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.
(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.
