Successional Forests

    Our forests are one of Lutherlyn's most important resources.  The Lutherlyn Environmental Education Program would certainly be much different if we didn't have such a great forest resource.  Lutherlyn contains somewhere in neighborhood of 300 acres of forest and, as you hike the trails, it feels like that forest has been here for centuries.  For the most part, that is not actually the case.
     Three hundred years ago, the area that would become Lutherlyn, like most of Pennsylvania, was almost entirely forested.  Much of Pennsylvania was covered in White Pine and Eastern Hemlock forests, although there were also plenty of oak and chestnut trees, too.  By 1920, the lumber industry had finished devastating Pennsylvania and moved on to other states.  In the last 100 years, much of this land has returned to forest through a process called succession.
     Succession is a natural ecological process whereby disturbed areas naturally return to climax communities.  In our region, the climax community is a forest ecosystem, but oaks and hemlocks do not spring up from large areas of bare ground.  Succession is a process.

Chapel Hill from Main Camp ~ 1952

     One area at Lutherlyn particularly intrigues me when thinking about succession.  The forest between main camp and Terra Dei Homestead has changed a great deal over the past 60 years.  Here is a picture taken from main camp shortly after Chapel Hill was constructed; its probably from the summer of 1952.  Notice that there are very few trees between the craft cabin and Chapel Hill.  If the camp staff had stopped mowing that area, small trees would have moved in within 3 years, but they would have been hawthorns, crab apples, sumac, and locust - not what most people at that time considered "good" trees.

    Evidently, though, a forest was desired because the picture below, from 1954, shows that rows and rows of Scots Pines have been planted in the area.  Pines were planted in many camps at that time.  They were fast growing, so it didn't take long to get a forest and they could be thinned periodically and used to build cabins or sold for lumber.  This area was never thinned, however, and the Scots Pines have continued to grow for the last sixty years. 

      Sixty years ends up being the natural life expectancy of most Scots Pines, but during the last six decades those pines have sheltered many young trees that have grown up to take their place.  So this process of succession continues with Red Maple trees now taking over the forest that was planted to be pines.  Some Norway Spruce trees have also made their way into this forest from those planted nearby.  The picture below was taken early this fall.  Notice the Scots Pines falling over, while the Red Maples and Norway Spruce rise up to take their place.

     This forest is not done changing.  The process of succession is on-going.  As the maples mature, they will shelter oaks and hickories that could become the climax forest community.  Alternatively,  in a hundred years or so, these trees could be out-competed by White Pines and Eastern Hemlocks, but there aren't many of those close by to provide seed for that future forest.  If we are looking 100 years down the road, we also have to wonder what our forests will look like once our climate has warmed.  Whether Lutherlyn's forest is going to reach a climax community may have more to do with what you and I do as stewards of this planet than what trees start to grow.

100% American Chestnuts!

    The American Chestnut tree is now a thing of legend.  At one time, it is said, the tree made up nearly 1/3 of the Appalachian forest.  Some chestnut trees were said to live 500 to 600 years, grow 100 feet tall and up to 8 feet in diameter!  That is a legendary tree.
     The American Chestnut tree also provided food for humans and animals in the form of nuts; they were a favorite food of the (now extinct) passenger pigeon.  Many nuts were sold to provide income to sustain families.  The wood of the chestnut was used for constructing homes, furniture, tool handles, and fence posts.
     The whole chestnut "economy" came crashing down a hundred years ago.  In the 1880s, some folks brought Japanese and Chinese chestnuts to the United States in the hopes of creating hybrids with the American Chestnut.  Unfortunately, they also brought a fungus along, too.  The asian chestnuts had a resistance to the blight caused by the fungus, but not the American Chestnut.  In 1904, the blight was discovered on a tree in the Bronx Zoo and by 1908 it was in Pennsylvania.  By 1930 nearly all of Pennsylvania's chestnuts had the blight and by 1950 the American Chestnut was gone.  Still today, old stumps may still produce some growth, but it soon succombs to the blight, too.

American Chestnut leaves

     This is the point where the complex genetic code of organisms allows for light at the end of the dark tunnel.  Genetic variation in individuals provides a possibility that a few individuals may be resistant to a disease that harms the rest of a population.  It is also possible to breed individuals to possess this resistance.  Currently, there are two different strategies for bringing back the American Chestnut.
     The American Chestnut Foundation has crossed the American Chestnut with the Chinese Chestnut and then back-crossed all of the descendents for 5 generations to end up with a tree that is 99% American Chestnut and 1% Chinese Chestnut.
     The American Chestnut Cooperators' Foundation searched out American Chestnut survivors and has been breeding them for 40 years.  These are 100% American Chestnuts and are descendents of trees that have natural resistance to the blight.  These trees are not immune to the blight, but a majority of their offspring can survive with the blight.  The ACCF works in conjunction with the public and distributes chestnut seeds to be planted throughout the region.

