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.

Adventures in the Polly Mobile 2: Visiting the Tyler Arboretum and John Bartram's Garden

Just because it was a late night doesn't mean I slept in! I was up and out the door bright and early to get over to John Bartram's Garden first thing. Only....I remembered it was Sunday when I pulled into the parking lot, which meant they opened later in the morning. So after I enjoyed the beautiful Philadelphia skyline, I was off to the Tyler Arboretum instead!

A beautiful sunrise for a beautiful day.

I wasn't a fan of driving in the narrow streets of the Philly-area after the nonchalant roads of the Vineyard, but I made it to Tyler safe and sound. The lovely volunteer at the visitor center pointed me to come of the sights, since I knew there was no way to see all 650 acres. I headed off to the old barn to see the herb garden on my way to the champion Sequoiadendron giganteum in the Pinetum. Along my path I was dwarfed by some of the Painter brothers' amazing Cedars and Magnolias. Whoa!

The most amazing part of the whole walk around the natural areas and in the Rhododendron collection was the size of the trees. Finally, the Liriodendron tulipifera were straight, towering giants in the forest and the oaks were stretching to keep up. Everything growing at its best and some old, familiar faces in the mix too. I fell in love with the eastern North American forest again and I'm sure if anyone saw me walking through mumbling to myself, they would have thought I was crazy. Residual Tree Cabin Fever from my time on the Vineyard, I guess. On second thought, maybe not.

But, I knew if I didn't get over to the Bartram's by 1 p.m. that I wouldn't be back in time to head over to see Cat's new (super adorable) house with Barb and Phil, so off I went.

~~~

View of Philadelphia over the Bartram's Garden's meadow.

The Bartram's, if they were still living in their beautiful home, would have one of the best skyline views of the city, even with the industrial buildings on the opposite bank of the Schuylkill River.

So, why was visiting this garden so important? John Bartram is easily the father of American Horticulture and his son William continued his legacy as a premier naturalist and plantsman. Without them, and other southeastern botanists, we wouldn't have nearly as rich a picture of the natural history of the South, the place I proudly call home.

American botanists, old and new, (well, and quite a few folks from Europe) are unsung heroes of American history. They may not seem like they contribute much of anything to American society, because their work doesn't seem as grand as military heroes' and their jobs aren't as glamorous as those of politicians and public figures. But the formal establishment of a working body knowledge of American natural history (because no one was really listening to the Native Americans very well), and their efforts to preserve and conserve the natural heritage of where we founded our new nation, while most were just thinking about building farms, have made them visionaries and champions of the ages. Without them, we would not know nearly as much about the natural wonders we find ourselves surrounded by every day, nor would we be able to appreciate the damage we have done and mourn what we have lost.

Speaking of which, take the Franklin Tree, Franklinia alatamaha. If it weren't for a chance meeting with the Bartrams as they were traveling the bank of the Altamaha River and their fascination with its beauty enough to collect seeds, we would not know this gorgeous, fall-blooming member of the Theaceae today.

So, I'll climb down off my soap box now. In short, I felt visiting Bartram's Garden was a very important pilgrimage to take, to pay homage to these visionary men.

The property itself is very humble. The garden has kept up the buildings, the nursery and kitchen garden, and several other beds. There are some amazing trees, including a Cladrastis kentukea, yellowwood, collected by André Michaux himself, and one of, if not the, oldest Ginkgo biloba in the U.S. Personally, I fell in love with the Platanus occidentalis next to the Taxodium sp. It was a very fine tree, whose bark was so white it glowed. (Cool fun fact for the day: DNA evidence has shown that the genus Nelumbo, which includes the better known sacred lotus, is a close relative of the genus Platanus. Who'd've thought?)