A winter forest walk

The other day, I was reading past blogs regarding preserving Terre Haute. In one of the blogs, an individual referred to Terre Haute as being dormant, not in the sense of nature but rather economically. I will address that incorrect assumption in a later blog though for now I will simply say that forests provide economic services to all communities.

There are several definitions of the word “dormant”. To sleep; marked by a suspension of activity and temporarily devoid of external activity are some definitions just to name a few. Yes indeed, our forests do dormant in the wintertime akin to our sleeping in that not all physiological activities ceases.

A forest dormant cycle begins in the early fall.  The main environmental signal, which triggers the onset of dormancy, is daylength. Long days promote growth and short days trigger dormancy. Thus as days begin to get shorter in later summer growth slows, and eventually a dormant bud develops. Dormancy develops more quickly when short days occur in combination with cool temperatures. Above-ground growth also ceases in late summer. 

All broad-leaf trees loose their leaves, change colors in the process. Each year conifers also drop leaves aka needles, similar to broad-leafed trees, they just don’t shed them all.  Most conifers retain needles for two to three years before shedding them. However, needle retention presents one serious challenge, snow-loading.

In the winter, when the ground is frozen, it difficult for the tree roots to absorb water but they do. But unlike the aboveground parts of most trees that pass the winter in a prolonged dormancy – marked by unbroken inactivity until spring – tree roots seem to maintain a readiness to grow independent of the aboveground parts of the tree. That is, roots remain mostly inactive but can and do function and grow during winter months whenever soil temperatures are favorable, even if the air aboveground is brutally cold.

It is hard to imagine things that we cannot see, touch or feel.

A deep tranquility descends upon the forest in winter. No rustle of leaves in the wind, no hum of insects, only the faintest trickle of streams that have quite frozen over yet. The song birds have migrated, leaving behind a ragtag gaggle of winter residents, raucous croaks of crows, the sardonic commentary of blue jays and then enjoyable cardinals, chickadees, woodpeckers, nuthatches, perhaps a bluebird or two just to name a few. No, our forests are not dormant.

It has been several years since the crunch of my hiking boots or my snowshoes have disturbed the silence. I’ve come in search of old friends, or rather, evidence of old friends. Myriad tracks in the snow reveal the lives of the forest dwellers. Most prefer to remain unseen. But as I walk along I find cross-cross tracks to-ing and fro-ing. The snow is a veritable gazette for all to read.

A squirrel scampers up a tree. It perches on a low branch as I pass by, eying me suspiciously, retreating to a higher spot.  In summer it would undoubtedly chatter angrily at any hiker, but winter is a season of silence.  Squirrel tracks almost always run in a straight line between trees. I eventually come across deer tracks, Deer have small feet and they drag them through the snow as they walk, creating a narrow trench punctuated with holes. My miniature schnauzer, Jake, often accompanied on my forest walks, following the path I made for him. He provided me with many hours of surprise, mystery and humor.

Back on the trail, I come across other enjoyers of a winter walk, most with their mans’ best friends. Others, young families with the young ones bundled up so much they look like astronauts. Some have ponder, shall one walk across the frozen pond? Apparently so.

The trail brings me back to my car, to warmth and satisfaction of a day spent in solitude, but not alone. A forest is not an object to simply place a dollar value on but rather a wonderful experience made possible through land conservation.