Author: Madeleine Lehner

I entered a new section of the TAM today to find an ice covered trail. This was profoundly different from when I had visited the TAM in weeks past, when there was no snow or muddy ground.

A large white pine (Pinus strobus) soared above me (they seem to have been consistent in my visits to the TAM). American Beech (Fagus grandifolia) and Paper birch (Betula papyrifera) were also present, as well as other trees I surely missed.

Woodpeckers were threatening many of these trees. On one tree a sapsucker (Sphyrapicus) had created many little holes. While this disturbance did not seem to be very threatening, more trees were left standing dead by larger disturbances from woodpeckers. The woodpeckers in this forest, desperate for insects or housing can overwhelm a tree until the tree is unable to properly cycle nutrients and water and ultimately dies.

A large tree next to one savaged by woodpeckers, roughly two feet in diameter, had fallen. It clearly had been lying on the ground for many years rotting into the Vermont soil. While I could not predict how long it had been there, Vermont is wet (around 45 inches of rain a year) and there are many fungus and insects that feed on the rotting wood. Decomposition is often much faster here than in some dryer ecosystems. When the tree fell it upturned a mound of dirt. As Wessels describes in his book Reading a Forest Landscape, this type of disturbance can lead to a pillow of dirt and a cradle. When the tree begins to rot the dirt stuck in its roots and rotting tree create a pillow and leave a cradle where the tree had stood. I suspect that in ten or more years this tree will be far further rotted and show an even greater resemblance of the pillow and cradle phenomenon.

The car noise subsided and the forest fell silent. A motion caught my eyes, a crow took flight and all I could hear was the swooshing of its wings as it left the forest. I followed suit.

Maddie Lehner

I placed my backpack on the snow covered ground right where a Hemlock (Tsuga canadensis) had stood recently and sat down. The tree had ripped up its roots and exposed the new earth. I examined the web of roots, dirt and rock that reached eight feet tall. In what must have been an explosive fall the large roots ripped from the ground and rocks were torn up having been wrapped up in the trees water and nutrient gathering system. The roots now withered and dry hung limp from the tree.

This fallen tree had created a gap in the forest, an opportunity for other plants to access sun and nutrients to grow. This is an important part of the forest ecosystem. A fallen tree is a small disturbance compared to a fire, larger storm or even volcano, yet is still enables a new microclimate. Since the soil is still in tact where the tree fell this gap enables secondary succession. When lava or major landslides leave no soil for new plants primary succession follows, but what I sit on is healthy soil now with more nutrients and sunlight ready to support young plants. Trees that range from a foot tall to no greater than six feet reach through the opening created by the fallen tree exhibiting a small version of forest succession. The height of the young trees tells me that the large tree probably fell less ten to fifteen years ago.

This tree also fell the South West so a northeaster could be to blame according to Tom Wessels who writes Reading a Forested Landscape. When I stood up I noticed another tree had fallen right next to the first tree and in the same direction. It had been blocked by the large upturned root system of the first tree. The thin soil was further explanation to why these two trees may have been targeted during a large winter storm years ago.

Maddie Lehner

I ventured to a new part of the TAM roughly four miles from my location last week to see if I could discover changes despite their close proximity. The ground was sodden due to the recent snow followed by above freezing temperatures. Today the sky was blue and the slightest breeze ruffled the trees. Birdcalls (perhaps crows) echoed around me. The sun was beginning to set so that rays of light reached through the trees to a small hillside behind me. Yet, where I stood little sunlight reached the forest floor. One could have presumed this by the lack of small plants on the forest floor.

The composition of the forest floor was strikingly different as compared to last week’s location on the trail. Dead White Pine (Pinus strobus) needles composed most of the forest floor, which was explained by a few prominent white pines that towered above me. A few leaves were interwoven within the needles as well.

Twenty feet from these pines was a field. A dense community of young White Pines had become to encroach on what had previously been the border of the field and mature trees.

This small area of forest represents much of New England landscape history. As farmers abandoned their fields throughout the 1800s and 1900s, forests began to reclaim the New England landscape. Small scrubs followed by fast growing evergreen trees and finally larger deciduous trees dominated. As I observed the small pine trees overtaking the edge of the field, I imagined it was a window into what occurred in vast parts the surrounding landscape more than a century ago. These overcrowded pines would soon thin and give birth to fewer larger pines which will thrive off the sunlight from the smaller but still open field.

Another sign of the impact of the field-forest interaction is evident twenty feet up in the trees. The branches of these trees reached out into the field reaching for the unimpeded sunrays. The pine needles were more successful and healthier on that side of the trees adding a bright green to the rather grey mid January forest.

Maddie Lehner

Once my feet stopped shuffling the silence was alarming. The midday winter forest had nothing to say except for a few creaks and groans from tired trees. Wrapped in my winter clothes and aided by the lack of wind the sub freezing weather had little effect on my comfort.

The ground was uncharacteristically bare of snow for the date revealing a layer of leaves, which had been plastered to the ground under layers of snow for the past few weeks. After the melt the ground froze again so that it cracked as the dirt and dried leaves crumbled underneath my feet. Before I turned my head skyward the diversity of the forest revealed itself to me in the leaves on the ground. Sugar Maple (Acer saccharum), Red Oak (Quercus rubra), Beech (Fagus), and White Pine (Pinus strobus) and other tree leaves coated the forest floor leaving little room for anything else to show through. Having lost the vibrant colors that lit the forest just a few months ago, the stark leaves and bare trees did little to provide color to the universally grey sky.

A small pile of scat reminded me that like the trees there are many animals that have incredibly adapted to the contrasts of the seasons in New England. Unfortunately, the oscillating weather patterns that have become more frequent in recent decades are difficult for some animals. Typically each winter the cold and severe weather ultimately kill many of the ticks in these forests so that fewer moose are affected by their attacks. Recently the warmer winters are been in favor of tick survival, which has led many moose to have so many ticks that the moose scratch at their fur until it falls off, which puts the moose in risk of hyperthermia when it gets cold.

Prepared to leave I stood up, but as I did the forest caught my focus: two trees growing so close to one another that for a five feet about twenty feet up the trees they grew beside each other, literally touching. As I walked away I wondered what other uniqueness I missed in my visit to this forest and realized no matter how long I stayed I could always observe something new.

Maddie Lehner