Conservation of Renewable Natural Resources: Some Fundamental Aspects of the Problem [Reprint 2016 ed.] 9781512819519

Table of contents :
Contents
The Natural Vegetation of the United States as a Guide to Current Agricultural and Forestry Practice
Natural Vegetation as a Key to Conservation Practices
Man's Use and abuse of Native Vegetation: The Lessons of the Past and the Prospects for the Future
What Forest Trees Tell About Climate and Soil
The Original Grassland and Desert Shrub Vegetation of the United States as a Guide to Present Day Agricultural Practice
Climatic Cycles in Relation to the Theory and Practice of Conservation
Dendrochronology and Studies in “Cyclics”
Periodicities in Solar Variation Reflected in Weather
Conservation and Changing Environment
Climatic Pulsations and an Ozone Hypothesis of Libraries and History
The Administrative Task of Conservation—Private and Public
On Total Conservation
Natural Resources and the States
Federal Responsibilities in Total Conservation
The Forest Problem Can Be Solved by Increased Production and Use

Citation preview

MORRIS ARBORETUM MONOGRAPHS II

Conservation of Renewable Natural Resources

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA B I C E N T E N N I A L CONFERENCE

Conservation of Renewable Natural Resources Some Fundamental Aspects of the Problem By R A P H A E L ZON W I L L I A M S. COOPER G U S T A F A. PEARSON H O M E R L. SHANTZ A. E. DOUGLASS C H A R L E S G. A B B O T PAUL B. SEARS ELLSWORTH HUNTINGTON M O R R I S L. COOKE SAMUEL T . DANA M I L T O N S. EISENHOWER J U L I A N F. McGOWIN

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA PRESS Philadelphia 1941

Copyright 1941 U N I V E R S I T Y O F PENNSYLVANIA PRESS Manufactured in the United States of America by The Haddon Craftsmen, Inc., Camden, N. J.

Contents THE

NATURAL GUIDE

VEGETATION

TO

CURRENT

OF T H E

UNITED

AGRICULTURAL

S T A T E S AS A

AND

FORESTRY

PRACTICE

Natural Vegetation as a Key to Conservation Practices Zon

Raphael

Man's Use and Abuse of Native Vegetation: The Lessons of the Past and the Prospects for the Future William S. Cooper

What Forest Trees Tell About Climate and Soil Gustaf A. Pearson

The Original Grassland and Desert Shrub Vegetation of the United States as a Guide to Present Day Agricultural Practice Homer L. Shantz C L I M A T I C C Y C L E S IN R E L A T I O N T O T H E T H E O R Y A N D P R A C TICE OF

CONSERVATION

Dendrochronology and Studies in "Cyclics" A. E. Douglass

Periodicities in Solar Variation Reflected in Weather Charles G. Abbot

Conservation and Changing Environment Paul B. Sears

Climatic Pulsations and an Ozone Hypothesis of Libraries and History Ellsworth THE

Huntington

ADMINISTRATIVE AND

TASK

PUBLIC

On Total Conservation Morris L. Cooke

OF

CONSERVATION—PRIVATE

CONTENTS

Natural Resources and the States Samuel T. Dana Federal Responsibilities in Total Conservation Milton S. Eisenhower The Forest Problem Can Be Solved by Increased Production and Use Julian F. McGowin

UNIVERSITY O F PENNSYLVANIA BICENTENNIAL CONFERENCE

Natural Vegetation as a Key to Conservation Practices By R A P H A E L ΖΟΝ,

F.E.·

NATURAL vegetation is the integrated expression of environment—climate, soil, and animal life. From a physical standpoint it should, therefore, be a good criterion of the potentialities of land for different uses. In the past many other considerations, particularly considerations of an economic nature, guided the development of land, especially for agriculture. In fairness it must be admitted that it is only within comparatively recent years that botanists themselves have t u r n e d their attention from description and classification of flora to the study of natural vegetation in its relation to environment. T h e r e f o r e there was no reliable scientific botanical basis u p o n which to classify land for its best use. Even if we had had such a scientific basis, it would probably have been entirely disregarded, just as what was known regarding soil types was largely disregarded. T h e whole philosophy back of our early land settlement considered natural vegetation—the grasses of the plains and the prairies, the forests of the h u m i d region—merely as something temporary, to be quickly disposed of in order to prepare the land for its ultimate highest use, namely, agriculture. T h e United States was to be a great agricultural country, with almost every citizen owning a farm. T h i s was the spirit of the times some forty to fifty years ago. Forest conservation, game conservation, development of land for recreational purposes, conservation of water, and similar purposes, were not in the picture at that time. States, agricultural colleges, and colonization companies were endeavoring to convert all kinds of land, irrespective of natural vegetation, into agricultural land. People • Director, Lake States Forest Experiment Station; Professor, University of Minnesota; Visiting Professor, University of Wisconsin.

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CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

from the cities, through high-pressure salesmanship, were lured on to the cut-over lands of the northern Lake States, to the plains of the West, to till lands that were never intended by nature for agricultural use. Even in those early days, farmers who, through l o n g experience, had developed a " f e e l " for the soil were able to judge fairly accurately f r o m the natural vegetative cover what the land was good for. Sometimes their experience, gained in a certain climatic region, proved inapplicable in a different region. T h o s e of our early settlers who came from the h u m i d forested regions of Europe looked with suspicion upon the treeless prairies. In their experience, they had f o u n d that land incapable of g r o w i n g trees is not much good for agriculture. W e have had several historic westward migrations of people who crossed the prairie regions without being tempted to settle there, pressing on instead to wooded lands on the Pacific Coast. In the light of what has occurred within recent years on land in the plains region that was put into agricultural use, their hunch possibly was not so far off. Hundreds of thousands of acres of grassland w h i c h had been put under the plow were ruined d u r i n g the dry years, and must now be returned to their natural grass cover. O n the whole, however, our early land settlement, far from b e i n g guided by natural vegetation, took place, as we now know, against all indications of nature. A n d today the people of the country are beginning to pay the price for this mistake, as they abandon farmlands made worthless for agriculture by excessive erosion and gullying, and as they suffer from f r e q u e n t black dust storms. N o w a new era is beginning. W i t h the contraction of agriculture, due to loss of many of our foreign markets and to higher production obtainable from smaller areas, with the growing need for finding uses for land other than agriculture, a more clearly rounded-out, better-planned land use is coming into existence to replace the earlier planless exploitation of the land. In this new era, plant science can make and is making a valuable contribution. Plant science is coming into its own, not only in d e t e r m i n i n g the adaptability of land for agriculture but also in indicating means of perpetuating our forests, reforesting waste land, providing the proper habitat for our wildlife, controlling surface run-off, and preventing excessive soil erosion.

N A T U R A L VEGETATION

3

In the Lake States, for instance, the occurrence of a natural vegetation comprising sweetfern, bearberry, and blueberry indicates that the soil is of a type low in fertility, such as our sands, loamy sands, and fine sands, and that the land is suitable for g r o w i n g jack pine or red pine. O n the other hand, if we find in the natural vegetation maidenhair fern, hepatica, red raspberry, large-flowered trillium, false Solomon's seal, we may conclude from this that the soil is fairly good, probably loam with good drainage, and thus is well adapted to the growth of such northern hardwoods as sugar maple, yellow birch, and basswood. In parts of southern Michigan and elsewhere, on lands adjacent to the Great Lakes, a forest growth of elm, ash, soft maple, and other bottom-land hardwoods usually indicates heavy loams and clay loams, deposited d u r i n g the glacial stages of the Great Lakes, which when cleared and drained are particularly valuable for agriculture. Arborvitae, g r o w i n g in pure or almost pure stands in swamps in the Northeast and the Lake States, characterizes a favorable habitat for deer, and the presence of tick trefoils makes an area habitable for quail. In southern California, stands of chaparral usually indicate soils that if denuded, as by fire, become subject to rapid and disastrous erosion. O n e of the old naturalists remarked that nature is an open book for those who care to read. W e are now learning to read this book, and in time, let us hope, we may b r i n g our conservation activities into harmony with the dictates of nature.

UNIVERSITY OF

PENNSYLVANIA

BICENTENNIAL

CONFERENCE

Man's Use and Abuse of Native Vegetation: The Lessons of the Past and the Prospects for the Future By W I L L I A M S. C O O P E R , Sc.D., PH.D.· I. M A N , T H E

DOMINANT

H O M O SAPIENS, commonly known as man, has in the course of his evolution developed a serious psychosis, which in Freudian terms may be called a superiority complex. T h i s by no means signifies that his high valuation of self is all delusion. Assuredly he holds a position of preeminence in the organic world. T h e trouble with his ego is that it assumes for itself omnipotence, entailing authority to do as it pleases, to break the fundamental laws of nature without fear of unfortunate consequences. A super-terrestrial psychoanalyst, called in for consultation, would doubtless advise the following corrective procedure (and from this I take the thesis for my discussion): that man school himself to realize that after all he is but a single species of animal, albeit an important one, involved with all other organisms, both plants and animals, in a complex web of community relations, where man is far more dependent upon his fellows than they are upon him.