Lutherlyn's American Chestnuts

     At Lutherlyn, we planted two crops of chestnut seeds from ACCF, one in 1999 and another in 2001.  From those crops, we currently have 11 flourishing American Chestnut trees at Terra Dei Homestead.  Two of these trees are over 20 feet tall and over 4 inches in diameter.  This year, for the first time, three of the trees produced nuts!
     It is extremely gratifying to see these chestnuts reproducing.  It allows us to imagine a day when American Chestnuts will again become part of our forest ecosystems.  The American Chestnut's return means that the tree that the Iroquois once used to build longhouses and settlers once used to build log cabins and split rail fences will again be a part of our forest.  It will once again support wildlife and people and may, one day, regain its legendary place in Appalachia.

    For more information on these two organizations, please click on the links below.
         American Chestnut Cooperators' Foundation
              American Chestnut Foundation

Fee-bee

    I'm glad that most of the leaves have fallen off the trees, its much easier to look for birds.  I like birdwatching. . . but, boy, do I find it frustrating. . .especially in the summer.  There are lots of different kinds of birds, you can tell by the variety of calls.  However, trying to find them in the summer with all of the leaves on the trees is painstaking and often, in my case, fruitless.
    I think that is why I am fond of eastern phoebes.  I don't really have to worry about finding them.  They are also very interesting birds to watch and easy to identify.  However, it continues to amaze me that most people don't recognize a phoebe. 
    The eastern phoebe is not a year-round resident in western Pennsylvania, but it is one of the first birds to arrive in the spring and one of the last to leave in the fall.  It eats some seeds and fruit, but it mostly enjoys insects.  It is fond of wasps, bees, flies, beetles, and moths, according to Wildlife of Pennsylvania by Charles Fergus (one of my go-to natural history books).
    Phoebes are one of the few species that seems to have benefited from the human population growth in North America.  They like to build their nest on human structures.  At Lutherlyn, we have had them nest near both primary doors to the Environmental Education Center.  We caught this picture just above our back door this summer:



Phoebe nestlings (Photo by John Miller)

  
They also nest in most of our picnic shelters and, now, in the new Worship and Music Center.  At home, I've had them nest under our porch and under the garage roof.  When you approach a phoebe nest, the parent leaves, but he/she doesn't go far.  This makes phoebes very easy to spot.  Well, this and the fact that they continually flick their tails.



(photo by  Tim at http://www.flickr.com/photos/seabamirum/)


    I appreciate birds that have characteristics that make their species easy to identify - like the tail flick of the phoebes.  The eastern phoebe even helps by telling you its name.  Their most common call during most of the summer is fee-bee.
    According to the Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds, eastern phoebes may have been the first bird to be banded.  It seems that John James Audubon wrapped a piece of silver wire around the leg of a phoebe in 1840 and recorded its return in 1841.
     Phoebes construct very sturdy nests. They create a base using mud and attach the nest to just about any shelf-like projection.  They then use grasses and other fibers to make a circular nest cavity.  The outer part of the nest is often covered with pieces of moss, as in the picture above.  The nest is lined with fine grasses or hair for a very soft interior.
     Now is a good time to go looking for bird nests.  With the leaves down, it is easier to see them.  Take a ruler with you when you find one and measure the nest's outside diameter, height, inside diameter, and depth of cavity.  Most birds build rather specific nests and with these measurements, and The Peterson Field Guide to Birds' Nests, you can often identify what bird made the nest.
     When March's warm weather returns, keep your eyes and ears open for the phoebes - they will be telling you their name. . .if you take time to listen.

What a Show!

(I wanted to write this post the day after it happened in June, but blogging and summer camp seem to be mutually exclusive.)
   It was Tuesday, June 12 and I was assisting Pastor Gil Walkoenig of Gettysburg Seminary in teaching a course on Ecotheology in Northern Appalachia.  This was a week long course hosted by Lutherlyn that looked at the region, our history of extractive industries, the resulting human and environmental impacts, and opportunities for ministry.  On Tuesday we were headed for Allegheny National Forest to learn about forest preservation and forest fragmentation.

