country without wasting or forgetting what I've learned and experienced overseas. 

The majority of November was dedicated to my independent study project (ISP). It began with a solitary taxi-brousse ride to a town on the northeastern coast to finally meet my ISP advisor, a botanist for Missouri Botanical Garden. After another, shorter taxi-brousse ride and then a three-hour boat trip up the river to my base village of Manjato, he spent two days of preliminary fieldwork with me. Then he departed, leaving me with my own devices.

Francine (my cook), Edrissia (her step-daughter), and Theresis (Francine's husband and one of my guides) preparing cloves to be dried.

I had two guides and a cook who barely knew any French and certainly not any English between the three of them, making charades and Malagasy the main options for conveying my research methods, daily needs, and basic interactions. Between the language barrier, exhausting days traipsing through the hilly swamps and littoral forests, and minimal contact with the outside world, my ISP was the most mentally, physically, and emotionally challenging portion of my trip.

A lone mature individual of Ravenea krociana, one of my target species.

Triumphantly, though, it paid off. My Malagasy improved greatly, I mastered balancing on one-log bridges, and most exciting of all, I documented the populations of four threatened, endemic palm species, one of which had only been known to exist in two other locations prior to my study. Additionally, my village was incredibly welcoming to me. I had a first-hand view of the intricacies of community-based forest management, and every day of field work was an adventure full of new surprises, from chameleons to rare and bizarre plants. 

After writing up my findings, I reunited with my group in Tulear, on the west coast, for our final presentations, exams, and re-entry sessions. As we made our way back up to the capital, we snorkeled in Ifaty with the NGO ReefDoctor, camped in the canyon of Isalo National Park, hiked to the top of the Tsaranoro Valley near Andringitra National Park, and received parting blessings from the fanahy (spirits) on top of the sacred mountain Andatabo.

The sandstone formations of Isalo National Park.

Ring-tailed lemur (Lemur catta) in the Tsaranoro Valley.

According to the fanahy, I will return to Madagascar, but I already knew that in my heart. On my last night in Manjato, my cook gave me a sprouting potato to plant in her backyard. It felt powerfully symbolic, as if I was leaving a little part of me to grow in Madagascar and give back to it in some way, a small gift of gratitude for all that it has given me.

Sacred cave with offerings as we await our blessings from the fanahy.

Eva Colberg's Adventures in Madagascar: Lemurs and Sambatra

Here is part three of Eva's updates. Everything below is Eva's own words. I hope you enjoy!

Check out Eva's Instagram for more photos of Madagascar and her other adventures:


If you would like to contact her, feel free to email her here.
~~~

Mada Update 3

November 2, 2014

Today I parted ways with all my teachers and fellow students, embarking on a solitary journey to the northeast of the country, where I will be working with the Missouri Botanical Garden to conduct research on the abundance and distribution of several endangered palm species. I am both nervous and incredibly excited, but I should first bring you up to date with the rest of my trip.

Back when we were still stationed in Manakara, we took a few days out to Kianjavato, where the Madagascar Biodiversity Partnership has a research station. Their headline projects all involve lemurs, as nine species of lemur live in the forest there (two of which are endangered: the black-and-white-ruffed lemur, Varecia variegata, and the greater bamboo lemur, Prolemur simus). Since this was our lemur ecology unit, we spent our time out in the field learning behavior, population, and habitat-monitoring techniques, and thus also got to witness the fantastic creatures in their natural state. They are really quite funny to watch; they make pig-like noises to each other, leap about the canopy at daredevil heights, and get in spats with each other over jackfruit.

Greater Bamboo Lemur, Prolemur simus

Black-and-White-Ruffed Lemur, Varecia variegata

Aye-aye

One of the lemur research programs there is focused on aye-ayes, and we were lucky enough to attend the release of an aye-aye that they had just attached a tracking device to. Aye-ayes fall on the side of the more bizarre lemurs, with their ridiculously long fingers and wide, round eyes.

We spent our last week together in Mananjary, witnessing and even participating in some of the festivities of the Sambatra (Here's a Peace Corps Volunteer's Impression -Amanda W.). Sambatra, which means happiness, is a cultural event that happens every seven years. It involves many parades, processions, singing, dancing, and rituals, and culminates in the circumcision of all the young boys in the participating clans.

Most importantly for the Antambahoaka of this region, the circumcision represents the boys finally being recognized as male, and thus gaining a place in their society (most boys are actually now circumcised at birth, so the ceremony is just the official acceptance of their boyhood). It is interesting to see how globalization is affecting the tradition, though. Crowds now gather around every event with cameras, tablets, and video recorders in hand; there are some foreigners, but the majority are simply Malagasy from other regions. We spoke with one of the clan leaders, and he expressed concern about the Malagasy media’s portrayal of the event as betraying the traditional purpose. Nonetheless, it is fantastic to watch when scores of women dance across the beach in colorfully striped lamba-hoany carrying reeds for mat weaving back to their tranobe (Tranobe is the "palace" of the clan; the king holds meetings and important events within this single-roomed building. Literally translated it means big house. -Eva C.).