Since much will be said of communities of various sorts, I will attempt a simple but inclusive definition. A community is an aggregation of organisms with mutual relations and common relation to environment. Communities commonly include both plants and animals as constituents; the animal life of a forest, for example, is an integral part of that community. Even in a human community such as a city, the other animals, even to the dog, the flea that lives upon him, and the parasite that lives upon the flea, and also the plants, from shade tree to bacterium, must logically be recognized as community mem• Professor of Botany, University of Minnesota.

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CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

bers. A community is commonly dominated by one or a few species, the other members being subordinate or dependent. Among plants, dominance is sometimes due to number (grasses in a prairie), sometimes to size (trees in a forest). Man, entering into the composition of a community, can compete with his fellow organisms in neither respect. Many animal species surpass him in number of individuals, and among plants, there are the countless billions of bacteria. In size, the elephant is greatly his superior, and surely no one will criticize the giraffe for looking down upon him. Neither can he pride himself upon his independence. If plants were capable of emotion, they would have utter contempt for man and all his fellow animals, who can't even make their own food. Plants are more essential to man than slaves to the slave-holder, for, if the owner loses his slaves, he can, if he will, do the slaves' work himself. Man's dominance is due to something absolutely unique— the possession of a highly developed brain, which, translated into conscious intelligence, we are accustomed to speak of as mind. It is mind that gives man the ability to guide by reason the activities of his own body, particularly those remarkable tools, the hands; which gives him, furthermore, the power to devise machines by which he can exert power many thousand times his own; which gives him, above all, the power to organize his activities, to modify profoundly his own environment, to look into the future and plan accordingly. Against the massmind of the human race, mere number and size are of little avail. It seems clear that, barring evolutionary production of a super-organism or flagrant misuse of his own powers due to the psychosis that afflicts him, man must be considered the ultimate community dominant throughout the earth. II. HIS N O R T H AMERICAN CAREER In North America, before the advent of man, the great widespread communities were of three general types: forest, grassland, and desert, in which plants of various sorts were the dominants. Man came first from Asia and spread thinly over the continent. That particular race had not discovered many of the potentialities of its master tool, mind, and therefore, for the most part, man remained a subordinate like the other animals, while plants still dominated. Very recently, in geologic terms, another race of men, more

USE A N D ABUSE OF V E G E T A T I O N

7

practised in the use of its special tool, arrived from Europe and immediately made itself felt. T h e s e men cut the forests along the east coast for use and for export, but even more, at first, to make room for agriculture. As they spread westward, more and more forest went down, to be replaced by crops or pasture grasses. Forest patches left unfelled were sadly mutilated. W o o d lots were given over to the ravages of stock and frequent burning, so that natural tree reproduction was hindered or prevented altogether. In the wake of advance came a wave of abandonment, sometimes very soon, sometimes only after several generations had made their homes upon the land and tilled the soil. In the north, man discovered a tree of superlative quality, the white pine. In a surprisingly short time ignorance and greed succeeded in so reducing it that it became almost negligible as a commercial asset. W h e n the pioneers of agriculture reached the prairies, they were somewhat nonplussed, since previous experience seemed to indicate that only forest lands would grow good c r o p s — b u t not for long. T h e tall-grass prairie was soon replaced by fields of corn. Emboldened by success, they pushed still farther westward into regions of uncertain climate, with results that are all too familiar. A n d so it went, hit-or-miss, trial-and-error, to the shores of the Pacific. W a r in distant continents and economic depression at home have taken their toll, each in its own way. Drought, its effect vastly exaggerated by man's mistakes, has put the finishing touches to the picture. A n d what is the picture of today? Large bodies of conifer forest in the west remain intact. T h e pine forests of the northeast, as a dominating type, are largely gone; those of the southeast, though mutilated, are fairly usable and capable of restoration. T h e deciduous forest that still exists is reduced in quality and changed in composition. T h e tall-grass prairie is practically extinct. T h e vegetation of the high plains has been somewhat modified in character and in many places completely destroyed. T h e shrublands of the arid and semi-arid west remain essentially as they were. Such is the situation with which man has now to deal. T h e vegetation-complex that now clothes the continent, though very different from what it was three centuries ago, is still the natural vegetation of the continent. W h a t it will be like three centuries hence depends upon the way in which man uses the tool that has brought him dominance—his mind.

8

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

It is really true, I think, that European man in his North American career has actually "muddled through" with some measure of success. Agriculture in the large has been brought fairly well into adjustment with its environment. T h e primary crops are grown in well-defined regions, which in each case provide optimum conditions of climate and soil. T h e wheat belt, the corn belt, the cotton belt, the citrus regions are familiar examples. But man must acknowledge that this result, happy so far as it goes, cannot be attributed to skilful use of the highest potentialities of his master tool. Trial-and-error has been the accepted method, and the cost has been terrific. There must come to him, too, the even more humiliating reflection that in very many cases he has merely "muddled," without any success at all. As a consequence he has some extremely serious problems on his hands which, if not attacked quickly and with the most efficient use of that same master tool, will become infinitely more serious. III. HIS BACKGROUND OF KNOWLEDGE For solution of these problems, the first requisite is understanding. This is an obvious, trite, axiomatic assertion. And yet we cannot escape the feeling that there is in man an apparently incurable faith in his ability to solve problems without knowledge, or at least with a minimum of that painfully acquired commodity. Obvious as it is, the idea must be continually pushed home. Man needs to know the vegetation with which he has to deal in all its phases and from all viewpoints. His knowledge must be free from assumption and guesswork so far as is humanly possible; its various elements must be coordinated in mutual support. This necessary body of knowledge may be logically separated into three strata. T h e first is basic, the others superimposed upon it. They may be labeled in ascending order: life histories of key species, nature and development of communities, distribution of communities over the continent. It is understood that knowledge of the environment must necessarily serve as a background for all. It goes without saying that a large body of valuable data has already been accumulated, and it is pertinent briefly to take stock of the present state of our knowledge and to venture

USE AND ABUSE OF VEGETATION

9

a few c o m m e n t s as to the paths which future investigations should follow. T h o r o u g h understanding of the key species which d o m i n a t e c o m m u n i t i e s is f u n d a m e n t a l . A real grasp of intra-community and i n t e r - c o m m u n i t y relations is n o t to be expected without adequate c o m p r e h e n s i o n of the units of which the c o m m u n i t i e s are made. I n particular we need to know the physiology of the species—how the plant works—and not merely in the laboratory but in its n a t u r a l e n v i r o n m e n t . Basic as it is, this r e q u i r e m e n t is at present very inadequately filled. P l a n t physiologists are for the most part interested in how " t h e p l a n t " behaves; they use as material species which are easy to handle or which suit their particular p r o b l e m . N o two species are exactly alike in t h e i r physiology. Differences which seem of slight i m p o r t a n c e to the pure physiologist may b e decisive in their influence upon c o m m u n i t y relationships. T h e r e are certain cases where the c o m m e r c i a l i m p o r t a n c e of a particular plant has forced the i n i t i a t i o n of a study of this sort. T h e longleaf pine of the south is an outstanding example. A few o t h e r trees and some grassland and desert dominants have received m o r e or less concentrated attention, but on the whole, in this basic stratum, a bare b e g i n n i n g has been made. T h e r e are scores of men in the Forest Service and o t h e r governmental organizations and in educational and research institutions who are fitted for such investigations. Careful p l a n n i n g of cooperative work is necessary, and particularly a skilful synthesis when an adequate body of data has been accumulated. W e move upward to the second stratum. Knowledge of the plant c o m m u n i t y is essential for solution of practical vegetational problems. H a n d i c a p p e d by imperfect understanding of the constituent organisms, we have still been a b l e to accumulate a vast a m o u n t of i n f o r m a t i o n c o n c e r n i n g the c o m m u n i t y — its nature, organization, and behavior. F o r a c o m m u n i t y is assuredly an entity with definite structure and with something roughly analogous to functions or processes in an individual organism. Moreover, m o d e r n ecology has developed a further concept of far-reaching i m p o r t a n c e : that the c o m m u n i t y is not a static thing, b u t in a state of constant change, developmental in nature. O n e set of inter-related organisms constitutes the c o m m u n i t y at a particular point in time. T h i s , through modification of its i m m e d i a t e e n v i r o n m e n t , prepares the way for

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CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

another set, thereby bringing about its own elimination, i. As stage follows stage, rate of change constantly decreases uuntil finally a community becomes established which may remmain essentially unaltered for thousands of years. T h e phenonvnena associated with vegetational development are grouped under r the term "succession"; the culminating community of long dduration is known as the "climax." These concepts are of very gi^reat practical as well as scientific significance. T h e third stratum in our framework of convenience is c concerned with the distribution of plant communities over the t face of the earth, or, for the present discussion, the surface of c our own continent. Numerous attempts have been made to r map the major plant communities of North America and to explplain them on the basis of climatic factors. T h e first to obtain w i d e spread recognition was the life-zone concept of C. Hart Merririam. This scheme is of particular interest for the present discussision, since it was the author's intent to make the zones based on naative flora and fauna serve as a guide for proper adjustment of cicrops to climate. One of Merriam's publications is entitled Life Zdones and Crop Zones of the United States, and in the letter of t r a n s mittal there is the following statement: It is hoped that this report, with its accompanying zone m a p ) a n d crop lists, will serve to emphasize the e x t r e m e wastefulness of »indiscriminate experimentation, by which hundreds of thousandds of dollars are thrown away each year in futile attempts to make c crops grow in areas totally unfitted for their cultivation.