   We were just a few miles from our initial destination, Hearts Content Scenic Area (a stand of old growth forest within the Allegheny National Forest), when Gil noticed a bear on the left side of the road.  I stopped the van and then reversed as the bear walked in the direction from which we were coming.  He seemed to be walking toward a utility pole.  I thought to myself, "wouldn't it be great if he stood up and scratched his back on that pole."  And he did!  The bear stood up on his hind legs and rubbed his back on the pole.  He then dropped back to all fours and began walking away. . .until he changed his mind and returned to the pole.  As he reached the pole, he stood up again and began scratching his back.  This time while he was scratching his back he also decided to take a bite out of the pole.  He made it look easier than taking a bite out of an apple.  Taking a bite out of a utility pole was easy for this bear.  He even left the pole, only to return moments later and do it again.

photo by Betty Deuchler

The bear may have considered this pole a "prominent tree," as bears will sometimes bite trees to mark their territory or signal their interest in mating.  Mating season runs from June to mid-July, so we happened upon this bear at the correct time of year to see this behavior.  Still the strength of the bear's jaws really surprised me.  The amount of strength that it must take to bite through something as strong and fibrous as a tree, is amazing.

The Call of the . . .

      Last Wednesday, April 18, a group of sixth grade students from McIntyre Elementary School were exploring ecosystems with me.  As we left the deciduous forest and passed by the Lower Lake, we heard a trilling sound.  (It sounded like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mA5sTqGis4A&feature=related )  I love to ask students what they think that sound is.  They guessed birds, crickets, cicadas, and squirrels.  When they learn what it is, they are just as surprised as I was when I learned this sound 20+ years ago


American Toad by Jason Sturnor 72



     This is the male American Toad.  Most people have had some contact with toads.  They are not very fast, so kids can catch them, and they don't bite (since they don't have teeth).  They will venture quite far from the water where they are born and can often be found near homes and gardens.

     Toads are great for teaching about defense mechanisms, or adaptations that enable an animal to survive its predators.  When toads are picked up by predators, children, or environmental educators, they are likely to urinate.  Although it does not discourage environmental educators, a lot of children will subsequently put the toad down so they can wipe their hand off.  Predators, I'm sure, have an even more pronounced reaction, since they have often picked the toad up with their mouth. 

     Toads have a few more tricks up their proverbial sleeve, though.  They can puff themselves up so they are harder to swallow and they excrete a foul-tasting toxin through their skin.  The large parotoid gland behind each eye secretes a powerful steroid that will affect a predators heart, so biting into a toad can be a dangerous undertaking.  Don't overlook their twist on one of the most common adaptations:  camouflage.  A little close observation of toads in various habitats will show you that they are camouflaged to their surroundings, but what happens if they change surroundings. . .THEY CHANGE COLOR!
     We have a toad that lives near our back porch at my home.  She is usually a light brown color that enables her to blend in well with the soil near our house.  Two years ago, though, she decided to hide under the black bag of charcoal beside our grill.  When I lifted up the bag of charcoal, I found a black toad!  It was our same neighborhood toad, but her body color had adjusted to her surroundings.  I don't know how long it takes for toads to change their color - they are certainly not chameleons - but they are able to change their skin color to fit in with the color around them.
     It at all possible, please take some time in the next week or so and go to a pond at night.  Listen for the call of the male toads.  Take your flashlight and quietly sneak up to the edge of the pond.  Maybe you will see a male inflating the air sac under his chin and courting a female.  You may see the larger females in the shallows of the pond responding to the calls of the males or the twisted strands of eggs that they have laid.  No matter what, it will be a special night.  There is nothing like the call of an American toad.

A Tale of Two Birds



Photo by Dendroica cerulea

    This morning I saw this bird on the deck outside my office at Lutherlyn's nature center.  It is a male brown-headed cowbird (Molothrus ater).  I have a love/hate relationship with these birds.  Actually, its more of a respect/derision relationship.  If you are familiar with the brown-headed cowbird, then I imagine that you understand why I have such a range of emotions associated with a robin-sized blackbird.
  I find the appearance of this bird striking because its black plumage has an iridescence that catches the eye, yet it has a brown head. (To me, the bird appears to be a strange hybrid of a blackbird and a female rufous-sided towhee.)
  The respect part of the equation comes from knowledge of its adaptations.  Brown-headed cowbird lived for centuries on the Great Plains following the bison herds.  These birds lived off of the insects that the bison kicked up as they grazed.  Since bison herds didn't stay in one location for very long, the cowbirds didn't have time to raise their young before the herd moved on.  A unique, if lazy, adaptation enabled them to survive - the cowbird females laid their eggs in the nests of other birds.  So all cowbirds have been raised by surrogate moms, often to the detriment of the host's young, as young cowbirds are very aggressive and will often out-compete their foster siblings.
   As the bison herds disappeared, the cowbirds had to adapt once again.  This time they moved east and started occupying the newly cleared farmlands of the eastern U.S.  They no longer had to follow bison herds and had the time to raise their own young - but now they encountered other bird species who were not familiar with their parasitic ways and did a fine job of raising their children for them - so why change?


