Author: Ryan Mccrorey

Fat snowflakes fly in my face. As I enter the copse of trees behind Bi-hall, the tall white pines (Pinus strobus)  break the wind and offer a reprieve from one of this winter’s few cold snaps. One of the smaller pines to my left has been cleaved by a large frost crack, a cruel reminder that, while their hardwood neighbors sleep, these evergreens fight through the many trials winter throws their way. Frost cracks in the trees’ bark form when the setting sun reflects off the snow and heats up the side of the tree. Shortly after scorching their sides, the sun sets and abruptly returns the trees to freezing temperatures. When this cooling happens, the trees’ bark contracts faster than the tissue inside and cracks as it tries to shrink back to normal size. These cracks can grow so large that they compromise the structural integrity of the tree. Frost cracks are just one of the many dangers that pine trees face during the winter. Although maintaining their needles allows them to continue to photosynthesize, they also put the tree at risk of loosing branches. Snow can build-up on pine needles and, if enough snow and ice piles up, the branches can snap. As a result of this particular difficulty, pines in the Northeast have evolved to have short flexible needles that easily shed snow. Needles cause another major problem for pine trees. Photosynthesis produces excited electrons that are converted into food for the trees’ cells. However, this process is disrupted by cold temperatures and can leave the pine’s cells with a dangerous surplus of excited electrons. In order to keep these electrons in line, pine trees must load their cells with vitamins E and C. Pine trees needles are a mixed blessing, allowing them to produce food in winter, but also cursing them to face the ravages of a season that most other trees prefer to sleep through.

The whisper of running water can be heard in the distance. As I walk off down the path, my footfalls crunch in the fresh snow. Few people have visited the National Forest since the snow fell; there are almost no tracks and the snow is yet to be packed down by trampling feet. Tall Eastern Hemlocks (Tsuga canadensis) gather together, their age accentuated by the white snow that clings to their needles just as gray clings to the hair of elderly humans. Eastern Hemlocks are patient, surviving in the shade for years and then shooting up once they see their opportunity. These sage-like trees may very well be destined to become the forests’ elders; the patient shade dwellers can live to be nearly 1000 years old. The nearby American Beech tree (Fagus grandifolia) does not even come close with its 300 to 400 year lifespan. Even after they are dead, these hemlocks will continue to shape the forest around them. Conifer logs rot slowly, allowing moss the time it needs to build up along its length. These hemlocks are excellent candidates for future nurse logs, fallen trees that become moss-covered nurseries. The moss and rotting log provide nutrients to the seedlings of pines and other hemlocks. As a result of the decaying hemlock’s careful nursing, the seeds that land in the moss will eventually grow into mature trees standing in a straight line. Long after an elderly hemlock falls, its impact can be seen in the unusual orderliness of the trees that occupy the space it once held as its own. Hemlocks are also persistent. While a hemlock stump rots, it continues to grow new wood. Hemlocks often end up grafting their roots to other trees and this root grafting allows the cut hemlock to continue to try to heal its terminal wounds after it has lost its ability to generate energy on its own. The forest elders I stare at now will continue to shape this landscape for centuries.

Ryan McCrorey

Rather than the crunch of gravel or silence of snow, my footfalls bring about the unexpected squelch of mud. It would be easy to mistake this afternoon for one in early spring. Despite it being midday in late January, droves of birds flutter about, their songs joining together to form a symphony. Even some of the features of the trees suggest confusion about the season. A white oak (Quercus alba) holds onto a full compliment of russet colored leaves. As the soft wind gusts, they gently rub together, sounding like incessant gossipers whispering in each other’s ears. A nearby maple (Acer sp.) inexplicably retains its seed wings long after they should have been released. Even the vernal pools have temporarily filled with water from the melting snow.

Although the birds have become more active and the wet muddy trail speaks more of March than January, the trees will not be fooled by this false spring. There is too much at stake for the trees to risk being caught by a cold snap after a thaw. Blooming too early could prevent a tree from being able to reproduce that year. Worse still, a tree could could fall victim to the development of embolisms, small air bubbles that form when water in the xylem freezes. These air bubbles shut down the system that allows trees to transport water from the roots up through the tree to the leaves and flowers. As such, many trees in the Northeast have evolved to have complex internal clocks so as not to be taken in by one of these false springs. Sugar maples, for instance, will not bloom when planted in warmer climates. They need to be exposed to a prolonged period of cold weather before they will open their buds. Despite the unseasonable warmth, the sight of green canopy leaves is still far off.

Ryan McCrorey

As I walk along the Trail Around Middlebury, I am struck by the sight of a Scotch Pine (Pinus sylvestris). Woodpeckers have had their way with this tree, drilling gaping holes that weep white sap into its sides. Many of the Scotch Pine’s lower branches are broken and bare. Green needles reveal its vitality only at its highest reaches. Thin Hophorn Beams (Ostrya virginiana) surround the pecker-pillaged pine. The wind stirs the fallen leaves, creating a dry crinkly background for the creak and groan of swaying trees that accompanies particularly strong gusts. I sit down to write and my efforts are cheered on by a sudden outburst of bird calls. Cawing out to its unseen companion, a crow swoops by.

Gazing up at a tall y-shaped Shagbark Hickory (Carya ovata), I perch upon one of the many downed trees in the area. Some of these trees snapped at different heights along their trunks, while others ripped their roots up with them as they fell. The trees that lie with their roots exposed were likely weakened by disease or parasites before they fell. However, the poor health of these trees has made the forest stronger. Dead trees offer food and shelter to many forest animals, and, even before they die, certain species, like the woodpeckers that attacked the Scotch Pine, feed on parasites burrowing into the tree. Even now, white fungus can be seen growing on a fallen branch, beginning the process of recycling the nutrients held there. These fallen trees facilitate the vibrancy of the forest by feeding and protecting a wide array of animals and replenishing the soil nutrients for future generations of trees. As the sun begins to set, I am afforded a spectacular view of the orange and pink hues of the sky sinking behind the blue tinged mountains thanks to the gaps left by the fallen trees.

Ryan McCrorey