All honor to Merriam for his early realization that naative vegetation can be used as a guide for agricultural practice. . His work has had great inspirational value. In its train followived a series of detailed field surveys covering a number of the w e s t e r n states, and numerous individual studies have been fitted too the framework of his master-plan. It is my firm belief, however, , that on the whole Merriam's teaching has been more a hindrxance than a help to the development of a truly scientific approoach; and if his scheme is scientifically unsound it is obviously unnsafe for use as a guide to agricultural practice. Many criticisms mnight be offered, but the fundamental one is this: his conclusions are based upon a pure assumption unsupported by experimeental evidence—the assumption that temperature is the all-imponrtant factor in determining the ranges of plants and animals. WVater

USE AND ABUSE OF VEGETATION

11

is relegated to a minor place; in the apt words of Transeau, it appears as " a n unfortunate disturber of symmetry." Other factors in the complex environmental web, even the lower portions of the temperature scale, are practically ignored. Since temperature is assumed to dominate, Merriam's regions, or major biotic communities, take the form of east-west transcontinental zones, with, of course, minor subdivisions due to differences in moisture, and irregularities caused by mountain systems and other local features. Merriam's leadership is still followed, to my mind rather blindly and uncritically, by many American students of biogeography. Such a statement as the following, made by Merriam in 1894, should have aroused suspicion: It appears, therefore, that in its broader aspects the study of the geographic distribution of life in North America is completed. T h e primary regions and their principal subdivisions have been mapped, the problems involved in the control of distribution have been solved, and the laws themselves have been formulated. One of the beneficial results of Merriam's researches is that they have impelled certain sceptics to delve beneath the surface, to try to get to the bottom of things, to make a new start on a sounder basis. A m o n g plant geographers these attempts have followed two lines: to ascertain the true facts as to the nature, form, and extent of the major plant communities of the continent; and to base interpretation of environmental factors in distribution, such as temperature and water, upon experimental knowledge of the influence of those factors upon the individual plant. It is easier to ascertain facts than to explain them. Accordingly our knowledge of the regional communities is far more satisfying than is our understanding of the causal factors. It seems clear that the major plant communities of North America do not constitute a series of transcontinental zones, but rather a mosaic composed of blocks of various shapes and sizes. Each block is a fairly homogeneous vegetation-complex, dominated by an extensive climax community to which are attached many minor ones of temporary or successional nature. Presumably each block coincides roughly with a climatic block characterized by a particular complex of atmospheric factors, in which temperature and water are doubtless the most important. Attempts

is

CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

have been made to correlate vegetation units with climatic units, in earlier years by Transeau, later by Livingston and Shreve. T h e results have been only partially successful, and the authors have clearly realized that such correlation of presumptive effect and cause indicates a greater or less degree of probability, and not absolute proof. Particularly they have realized that clear understanding of climatic and other causes of community distribution must await the acquisition of a far greater body of knowledge concerning the effects of environmental factors upon individual key species. N o one reading the final paragraphs of the great work by Livingston and Shreve—Distribution of Vegetation in the United States as Related to Climatic Conditions—will close the book still clinging to the delusion that "the problems involved in the control of distribution have been solved, and the laws themselves formulated." T h e foregoing survey, in which the many gaps in our body of fundamental knowledge have been made evident, may at first seem profoundly discouraging. T h e r e is, however, no real reason for such an impression. Frank confession of ignorance and acute awareness of deficiencies are in themselves salutary. A n d , after all, we are not standing still. W e are learning steadily, even though the pace may at times seem provokingly slow. W e have in our possession, even now, resources of knowledge which, if put to use, would work wonders. In a few moments I will point out certain instances where understanding of natural vegetation, of the sort I have outlined, has been of material benefit to man. Before passing to these, I wish again to stress the need for research and ever more research, intelligently planned, well coordinated, and finally synthesized in such a way that it may be utilized by the man or the organization with a practical problem to solve. IV. H O W H E IS M E E T I N G H I S

PROBLEMS

T h e problems which confront man in his relations with native vegetation may be roughly grouped under two heads: (1) proper treatment of such vegetation as still retains to a considerable degree its original constitution, so that it may give m a x i m u m value without deterioration; (2) rehabilitation of vegetation that has been so abused that it now stands apparently useless, with discovery and development of new uses for it.

USE AND ABUSE OF VEGETATION

>3 T h e vegetation that retains some approximation to virginity comprises a considerable proportion of our forests, especially in the west, the bulk of the great short-grass formation of the high plains, and vast expanses of desert and semi-desert shrubs. From many possible examples in this field I have selected three. Two are from the forests, the third is from the semi-arid scrub. I mentioned, in passing, the longleaf pine, important source of lumber and naval stores. Since our knowledge of its physiological make-up and relation to environment is comparatively full, it is not surprising that its community relations are also quite well understood. It is generally agreed that the longleaf pine type is not a climax in the commonly accepted sense, i.e., a community in essentially stable adjustment with climate. It is a late-successional stage that owes its long-time occupancy of extensive areas to the occurrence of frequent fires. If fire is excluded, the longleaf is naturally superseded by tree species less resistant to that factor—by other pines or certain hardwoods. From the economic standpoint it is obviously desirable to prevent further advance of the natural succession. T o this end, some advocate the controlled use of fire itself as a silvicultural agent, while others urge less dangerous methods that will give an equivalent result. Whatever the means, its use rests upon knowledge of the physiological life story and the successional status of the species. Douglas fir, the most important timber tree of the Pacific northwest, offers a similar opportunity for applying the principle of controlled succession. Like the longleaf pine, this is essentially a "fire tree." A pure stand, established after a clean burn, is commonly even-aged; it requires two centuries or more to reach maturity. No more reproduction of the species occurs, but in the meantime hemlock and arbor vitae have appeared as an understory. One by one the Douglas firs drop out and their competitors attain complete control. T h e climatic climax is established. Since the Douglas fir is much more valuable than the climax species, it is again the forester's job to stop the course of successional development at the subclimax level. He does this by clear-cutting from time to time, thus producing conditions favorable for a new generation of the desired species. Again, knowledge of the key species and of community dynamics is essential for maintenance of a permanent timber crop.

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T h e third example introduces, instead of a single species, a widespread climax community, the chaparral of California, a type consisting of drought-resistant evergreen shrubs which cover the slopes of the Coast Ranges and the foothills of the Sierras. T h e chaparral shrubs are in themselves of no economic value, but the type is of inestimable importance in its röle of watershed protector. With its destruction comes a sharp increase in run-off, with deterioration in water resources and soil, and culminating in floods disastrous to property and life. T h e chaparral is exceedingly efficient in its economic role just as it stands, and it is an unusually stable community. Therefore the indicated procedure is simply: leave it alone. There are cases where abstention requires more wisdom than does interference. All that the chaparral needs is protection from its enemy, fire. When in spite of precautions this occurs, active measures must be put into effect, requiring intimate knowledge of the dominant shrubs and their community relations. Some species, after being burned, put forth abundant sprouts; others have not this power. T h e seeds of some germinate readily; those of others require very special conditions. There are also certain successional communities that may temporarily replace the chaparral after fire. These must be understood and turned to account. Let us turn to those areas where the natural vegetation has been so abused that it now stands apparently useless. Time will permit no more than a brief, generalized treatment. First, there are the enormous expanses, once clothed with forest, which now support a tangled growth of weeds, shrubs and scattered trees of poor quality, the result of wasteful logging followed by inexcusable fire. T h e first essential here is recognition of the fact that the moment destruction ceased, there came into operation those constructive processes which we group together as successional development, in which the trend is inevitably toward restoration of the forest essentially as it existed before the catastrophe. If the devastation was moderate, if seed-trees and humus remain, progress will be relatively rapid—a matter of decades. If destruction was practically complete, the time required for restoration must be counted in terms of centuries. Man's role here is mainly that of protector. In certain cases he may take a more active part, even to the extent of forest planting, but whatever he does must be based upon sound knowledge of the species concerned and their community