male Scarlet Tanager

    I imagine that you can now see where the feeling of derision comes into play.  Let me introduce you to the brightest bird in our forest:  the male scarlet tanager (Piranga olivacea).  This bird travels from South America to reproduce in the mature oak forest of Pennsylvania.  In fact, 19% of all the scarlet tanagers in the world nest in PA and spend their summer eating lots of our insects.
  However, tanager numbers are declining and have been for some time.  One of the culprits is the brown-headed cowbird.  Its parasitic ways are causing more scarlet tanagers to spend their summers raising cowbird young - and the tanager's don't even seem to realize it.
   In the end, the blame can not be placed on the cowbirds, though.  Scarlet tanagers like to nest in deep forest habitats and cowbirds are usually only on the edge of forests.  However, as people continue to carve up our mature forests for homes, logging, and shale gas development, they are exposing the tanager's habitat to cowbirds.
  So, my derision is misplaced, as the cowbirds would not be able to reach the tanagers, if our mature forests were kept intact.  Indeed this is yet another example of how everything in creation is intricately connected - and how easy it is for people to unwittingly throw off the delicate balance that was meant to be.

Spring Bursts onto the Scene

  Today is the first day of spring, but spring sure seemed to arrive weeks ago.  We have already seen bats, phoebes, coltsfoot flowers, carpenter bees, redwing blackbirds, and blackflies.  However, the most important sign of spring to us at Lutherlyn is the opening of the buds on the red maple trees.  Why are they so important you ask?  They mark the end of maple sugaring season.
  The sucrose that rises in the maple trees in the early spring continues its movement as long as the days are above freezing and the nights below freezing.  However, once the buds open on the maple trees, the sugar changes to starch and any resulting syrup does not taste sweet.  So, we watch the tree tops very carefully this time of year to know when to take down our buckets.

  With this years crazy warm weather, we were praying that the buds would stay closed until after our last school field trip.  Well, they did, but only by a few hours.  Our last school group was on March 16 and the very next morning many of the maple tree buds were noticeably open.
  As you may have guessed, this is not normal for us.  We don't usually schedule schools after March 15, so that we have a full week of available days to reschedule field trips.  Most years we will have a few schools that we reschedule because of winter weather.  In the past, the red maples don't usually open until after March 22.
  All of this has reminded me of learning about maple sugaring at Lutheran Memorial Camp in Fulton, OH.  That camp has been making maple syrup for 50 years or more.  The original sugar shack at Lutheran Memorial had one wall plank where the sugar makers listed the beginning and end dates of each maple sugaring season.  Some years were earlier than others, but (as I recall) the general trend was moving earlier into the spring.  I distinctly remember some dates being in April.  I can't imagine seeing our sugaring seasons wait that long.
  Whereas this year's warm temperatures and early spring arrival does not, in itself, prove that climate change is occurring.  Longterm data - like the trend in maple sugaring seasons in Ohio - do point to the simple fact that our climate is changing.  The southern edge of maple sugaring currently extends down into the mountains of Virginia.  We have heard from a relieable Virginia forester that many sugaring operations didn't even tap trees this year because it was too warm.  Will Virginia maple syrup be a victim of our changing climate?  Is it possible for our climate to change enough that maple sugaring in Pennsylvania may be in jeopardy one day?  We hope and pray that this will not be the case, but we are not willing to stop there.  We will continue to work to educate all about our environment and human impacts on it.  We will work as if praying does no good and pray as if working does no good - to quote St. Augustine.

That Sweet Sign of Spring

     It is a beautiful March day; the sun is shining, the snow is melting, and students are at Lutherlyn because the sap is running!  Maple sugaring season has to be one of my all time favorite things about living in this part of the United States.  Before the tiny tree leaves burst out of their buds or forest wildflowers blanket our woods, the maple sap flows.

    It is a miraculous thing.  Maple trees were uniquely created  at the cellular level and their uniqueness enables us to enjoy sweetness that is beyond compare.  Longer day length and warmer temperatures combine with cellular respiration and starch to sugar conversion to pump sugary sap up the xylem tissue of our native maple trees.  All we have to do is drill a hole into the tree, hang a bucket, and start collecting the wonderful sugar-water.  With some boiling, that sugar-water becomes super sweet syrup!

