The Natural Forest Myth

The Constancy of Nature: A forest's natural state is one of constant change

By Daniel Botkin

My first job in conservation was as caretaker of Hutcheson Memorial Forest, a small preserve containing the last remaining uncut stand of original oak-hickory forest on the New Jersey piedmont. It was a beautiful woodland, especially in the spring, when tall oaks towered above misty flowering dogwoods, and may apple brightened the forest floor.

Those who helped save Hutcheson forest in 1954 thought they had put aside an ecosystem that had persisted for untold ages and would continue unchanged into the future. The forest had "reached a state of harmonious balance" that would, if undisturbed, "continue to perpetuate itself century after century," said an ad run by the firm that helped purchase the land.

But Hutcheson forest was anything but constant. By the late sixties, the towering oaks were not regenerating; below them was a dense thicket of young maples.

Where was the constancy of nature? Studies of fire scars in stumps of dead trees revealed the answer. Prior to European settlement in 1701, fires had occurred about every 10 years, but none had occurred since. Records suggest that Indians burned the forests, perhaps to clear land for travel or to drive game. These frequent fires cleared the understory, favored oaks over maples, and created the open forest of tall trees believed by naturalists in the early sixties to be original, constant, and unaffected by human influence.

Hutcheson forest is not unique in its alterations over time. Research since the early seventies shows that all forests are continually changing and have done so since the ice ages. Trees migrate in response to climate change, so that the species composition of forests is always changing.

The story of Hutcheson forest raises an important issue. Putting aside land in a nature preserve turns out to be quite different than putting up a jar of strawberry preserves. Natural ecological systems change naturally: from internal causes such as competition among trees; from external forces such as climate change. Setting aside land is just the beginning, not the end, of the process of conservation of our living resources.

If the old idea were correct -- if nature undisturbed achieved constancy that persisted without human intervention -- then conservation would be simple; just do nothing except get out of nature's way. But once we accept that natural ecological systems are always changing, then we are forced to ask: What do we mean by natural and what do we want for a natural area? These are not easy questions, nor ones with simple answers.

There are three kinds of conservation areas that we confuse with one another. The first is nature as it appeared to the first European explorers; this is the wilderness of our imagination. Creating and maintaining this kind of "natural area requires considerable human intervention, from controlled burning to locally eradicating uncharacteristic species.

The second is an area set aside to conserve specific species; many direct human actions are often necessary to achieve such a goal. As an example, a program to conserve the Kirtland's warbler in Michigan periodically burns parts of 38,000-acre reserve so that jack pines -- the warbler's only nesting areas -- can regenerate.

The third is an area truly isolated from direct human influences. The history of Hutcheson forest tells us that such an area may become a "nature" nobody has ever seen before and perhaps nobody really wants. It also will succumb to indirect human effects on the environment: introduction of exotic species; rapid climate change; chemical pollution. Rather than a specimen of original primeval environment, this kind of area becomes a scientific experiment.

Each kind of conservation area has its uses and importance. As we reach the 21st century and our effects on the environment increase, we can no longer delude ourselves with the myth of a constant balance of nature. Once we have set aside land for conservation and think that we can rest, we face the hard tasks of deciding what kind of "nature" we really set aside and agreeing on a management plan for that area.

In my heart I wish the flowering dogwood would always be in Hutcheson forest beneath towering oaks; but in my head I understand that to ensure that scenery requires active alterations by people. In the end, an acceptance of the naturalness of change is the only way to come to harmony with nature.