USE AND ABUSE OF VEGETATION

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relations, knowledge that may be obtained only from fundamental research. In the meantime, these bodies of vegetation in process of redevelopment may be put to use. For example, they serve admirably as home and source of sustenance for those birds and mammals which man fosters for use and enjoyment. An entirely new profession has sprung up in this field, that of wild life manager. Its practice is based absolutely upon knowledge of the physiology and ecology of the organisms concerned, both the animals which are its raison d'etre and the plants which constitute their environment. There are also the abandoned farm lands, so widely distributed over the country, under such diverse conditions of climate, that each region presents its own specific set of problems. New England, where widespread abandonment took place many decades ago, shows what nature unaided can do toward rehabilitation where climatic conditions are favorable. Succes sional development upon abandoned fields, passing through certain preliminary stages, has brought the establishment upon thousands of acres of healthy young stands of white pine, which after only a century or so are already to some extent merchantable. If left to itself, the course of succession would result in the replacement of pine by the regional climax of hardwoods; in fact, this is demonstrably going on today. By methods similar to those already described for the Douglas fir, the succession may be held at the pine stage. Unproductive farm land is thus made to yield a perennial crop of valuable lumber. In the semi-arid Great Plains, where abandonment forced by drought and wind is but of yesterday, the problem is far more difficult. Here the soil as well as the vegetation must be rehabilitated. T h e Soil Conservation Service in its operations is showing constantly that it realizes the necessity of knowing and applying the laws of plant succession. I cannot resist the temptation to cite three more quite special uses of native vegetation which are difficult to pigeonhole in the scheme I have been following. T h e blister rust of the white pine has as its alternate hosts various species of currants and gooseberries. Thorough eradication of these is therefore a prime requisite in control of the parasite. Studies in New England showed that closed forest, climax or subclimax, once thoroughly cleaned of currants and gooseberries, may be safely disregarded

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CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

in the future, since the fruit-eating birds that are responsible for dissemination rarely enter. Successional communities, such as thickets and open stands of young trees, must be carefully watched for new arrivals, for the agents of dissemination are continually active therein. Even the plant pathologist may thus find knowledge of natural plant communities and their development definitely to his advantage. T h e European corn borer appeared in Ohio in 1921, and a striking feature of its invasion was its rapid multiplication in certain areas in contrast with sporadic occurrence in others. Investigation showed that there was close correlation between epidemic occurrence of the corn borer and a particular component of the native vegetation-complex, the swamp forest with its associated successional stages. In areas occupied by the other important forest types, beech-maple and oak-hickory, the corn borer, while it occurred to some extent, did not become epidemic. T h i s study gave a basis for predicting what areas would be likely to suffer severely from the pest in its future spread. Economic entomology thus may also profit from community and successional knowledge. And finally, man has need for native vegetation in a way that is not "practical" in the ordinary sense, but vitally necessary to the abundant life. Man needs contact with the unspoiled forests, the plains, and the deserts for what they can give him in recreation, inspiration, and relief from stress and strain. It seems unthinkable that he should allow the great communities of plants which once clothed the continent to vanish completely, leaving nothing for future generations to study and admire. Therefore it is eminently proper that adequate samples of every type should be set aside in perpetuity for the benefit of science, education, and recreation in its highest sense. It is hardly necessary to add that a wise program toward this end presupposes knowledge of the geography of plant communities, and that intelligent protection and management require sympathetic understanding of the plants concerned, and of the animal population as well. T h i s need has been very generally recognized. In recent years, in fact, a mania for nature reservations of all sorts has swept the country. W e have seen expansion of the National Park Service to such an extent that its original objective is in danger of being completely overwhelmed. State parks dot the land-

USE AND ABUSE OF VEGETATION

»7 scape as thickly as billboards along our highways. Some of these reservations fulfill their purpose admirably; in others the plan of management, if such it can be called, shows appalling ignorance of proper purposes and principles. Outstanding on the one hand is the work of the Save-theRedwoods League in preserving some of the magnificent groves of that noble tree along the coast of northern California. Plans have been carried through along broad and tolerant lines. T h e needs of the average sight-seeing tourist are adequately cared for, while at the same time large areas are kept inviolate for those who are able to share in the fund of inspiration that great forests hold. At the opposite extreme is Itasca State Park, at the sources of the Mississippi in my own state of Minnesota. Here pits have been opened for gravel, glacial boulders are being blasted as a source of building material, and the deer have been allowed to increase—in direct contravention of the way of nature—to such an extent that natural reproduction of the trees is all but completely inhibited. V. DEMOCRACY VERSUS D I C T A T O R S H I P So here we are, the race of men, ultimate product of evolution to date, thrust upon a world community already complex beyond comprehension, and provided with a master tool that compels us to dominate that community whether we will or no. In exercising dominance we must perforce interfere and control, and our motives in the nature of the case must be governed by self-interest. Our task is to find and follow the course of most enlightened selfishness. Hitherto, as a species, we have been handicapped by the case of inflated ego that has steadily grown upon us. We have tried the method of dictatorship over the vegetation of North America. Our technical efficiency, traveling this path, has worked wonders—temporarily. In the long run, like all dictatorships, ours has failed. T h e better way, which is gradually coming into its own, may fairly be called the democratic way. In following it, man frankly recognizes his status as a cooperating as well as a ruling community member. He realizes that in his own interest he must allow to his fellow citizens of the organic world, in particular the plants of all sorts which he utilizes, the greatest possible freedom to develop in their own individual ways and to carry out their special com-

i8

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

munity röles; in other words, that governmental paternalism must be reduced to a m i n i m u m . H e realizes, finally, that such a policy, involving a delicate balance between freedom and control, requires abundant and accurate knowledge, which derives from one source alone—fundamental research.

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA BICENTENNIAL CONFERENCE

What Forest Trees Tell about Climate and Soil By G U S T A F A. P E A R S O N ,

A.M.·

THE plant life which biologists call the original vegetation is not a product of chance, b u t an expression of the physical and biological forces which make u p the environment. Plants, like h u m a n beings, tend to build communities. W h e t h e r these communities are large or small, strong or weak, depends on many circumstances. T h e race of plants or m e n which can adapt itself to its environment or modify the environment to suit its needs becomes strong in contrast to races which cannot cope with the conditions they encounter. Plants are less able than men to remake the environment or adjust themselves to it. Consequently, the plant community is composed of individuals and species whose requirements coincide most closely with the conditions prevailing on the particular site concerned; and, conversely, if certain plants unaided by m a n succeed in establishing a p e r m a n e n t community on a given site, that site must conform closely to their requirements as to soil and climate. It follows that, knowing the requirements and limitations of plants, man can form a close estimate of the character of the site on which they grow. In the age-long process of carving farms o u t of forests, man has learned to associate soil qualities with types of forest. H e long since discovered that as a rule broadleaf trees occupy the heavier and more fertile soils, and needle-leaf trees the more sandy soils. Such terms as "hardwood b o t t o m " a n d " p i n e barren" were born out of long experience by tillers of the soil. Ecologists have gone a step farther by developing the science of plant indicators, in which herbs and shrubs as well as trees have been found to indicate definite soil qualities such as acidity or alka• Senior Silviculturist, Southwestern Forest and Range Experiment Station, U. S. Forest Service, Tucson, Arizona.

»9

so

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

linity, high or low nitrogen content, permeability or impermeability. Forest trees have been recognized as indicators of warm or cold, wet or dry climate. Because of their long life span they must be able to endure not only the vicissitudes of seasons and years but also the long swings known as climatic cycles. Extraordinary fatalities among old planted trees of the prairie regions during recent drought years furnish a clue to why natural forests have been unable to dominate these lands. ZONES OF V E G E T A T I O N A N D C L I M A T E In mountain regions, where abrupt changes in altitude and exposure account for equally abrupt rise or fall of temperature and moisture, distinct types of forest occupy well-defined altitudinal belts or zones of climate. Herbs and shrubs are subject to the same vertical distribution, but their range of altitude is much greater than the range of trees, meaning that as climatic indicators they are less sensitive than are the trees. In regions of relatively uniform topography, climatic change is associated more with latitude than with altitude. Locally, soil and drainage may determine the boundaries of plant communities, as exemplified by hardwood bottoms or swamps in the midst of the pine forests of the South. Southwestern United States is a region noted for climatic contrasts and sharp demarcation of life zones. Seven broad zones of vegetation and climate are recognized in the Southwest, and all but one are common to the whole interior mountain region of the West. T h e seven zones in the Southwest, and their approximate altitudinal limits are: Desert, extending from near sea level to about 3,000 feet above sea level; Desert Grassland, 3,000 to 5,000 feet; Woodland (as distinguished from tall timber), 5,000 to 7,000 feet; Pine Forest, 7,000 to 8,500 feet; Fir Forest, 8,500 to 10,000 feet; Spruce Forest, 10,000 to 11,500 feet; Alpine Zone (beyond the upper limit of tree growth), above 11,500 feet. These altitudinal limits vary with latitude and with direction and steepness of slope. In general, corresponding zones occur at lower altitudes in northern than in southern United States, and they are lower on north than on south exposures. Climatic data in the several zones of the San Francisco Moun-

FOREST TREES

χι

tains and vicinity have been measured by the writer, 1 and corresponding data, as f a r as available, have been compiled f r o m U. S. Weather B u r e a u records in this and three other regions of Arizona and N e w Mexico. Significant data on temperature and precipitation in the San Francisco Mountains and adjacent lower lands extending to southern Arizona are given in tables ι and 2. T h e terms " m e a n , " " m e a n m a x i m u m , " and " m e a n m i n i m u m " as applied to temperature in the first table, conform to standard usage in meteorology. " M e a n m a x i m u m " is the mean or average of the highest daily temperatures during the period considered; " m e a n m i n i m u m " is the average of the lowest daily temperatures, and " m e a n " is the mean of daily maxima and minima. TABLE ι Annual and Seasonal Temperature in Seven \'egetal £ones oj Arizona

Temperatures

Zone

Climatic Stations

Annual

Summer (June-Sept.)