    Maple sugaring season comes at just the right time for getting outside.  When everyone has been couped up inside for months, maple sugaring provides a great excuse to get outside and walk around the forest.

    I love the fact that I get to help students identify trees -without their leaves.  When looking at a deciduous forest in winter, most people only see tree trunks that look almost identical.  However, when you really stop to take a look, not only does each tree have slightly different bark, but their branches and buds are extremely unique.  Most students are pretty good at noticing the difference - usually better than the adults with them.

    Once a maple tree has been identified, then we get to use tools!  (You just can't beat this season - you get to be outside, in the forest, and you get to use hand tools!)  Using a brace to drill into a tree and a mallet to tap in the spile are certainly a very fun part of maple sugaring season.  From my experience tapping maple trees with students, their favorite part of the day is either tapping the tree or taking the sap to the sugar shack.

     Oh the sugar shack!  There is nothing like the aroma of a working sugar shack.  The air is filled with sweetness as the watery sap is boiled down to make syrup.  The steamy moisture fills your lungs and makes you daydream about pancakes, waffles, and french toast.

    Certainly the best treat of all on a sunny March day is a taste of maple syrup.  Well, actually, it's a great treat on any day.  There is something so incredibly special about tasting maple syrup.  For one thing - it comes from a tree and its not a fruit!  How amazing is that!  All we do is boil it down, nothing is added and only water (and a few minerals) are removed.  It doesn't contain high fructose corn syrup, added colors, preservatives, GMOs, or trans-fats.  It's all natural and locally made.

    Historians tell us that the Native Americans, who populated the eastern woodlands 300 years ago, saw the "maple moon" as a time for celebration.  It often involved ceremonies and dances.  I can certainly relate to that kind of jubilation.  The renewal of life and the promise of spring make me want to dance, too - or maybe I've just had a little too much syrup.

Lutherlyn – A Sense of Place

Lutherlyn is located in an exceptional part of the world.  It is part of one of the most biologically diverse regions of North America and reflects an intriguing human and geologic history.

The sandstone boulders and outcroppings that dot the upper reaches of Lutherlyn’s stream valleys reveal the presence of an ancient sea that once covered western Pennsylvania and Ohio.  At that time, rivers emptying into this sea carried large amounts of clay, sand, and gravel from areas that are now eastern PA, New Jersey, and Delaware.  The subsequent uplift of the Appalachian Mountains brought to an end the age of this sea and exposed the geology that had been forming underneath the waters.  Over time the erosion of this landscape created the hills and valleys of western Pennsylvania.

The forest that eventually grew in this landscape contains one of the most diverse communities on the planet.  The Mixed Mesophytic or Mixed Appalachian Forest extends from central Alabama to the Oil City area, approximately 50 miles northeast of Lutherlyn.  It supports over 130 types of trees and 7 distinct forest communities.  The forest at Lutherlyn primarily falls into the Oak-Hickory Forest community and contains red maple, black cherry, cucumber magnolia, and white ash, as well as the many dominant species of oaks and hickories.  These trees provide habitat for wild turkeys, white-tailed deer, squirrels (gray, fox, and flying), eastern chipmunks, gray foxes, blue jays, scarlet tanagers, ruffed grouse, 7 species of salamanders, 7 species of frogs, and 8 species of reptiles.  The forest wildflowers erupt in the spring with trillium, wild ginseng, spring beauties, mayapples, violets, bluets, and jack-in-the pulpit blossoms.



Brewerton Spearpoint from 3000 BC



The forest has also provided habitat for humans.  Artifacts have provided evidence of people dating back to the Archaic period, when atlatls (or spearthrowers) were used to hunt prey animals.  As time passed, this land sat very close to the intersection of two very important Native American trails, the Venango Trail passes right through Lutherlyn and ran from Lake Erie to Pittsburgh. The Kuskusky Path, which is roughly the route of Highway 422, intersects the Venango Trail near Prospect and continued eastward to Kittanning and then, as the Great Shamokin Path, through the mountains and into eastern PA.

Old Mill Dam at Trinity Pines

These same trails were used by people of European descent as they came to the frontier in the late 1700s.  The area that Lutherlyn occupies not only included frontier homesteads but the streams also supported a saw mill and a grist (flour) mill.  In the late 1800s, the millers began mining the coal that formed in the wetlands that surrounded the ancient sea, to power steam engines.  In the mid-1900s the vision of several Lutheran pastors brought Lutherlyn into being as a place apart to build community, train Christian leaders, explore the beauty of God’s creation, and provide life-changing adventures in faith.