(notice the many dead trees speckling the landscape)
A few weeks ago my silviculture class trekked across the state of North Carolina, west to the Great Smokies. Right about the time I should have been intently listening to the specifics of hardwood management in the mountains, my easily distracted mind wandered off to further investigate the extreme coolness of my surroundings. Instead of noticing the green intricacies of a complex and ancient ecosystem, my thoughts were diverted to a sudden and unexpected realization that this place was the forest’s version of a “ghost town.” Where a thriving coniferous (and, as I would say, “Christmas smelling”) existence should intermittently grow in all canopy layers, the forest was plagued by grey, translucent needles, with barely a quivering grip on precariously rotting logs. The once noble and familiar Hemlock is clearly fading from Eastern forests quite rapidly.
Tsuga canadensis historically ranges from the upper Midwest east toward Nova Scotia and south along my beloved Appalachians to Georgia and Alabama. As with all great forest tragedies, an East Asian pest was introduced to North America in 1924—probably a result of some snooty “Great Gatsby-ian” character’s evil horticultural desire. From there, the hemlock woolly adelgid (a six-legged, sap-sucking, Grim Reaper of sorts) spread rapidly, especially in the Hemlock’s southern range where the climate is more favorable to mass destruction. The tree is dangerously close to disappearing from the ecosystem altogether, encouraging several environmental groups to make a ‘last ditch effort’ and Save the Hemlock.One of many projects, “Tsuga Search” is funded by GSMNP to find and protect the largest and tallest Hemlocks within Park boundaries. Minimally successful, this program has effectively proved that the Hemlock is a truly magnificent species the forest will undoubtedly grieve once gone—individual species’ volumes indicate the Hemlock is the largest eastern evergreen conifer, surpassing noteworthy White Pine and Loblolly giants.
It’s true that the Hemlock has disappeared before. During the early Holocene (beginning roughly 12,000 years ago), the species experienced a sudden decline and, at one point, disappeared from the pollen record altogether. Although it’s likely this disappearing act was also the result of some pest or disease, the similarity between the past and the present ends with this simple actor. The speed with which the Hemlock is being removed from the Southern ecosystem leaves little room for preparation of a comeback. Have we learned nothing from our past mistakes? Are we about to experience a complete species elimination, mirroring the catastrophic loss of the great American Chestnut?
Death plus Hemlock…Death plus Hemlock. Where, might you ask, is my mind wandering? Ahh, of course—Socrates! Yes, I know; it’s not even close to the same species. But bear with me for a moment; I have a point to make here.
Known as the ‘founder of Western philosophy’ and passionately anti-establishment, Socrates continuously questioned Greek society, enlightening a following of disciples along the way (e.g. Plato, Aristophanes). Plato later referred to his immortal teacher as a “gadflay,” stinging fellow Athenians into action to overcome the oppressive might of the state (or maybe just stinging them mad…). Unfortunately, his words fell mostly on deaf ears and Socrates was sentenced to execution for his heresy. In ancient Greece, drinking poisonous Hemlock was a common form of execution—an herbaceous flowering plant often used medicinally, but a powerful neurotoxin in high enough doses. Moments before death (which he wholeheartedly accepted), Socrates requested a favor from an old friend. “Citro, we owe a cock to Asclepius (the Greek god for curing illness). Please don’t forget to pay the debt.” It is in his death Socrates recognized not only a cure for his own personal freedom, but also a sacrificial remedy for his people.
And here, my point (albeit, a stretch). Can we look at yet another dying species and finally realize our human impact? Perhaps the Hemlock is but a sacrifice, to open our eyes and halt future environmental stupidity—a cure from Asclepius, however expensive. Maybe even a chance to start over?
As our famed philosopher once said, "I know you won't believe me, but the highest form of Human Excellence is to question oneself and others.” So here I am, in my Most Excellent Form, asking the world (and myself) one simple question: what do we, as environmental stewards of this one Earth, want to be known for?
Let’s face it. The real question here is: what ever will you do, dear Pennsylvania, when your state tree is gone?
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