Winter (Dec.-Jan.)

Mean Mean Mean Mean Mean Mean Mean Max. Min. Max. Min.

Desert Desert grassland. . . Woodland Pine forest Fir forest Spruce forest Alpine zone

Number

5 4 7 3

I I I

°F

68.0 58.2 52.8 45 6 4' -3 35-7

°F

84 3 75-7

68.9 61.3 567 5 ' -4 47 9

°F 99-9

92.0 85.2 77-2

66.8 58.2 55-7

Of

Of

Of

" f

68.7

50.6

65.0

36.2

59-4 52-5 45 3

37-7 35 6

49-9 49-7

25 4 215

27-3

33 · 9

46.7 44.6 40.0

28.8 22.8

42.8 28.2

14.8 20.8 •7-5

Of the three expressions, the mean m a x i m u m is the most significant in relation to plant growth. It also gives the most constant relationship in comparing different zones or localities. For these reasons, the graphic presentation of temperatures in figures ι and 2 employs the monthly mean m a x i m u m rather than the customary monthly mean. F i g u r e ι shows the temperature relation between different plant zones in the same locality, 1 Pearson, G. A. Forest types in the Southwest as determined by climate and soil. U. S. Dept. Agr. Technical Bull. S47. 144 pp., illus. 1931.

ss

CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES TABLE 2 Annual and Seasonal Precipitation in Seven Vegetal £ones of Arizona Precipitation Zone

Altidutinal Range

Climatic Stations Annual

Desert Desert grassland Woodland Pine forest Fir forest S p r u c e forest A l p i n e zone

Feet 0 - 3,000 3 , 0 0 a - 5,000 5,000- 7,000 7,000- 8,500 8,500-10,000 10,000-11,500 O v e r 11,500

Number 5 4 9 3 I I I

Inches 10.40 9 24 16.70 22.67 34.20 36.42 34 24

May-September

Indus 4-37 4-27 7-33 9 44 >5 93 16.23 16.30

and figure 2 the relation between corresponding zones in different localities. It is significant that groups of stations in the upper and lower portions of the same zone and as much as 500 miles apart exhibit a temperature spread rarely exceeding 6 degrees. In figure 2, the pine forest is represented by 18 climatic stations and the woodland by 32. In Colorado, the growing-season mean temperatures of the pine, fir, and spruce forests, according to Bates,2 are from 0.7 0 to 2.20 F. lower than in corresponding zones in Arizona and New Mexico. Precipitation is more variable than temperature in its relation to vegetation, because it is not so much precipitation per se as available soil moisture that influences plant growth. T h e effectiveness of a given quantity of rain is determined by seasonal distribution, by permeability and water-holding capacity of the soil, and by evaporation. Nevertheless, precipitation plotted in the same manner as temperature in figures 1 and 2 does show a definite relation to zones of vegetation. Temperature and moisture are the dominant limiting factors in the natural distribution of plants. In mountain regions everywhere the upward extension of species is limited by low temperature, and in arid sections the downward extension is limited by low precipitation. Figuratively speaking, each species picks the zone which is most hospitable to it. But in the Southwest, optimum temperature and adequate moisture conditions 2 Bates, C. G . Forest types in the central R o c k y M o u n t a i n s as affected b y climate a n d soil. U . S. D e p t . A g r . B u l l . 1233, 152 p p . , illus. 1914.

FOREST TREES

Desert Grassland Woodland

»3

— — — — Alpin« Zoo· FIG. 1

Pi** f o r e s t F i r Forest Spruce Forest

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL

RESOURCES

PIm Fomet 90 80

/

70

Φ

60

>

*

// / yV ' il

Λ /V

Λλ

f

SO

S

40 SO

Woodland 80

80

V

'/J

70

A

60

Vs *

SO

y P

r

•sN ' X

Ν

s

«

VOs V

XxS, V i>

40 30

Λα.

7»b. ]fer. Apr. Iky

Jon*

July Aug·. Sept. Oct. ΐ ο ν . Dec.

northern Arts. Eastern Arix.-w»et«rn H.H. FIG. 2

• — — Sorthern Κ. Η» Southern I . Η.

FOREST TREES

»5

seldom coincide because changing altitude affects the two factors in opposite directions, with the result that as temperature rises precipitation declines, and vice versa. With the aid of the foregoing and similar data, one can form a close estimate of soil and climate in localities remote from weather-recording stations. It is also possible to make direct correlation between natural types of vegetation and the suitability of a locality for farming and other human activities. It is scarcely exaggerating to say: know the plants and you know the climate and soil that have produced them. THE DESERT Characteristic and conspicuous desert trees are the paloverdes ('Cercidium floridum and Cercidium microphyllum), ironwood (Olneya tesota), mesquite (Prosopis juliflora), and giant cactus (Carnegiea gigantea). Mesquite, though occurring throughout the desert, also extends far up into the next higher zone and therefore is considered less typical than the other species. Along water courses cottonwood, sycamore, and other moisture-loving trees create a forest setting; but in general the absence of common forest trees or the low stature of such arborescent spccies as are present proclaims aridity. The typical desert trees of this region can endure long periods of drought but not protracted freezing temperatures. Their presence always indicates mild winters. Without irrigation, farming is entirely out of the picture, but when man applies water bountiful crops may be grown in both summer and winter. Semitropical fruits flourish on the more frost-free sites. Although the winters are not really without frost, their warm sunshine invites the tourist and health seeker, giving rise to what promises to become the Southwest's major industry. DESERT GRASSLAND3 Trees are confined to small areas which receive drainage from adjoining lands, again telling by their prevailing absence that moisture is the limiting factor. Although plant life generally bears the imprint of a warm, dry climate, absence of the most characteristic desert trees suggests occasional low temperatures ' Some authorities class this zone with the desert under the name "Lower Sonoran." T h e writer prefers to regard them as distinct zones because of their wide temperature differences.

26

CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

which would preclude semitropical horticulture. In the lower half of this zone, such plants as soapweed (Yucca elata), mesquite (Prosopis juliflora), creosote bush (Covillea tridentata), and ocotilla (Fouquieria splendens) indicate temperatures somewhat above those of the corn belt and suitable for a wide variety of crops under irrigation. Absence of these plants in the upper portion of the zone is attributed to low temperature. T h e desert grasslands are extensively used for grazing livestock. Because of low precipitation, those ranges have a much lower grazing capacity than the grasslands of the Middle West. WOODLAND T h e name "woodland" as understood by foresters applies to areas occupied by the low, more or less scrubby forms of tree growth, as distinguished from the tall timber or "high forest." It is the lowest, warmest, and driest of the series of forest zones or "forest types." Pinon (Pinus edulis and P. cembroides) and juniper (Juniperus utahensis, J. monosperma, J. scopulorum, and several other species) are common woodland trees of the western states, but in southern Arizona and southern New Mexico are woodlands composed mainly of live oaks (Quercus arizonica, Q. emoryi, Q. oblongifolia, and several minor species), sometimes with pinon or juniper in mixture. In some localities the woodland gives way to a brush or chaparral type which bears the earmarks of having been introduced by fire or other forms of abuse. On the whole, the oak woodlands are somewhat warmer than the pinon-juniper woodlands, but the fact that in some places representatives of both types come together indicates a similarity in requirements of the various species. Summer temperatures are adapted to growing all the common cereals, and fruits such as apples, pears, peaches, and berries. Although precipitation is higher than in the desert grassland, it is still inadequate for successful farming without irrigation. T h e woodlands have an equable year-round climate —comfortably warm summers, and winters in which extremely cold weather is rare. They may be characterized as the temperate zone of the Southwest. PINE FOREST Ponderosa pine (Pinus ponderosa), or western yellow pine, as it was formerly called, forms stately forests of vast extent in

FOREST TREES

27

the Southwest and throughout the western mountain region. T h e height attained by this tree at once tells the forester that it must have a greater water supply than is available in the zones that have been described. Generally the precipitation in the pine type is f r o m 5 to 8 inches more than in the woodlands of the same region. Both temperature and precipitation are too low for the most effective production of farm crops, though hardy cereals which mature quickly can be grown with a fair measure of success. Irrigation does not f u l l y solve the f a r m i n g problem because it does not remove the handicap of short growing seasons and unseasonable frosts. T h e pine forest marks the transition from a hot, dry climate to a cold, h u m i d one. In the desert, the desert grasslands, and the woodlands, nature provides all the elementary essentials f o r growing f a r m crops, except water, and this man can supply on limited areas by irrigation. But, beginning with the pine zone, and increasingly in the higher altitudes through the fir and spruce zones, the limiting factor shifts from water to heat, a deficiency which h u m a n ingenuity has not yet been able to correct. T i m b e r is the major crop and offers the greatest possibilities for stable industry. In addition to the large-scale employment provided by a commercial l u m b e r industry, the pine forests are destined to play an important part in maintaining rural populations which can earn a livelihood by small-scale farming, stock raising, and part-time employment in the growing and harvesting of wood crops. Ponderosa pine forests throughout the West are esteemed above most other forest types for their beauty and their delightf u l summer climate. So constant is the relation between ponderosa pine and temperature that even in the absence of longtime climatic records the presence of this tree is virtually a guarantee of cool summers. T h e pine forests as seen today have been modified in varying degrees by fire, lumbering, and grazing. E v e n in the so-called " v i r g i n " stands the crown canopy is open enough to admit luxuriant growth of light-demanding grasses. U n d e r prolonged protection, however, an understory of young trees takes possession of the more open spots, needle litter carpets the ground, and eventually there is f o r m e d a "forest floor" comparable to that f o u n d in more h u m i d climates.

28

CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

Man finds his best guides to timber growing by studying the forest itself. Nature produces her finest timber specimens where young trees grow up close together, or in the partial shade of older trees. Essential requirements in regenerating the forest are an abundance of seed, a loose soil free of dominating herbaceous vegetation, and partial shade from the sides but unobstructed sky overhead. FIR F O R E S T In the Southwest, the species which commonly make up the fir forests are Douglas fir (Pseudotsuga taxifolia), white fir (Abies concolor), limber pine (Pinus flexilis), and aspen (Populus tremuloides). T h i s type of forest is always associated with a cool, moist climate—lower temperature and higher precipitation than in the pine forest. In a higher degree than ponderosa pine, the firs indicate a climate inhospitable to agriculture, in this case less because of deficient moisture or unseasonable frosts than because of a deficiency of the relatively high temperatures which most crops require for effective growth. Although the fir forests are capable of producing valuable timber crops, they are relatively inaccessible for commercial lumbering. After all, this may be a wise provision because in many places their highest values are water and recreation. These resources can be safeguarded under commercial use, but too often they have received no consideration. Virgin fir forests have a dense crown canopy and a rich organic soil built up through centuries by accumulation of leaves, twigs, and fallen tree trunks. T o maintain watershed values, these conditions must be preserved. Where man would grow timber, he must open up the canopy and expose mineral soil in order to encourage regeneration, but he must learn to do this without destroying the forest floor. SPRUCE FOREST Spruce forests clothe the highest mountain slopes and culminate the vertical series of timber zones or forest types. Engelmann spruce (Picea engelmannii), corkbark fir (Abies arizonica), or alpine fir (Abies lasiocarpa) and bristlecone pine (Pinus aristata) are the prevailing conifers, with aspen coming in as a temporary member after fire. As may be expected, the spruce forests have the coldest and wettest climate of all the

FOREST TREES

29

forest types. Farming is precluded by the short growing season and the long period during which the ground is covered with snow. As in the fir forests, the growing season is limited less by frost than by the short duration of effective temperatures. On a north slope in the San Francisco Mountains, where Engelmann spruce is at its best, the thermometer never registered above 7 3 0 F. during 3 years of record. Temperatures are somewhat higher on sites where bristlecone pine, rather than spruce, predominates. Engelmann spruce has lower heat requirements than any other tree in the Southwest. Climatically, the spruce type may be well characterized by the single word "snow." Snow begins to accumulate on the g r o u n d in N o v e m b e r and remains until late J u n e . T h e water resource dominates even more than in the fir forest. Nowhere else in the Southwest is the forest floor quite so deep as in spruce stands, and nowhere is it more needed, because spruce usually grows where topography and high precipitation favor rapid run-off. Directions for management are clearly written in the forest itself. ALPINE ZONE In the San Francisco Mountains, the 11,500-foot contour marks roughly the upper limit of tree growth, or timber line. A t this point, Engelmann spruce, which ascends higher than its associates, corkbark fir and bristlecone pine, becomes bushy or prostrate. It continues a few hundred feet higher, hugging the sunny side of rocks or stretching flat on the ground in order to avail itself of every calorie of the sun's heat; then, at an altitude of about 12,000 feet, it disappears entirely. Heat has completely supplanted moisture as the limiting factor in plant growth. D u r i n g the summer of 1 9 1 8 , the timber-line station recorded only 1 hour of temperature above 70° F., as compared with 4 hours in the spruce forest, 134 hours in the fir forest, 633 hours in the pine forest, and 1,629 hours in the woodland. Only a few peaks rise above timber line in Arizona and N e w Mexico, but farther north extensive areas lie in the alpine zone. Where the soil is suitable, certain grasses, sedges, and rushes flourish and provide succulent pasturage during the short period when the ground is free of snow. T h e snow barrier which forbids human habitation in the spruce and alpine zones feeds

30

CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

the streams that make life possible in the desert thousands of feet below. NATIVE VEGETATION

AS A G U I D E T O

LAND

USE

Thoughtful minds in all walks of life are now beginning to realize the vital importance of using our land resources in such manner that they will render the best permanent service to mankind. T h i s may mean growing cultivated crops, but on vast areas it means utilizing the products of native vegetation, such as timber or forage; in other instances it means hubanding water supplies for irrigation or domestic use; in still other instances, highest use may lie in preserving the vegetation and associated natural features for their scenic and recreational qualities. It is time that all lands regardless of ownership be classified as to potential uses. Many criteria, such as location, geologic formation, topography, climatic records, soil surveys, and the results of past use, must figure in this classification. T h e native vegetation, preferably where it has been little disturbed by man, integrates physical factors in a way that enables the trained observer to make quick estimates of productive capacity and to interpret such physical measurements as may be available. Evaluation of sites by means of their vegetation is known as the plant indicator method. Effective use of plant indicators requires deeper study than merely the enumeration of species and correlation with climatic records. Some plants are better indicators than others. Trees are generally good indicators because of their long life span and because they are more exposed to the elements than are plants of low stature. Often, however, associated herbaceous plants may add details to the story of the trees. For example, blue grama grass (Boutelona gracilis) in a pine forest indicates a warmer and drier site than do the tall bunchgrasses such as Arizona fescue (Festuca arizonica) or mountain muhly (Muhlenbergia montana). Again, although fescue and muhly commonly grow in mixture, an association dominated by fescue indicates a heavier and deeper soil than one dominated by muhly. But outside factors may change the association temporarily. Thus, prolonged overgrazing may change a bunchgrass association to a grama grass association, or it may cause muhly to replace fescue. These modifications need not deceive the ecologist who is ever on the alert for telltale signs of deterioration.

FOREST TREES

31

T h e trees themselves, by their height growth, by the width and variation of their annual rings, and by the total volume per acre, tell an amazingly complete story. Foresters all over the world, after centuries of experience, have accepted rate of height growth as the best single i n d e x of "site quality." In Arizona, where ponderosa pine in f u l l y stocked stands yields 15,000 board feet per acre at the age of 1 5 0 years, the annual precipitation is between 20 and 25 inches; in the Sierras of California, where annual precipitation is around 40 inches, yields are two or three times as high as in Arizona. A g a i n , sites of deep soil produce the finest tree specimens and commonly bear much heavier stands than are f o u n d on shallow soils. Because the foregoing relationships have impressed themselves upon foresters who through generations have been responsible for the management of w i l d lands involving many interests, the forestry profession has taken the lead in advocating the doctrine of wise land use. B u t the problem of dedicating lands to their highest use is not the responsibility of any one profession; it is an undertaking which calls for the cooperative effort of biologists of all classes, of geologists, soil specialists, engineers, economists, sociologists, and legislators; and lastly it calls for understanding and approval by the general public.

UNIVERSITY

OF

BICENTENNIAL

PENNSYLVANIA CONFERENCE

The Original Grassland and Desert Shrub Vegetation of the United States as a Guide to Present Day Agricultural Practice By HOMER L. SHANTZ, Sc.D., PH.D.· THE original vegetation of any portion of the earth's surface is in approximate balance with the soil, weather and biological factors. It therefore can be used as an indicator of weather and soil conditions and the biological impingements which have shaped it as to physiognomy, floristic composition, stage of succession, and the morphological and physiological adjustments of its unit organisms. In other words, we may evaluate a particular area of the earth's surface by its plant cover and from that infer its best use under natural or modified conditions. Land is used as wild land in a more or less natural condition, and as cultivated land where the vegetation is destroyed and the top soil disturbed. Wild land may be used for timber production, grazing, hay land, recreation, landing fields, drill grounds, and for many other purposes. Wild land always has been and will continue to be important to man. Of the world area, fully half of the land has a climate unsatisfactory for the production of cultivated crops; and only a small percentage of this semidesert land can be used with irrigation. In the United States a little more than half of the area has a favorable climate. Of the half which lies under a suitable climate, much of it is unsuitable for crop production because of unfavorable soil or topography. It seems probable that on a world basis wild lands will always greatly exceed cultivated lands. T h e mountains and hills and the wilderness have always played a great part in the emotional, social, and economic lives • Chief, Division of Wildlife Management, Forest Service, U. S. Department of Agriculture.

33

34

CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

of men. The great mountains collected moisture to form the rivers which fed the lowlands. In southwestern Asia and Africa the peoples of the valleys looked to the wild lands for water, for grass for their flocks and herds, for recreation and relief from the heat of the plains, and for many other comforts of life. It is probably true that the great valleys of ancient history were destroyed by the careless abuse of the wild lands which feed their life-giving waterways. T h e headwaters of the Nile were far from the people who occupied the valley, hence they have not been overused. But the Euphrates and Tigris Rivers, which cradled the world's civilization, were gradually destroyed by the destructive use of the wild lands which lay above the valleys. T h e nomads of Abraham's time and before had overgrazed these hills, and the valleys swung rapidly from luxuriant oases to drifting sand deserts. Man has made a history of successive failures on the land which he has occupied. Successive races have passed from the picture on the Tigris, the Euphrates, and the Gila. Historic man has spent his racial history on semidesert plains. Here his flocks were fed in winter and sent to the mountains in summer. For him these mountains represented an abundance of water, of grass for his flocks, and of recreation and relief from the heat of the plains. Heat and drought were so impressed upon his mind that even eternal punishment was meted out in terms of heat. One who has seen primitive man in Africa dance to produce rain, or seen the tremendously impressive reiterated chant of the Hopi, can realize how greatly the factor of moisture supply has influenced the mind of primitive man. Variations in the water supply have spelled the rise and fall of peoples. History written in words and in the evidence of rocks and vegetation shows in our southwestern deserts and in the deserts of the Old World great human migrations brought on by droughts and climatic swings. Even the relatively recent religious rebellion of the Hopi at Hotevilla was brought on by a supposed climatic swing. But it is doubtful whether the advancing deserts of the world have been due more to climatic swings than to the destructive uses of man. Herbivorous animals are at times extremely destructive, and insects and fungi have long been at work. But man is the only one of the agencies with intelligence enough to know what he is doing, and therefore is responsible for the

GRASSLAND AND DESERT SHRUB

35

action. Often man was ignorant of the ultimate consequences of his over-use« of wild land, and too often the individuals most responsible for the abuse of land, water, and vegetation are the last to recognize that damage. Soils with a developed profile have been produced only under natural vegetation or in rare cases after land was planted to permanent forest or grassland. When the native plant cover is removed or destroyed one of the important factors in soil formation is removed. A chernozem or a podzol soil does not develop under cultivation. Just what cultivation will ultimately do to these soil profiles has probably not yet been determined, for, at any rate, the writer knows of no serious studies along this line. Therefore, if soil building is the objective, it may be necessary to leave a permanent plant cover to accomplish the desired result. The practice of primitive man in abandoning land which he has cultivated for a time and allowing it to return to native vegetation may be justified ultimately by the records of history and the findings of research. On the basis of the formation of soil for agricultural purposes, the grasses seem much more effective in producing productive soils than the forests. However, we became tree-conscious long before we became grass-conscious if indeed we have yet reached this latter stage. T h e lower alluvial soils, which produce heavy forests or rich crop returns, owe their productivity not to development but to the accumulation of rich soil materials. But on uplands, slopes, and mountain sides, soils under grasslands tend more toward the chernozem types and are richer than the adjacent soils developed under forests. Great areas of the earth's surface were of forested lands. About 42 percent of the earth's land surface was forest land, about 24 percent grassland and 34 percent desert and tundra. In the United States about 48 percent was forest, 38 percent was grassland and 14 percent desert. Planning agencies, trying to look ahead wisely and determine objectives in land use, have estimated that of our lands 630,000,000 acres, or a third of the land area, should be kept as forest and woodlands. This is not only to produce timber and forest products but also to serve as watershed protection to stabilize stream flow to provide recreational land and a home for wild animals and domestic livestock.

j6

CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

This is an empire equal in area to the home in Europe of an eighth of the World's population. In America it is planned to utilize this wild land for the economic and social welfare of the people of the nation and fit it into the economy of an agricultural and industrial nation. A b o u t 31 percent of the land area in the United States is now in use as grazing land and it is doubtful whether this amount will be lowered or raised a great deal. A b o u t half of the land in the United States is in farms. Of this land about 37 percent is in pasture and 15 percent in woodland, or more than half of the land in farms is on a wild land, or relatively permanent wild land, basis. But it does not necessarily follow that all of this wild land is in as good condition as could be desired. Grazing land may be so denuded of perennial cover that only annual weeds are produced, and the effect on soil formation or soil binding is almost the same as if the land had been broken. An annual crop of weeds such as downy chess and Russian thistle is not too distinctly different from a field of annual grains in so far as soil formation and soil protection are concerned. When the permanent vegetation which is of value in soil formation, soil binding, and erosion control is replaced by nature's last stand, a short-season annual crop, soil building is probably at an end. Plowing has destroyed much of the shortgrass cover of the plains and substituted short-season annual grain crops. O n much of the western range and great portions of the high plains heavy grazing has destroyed the perennial grass or shrub cover which has been replaced by short-season annual weeds such as downy chess and Russian thistle, peppergrass or stickseed, and in both cases soil formation, soil binding, and watershed protection has been sacrificed for a short-season annual crop. " T h e Plow that Broke the Plains" and T h e Cow that Broke the Range have in a way accomplished the same result. In both cases over-use was brought about by social and economic pressure for the solution of the immediate problem with little thought of what the effect would be on future needs. T h e term "soil erosion" has captured the imagination of the American people. If accelerated erosion, that produced by overuse or abuse, is evident, something must be done. But erosion is years behind the cause. T h e cause should be treated and the effect forestalled. T h e detection of its cause long before erosion

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actually begins is the duty of those w h o manage wild land, and is imperative if land is to be properly maintained. Plants, by their presence or absence and by their condition and the density or sparseness of the whole vegetation cover, indicate the b e g i n n i n g of causal conditions w h i c h w i l l lead inevitably, w i t h months or years of continued abuse, to that final soil destruction stage w h i c h we recognize as erosion. T h e r e fore, in the m a n a g e m e n t of wild land the ecology and vegetation development must be so well understood that the diagnosis will detect the predisposing causes long before the disease arrives in that virile form which we recognize as induced erosion. T h e r e are many cases of fescue and bluegrass bunchgrass land in the mountains of the West, of b l u e b u n c h wheatgrass, of b l u e j o i n t bunchgrass or of grama and buffalo grass lands in which the telltale evidence of approaching destruction of the plant cover is evident. Indicators of over-use are a m o n g the easiest to detect. O n shortgrass land in the N o r t h the silvery hue of the pasture sagebrush tells at once of over-use and warns to lower the n u m b e r of animals using the land. In the southern part the bright green or yellow of snakeweed indicates a like over-use. T h e student of the range knows at once w h e n the beginnings of over-use are evident, and it is here and here alone that the cure should be applied. T o wait for erosion means often to wait until the perennial cover is dead. T h e n a process of r e b u i l d i n g is necessary, and it may take a l o n g time, possibly several centuries if the surface soil is lost. If erosion is several years behind the cause, the cure of erosion is scores of years b e h i n d its beginning. Possibly a better statement w o u l d be: Induced erosion is years behind its cause and scores of years ahead of its cure. W i l d land, forest, and range should be so managed that the plant cover is maintained and soil erosion avoided. T h e horse is already stolen when erosion has b e g u n . O f course more damage can be done, and it should be stopped. B u t the barn door should be locked before the first horse is stolen. Erosion should be avoided entirely by m a i n t a i n i n g the plant cover intact. Induced erosion should not be induced. T a k e as an example the fescue bunchgrass on one of the western mountains. It appears in several stages: (1) as a dense stand catching and h o l d i n g rainfall and developing a rich,

38

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

dark soil; (2) with moderate grazing the bunches are eaten back, but as long as use is not too heavy they are healthy and vigorous; (3) too heavy use leads to partial death of the bunches; (4) continued heavy use leads to their death, but the dead clumps remain and many plants find on the old clumps a favorable habitat; (5) continued grazing cleans out the intermediate plants and surface soil moves away from the bunches; (6) the bunches of dead stems finally wear away and the surface soil or Α-Horizon disappears with them. Recovery from the erosion phase (6) may require centuries. Recovery from the partly destroyed stage (5) may be far more rapid. The recovery from the stage (3) showing only partial death of the bunches may be effected in a year or two. It seems evident that to await actual erosion is the height of folly, when one considers the great loss in productivity and time involved if the grass cover (the patient) is allowed to die before remedies are applied. T h e use of indicators and especially of the vegetation cover in its entirety to detect this deterioration is a most fertile field of study and management. Such studies have been made or are being made on western and southwestern ranges, and should revolutionize range management whether it be managed for domestic livestock or for wildlife. Those who manage wild land should have a thorough knowledge of the natural trends of plant succession, and work with nature to bring about desired results. Without this knowledge the management of vegetation for the support of domestic herds or for wildlife may lead unknowingly to serious results. Artificial destruction of vegetation to improve food and cover, artificial reseeding or planting for soil protection and to improve grazing or timber production, for increasing the conditions favorable to man, domestic herds, or wildlife, should not be undertaken on wild land without a clear perception of the natural plant succession on the area. T o attempt to revise or change the natural succession means continued expense and in all probability ultimate failure. Often the reestablishment of the natural grass, brush, or forest cover is delayed in proportion as a temporary success is secured by the use of the introduced species. T h e objective in wild land management is to allow nature to develop as rich a soil, as rich and varied a plant cover, and as varied and rich an animal population as the basic rock

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material and the climate and weather conditions will support. With this as an ideal objective, modifications may be made for specialized uses. A climax forest at places must give way to open meadows, grass-eating animals at times to dense stands of spruce and fir, and a mountain meadow be utilized by cattle, sheep, or saddle horses. Still the ideal objective would be as rich and balanced a production of plants and animals as is possible. Soil as such, free of living organisms, is never found in nature. Soil consists of earth materials, weathering down by temperature changes and hydration, acted upon by bacteria, fungi, worms, insects, birds, mammals, and other animals, the excretion of plant roots, the addition of penetrating plant roots and organic materials of plant and animal origin. A good soil is a living community of plants and animals, of rock and organic materials, continually worked over by organisms and modified by physical and chemical changes. On this base a plant cover develops and reacts on the soil and on the weather, and on this vegetation an animal population lives and reacts on the plants and on the soil. T h e general object in wild land development is to raise this soil vegetation and animal life to the highest level of development in balance with the requirements of wise human uses of the area. Special uses must change this pattern but destroy as little as possible the richest biota of which the area is capable. T h e removal of man, the removal of herbivora, the removal of predators, the removal of birds, the removal of insects, the removal of worms, the removal of protozoa, the removal of fungi or bacteria would leave an entirely changed area, one by no means as rich as before this removal. When we speak of a natural area, we often think of one protected only from use by man and domestic livestock. But the vegetation of such an area may be nearly totally destroyed by fire, herbivora, or rodents, or fungi. T h e difficulty of setting up such areas is a practical one, and without proper supervision they are likely to prove useless for the purpose for which they were established. Proper management of wild lands must be based on our best knowledge of the soils, and the climatic, physiographic, biological, social, and economic factors for each management area. Use for any purpose means generally some departure from the ideal.

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

T h e original vegetation of the United States falls into the great divisions: forest, grassland, and desert. (Fig. 1.) T h e forests were of two principal types: (1) T h e great deciduous forests of east and south, which in the north were found on graybrown podzolic soils, and in the south on the red and yellow podzolic soils. T h e y constituted an almost continuous cover interrupted here and there by sandy land or swamp land and at higher elevations by rock land. (2) T h e coniferous forests. In the east they occupied the high or more northern lands where the soils were podzols, and farther south the sandy lands on the red and yellow podzolic soils. In the west these forests are found mostly on rough and stony land often with no welldeveloped profile, or on soils tending in the north to develop a gray-brown podzolic structure, and on the dryer and warmer locations of the south to develop the lighter or brown soil types of the pedocals. T h e desert vegetation is found in the intermountain region of the west and along the Mexican border. It may be divided into three groups: (1) the Sagebrush Desert or the Northern Desert shrub is characterized mostly by shrubs of uniform size and mostly with deciduous silvery leaves, and is found north of the 37th degree of north latitude; (2) the Creosote bush Desert or Southern Desert shrub lies south of the 37th degree of north latitude and extends along the Mexican border. It is characterized by great difference in density of plant cover and in type of plant varying from lacquered leaved evergreens, deciduous trees and shrubs, to succulents of great variety. (3) T h e Greasewood or Salt Desert shrub has developed in the interior drainage basins and on lands where a high watertable and a high rate of evaporation has caused the accumulation of salts, usually referred to as alkali, on the soil surface in sufficient quantity to shut out the ordinary hydrophytes. T h e grasslands occupy a broad belt extending from the Canadian border to the Mexican border and from the Eastern forests of the Mississippi Valley to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Isolated areas occur in the southeast. T h e grasslands also extend across western Texas, southern New Mexico and Arizona. T h e y also occupy the valleys of California and the plateaus of eastern Washington and Oregon and many of the mountain slopes in the Rockies. These grassland areas can be shown only on large-scale maps.

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T h e grasslands of the U n i t e d States vary markedly as to physiognomy, botanical composition, and soils and climate. T h e y are affected also by biological impingements and by fire. T h e soil conditions and weather conditions vary as much or more in various portions of the grassland as they do in the forests. Grasses have n o altitudinal limits as a group, while trees are marked at the upper and northern limits by a timberline. Grasses occupy the desert soils, the brown, the chestnut, and the true chernozems, the prairie soils and the ground water podzols. T h e y temporarily occupy most of the podzolic soils, if the forests are destroyed, and would, if occupancy could be maintained, swing these soils in the direction of the prairie soils. In other words, the grasses are by nature soil-builders if soil is measured in terms of its adaptability to produce cultivated crops. W e have long been tree-conscious, b u t still fail as a mass population to recognize our indebtedness to grass as a means of production of the world's raw materials and as a means of building soils and as a means of preventing torrential discharge of rainfall. Grasses more than any other plants are adjusted by their habit of growth to use at any stage of their development, and by close grazing can be kept continually in a vegetative stage. T h i s may result in spreading and increasing the ground cover if the use is not too heavy. T h e r e f o r e , use has in cases caused shortgrasses to produce a better cover than where they are protected. Fires like;vise tend to eliminate competing species. N o forage plants other than the grasses are so ideally adapted to grazing use and protection of the upper horizon of the soil or so little damaged by fire. T h e grasslands may munities: Bunchgrass Tallgrass Shortgrass

be divided

into the f o l l o w i n g

com-

Mesquite grass Marsh grass Alpine meadow

Each of them may be divided into a n u m b e r of groups as follows: Tallgrass (Prairie grassland) Bluejoint sod.—In the North on northern prairie soils developed into the corn belt and the central part into the corn and winter

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CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

wheat belt. In the South, on southern prairie soils, into the cotton belt. Broomsedge and watergrass.—On ground water podzols. Grazing land and humid subtropical agriculture. Porcupine grass, junegrass and slender wheatgrass.—On the eastern edge of the true chernozems and of the spring wheat region, also productive of native hay. Needle-and-thread, junegrass and slender wheatgrass.—On chernozem soil in the spring wheat region in the North and corn belt in the South. Little Bluejoint Bunchgrass.—On chernozem soils in the North and chestnut soils in the South developed into corn belt in the North, spring wheat region in the central, and cotton belt in the South. Sand grass, sand sage, and shinnery.—Grazing lands on sandy soil. Tallgrass may easily be divided into t w o quite distinct types, correlated with soil differences. Grasslands develop on podzolic soils where there is moisture from the surface to the water table and no lime layer, adapted to tree growth b u t where trees are shut out either by b u r n i n g of the grasses or possibly occasionally high water table. H e r e b l u e j o i n t sod characterizes what is often called the prairie. T h e northern part has become a great corn belt, the central part a corn and winter wheat belt, and the southern part the cotton belt. Closely allied in vegetation and soils are the broomsedge and watergrass coastal prairies, used chiefly as grazing lands and for the production of h u m i d subtropical crops. T r u e prairie types occur on the deeper better pedocals, especially on the northern and southern chernozems. Here porcupine grass, junegrass, and slender wheatgrass characterize rich grain land of the spring wheat region. Needle-and-thread, junegrass, and slender wheatgrass grow on a slightly drier phase of the chernozem soils. T h e northern portion lies in the spring wheat region, and the southern portion is in the corn belt. Little b l u e j o i n t marks out the great winter wheat area of Kansas and O k l a h o m a . T h e soil is deep, a b o u t three feet or even more, and there is n o leaching or loss of mineral nutrients to the subsoil. Sand grass, sand sage, and shinnery mark sand hill areas where the soil is light and tending toward a chernozem but w h e r e the climate is such as to develop a shortgrass vegetation on heavier soils.

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Bunchgrass (Pacific and Mountain grassland) Bluebunch wheatgrass sod.—The wheatlands of Northwest, on Palouse soils. Pine bluegrass and California needlegrass bunchgrass.—Produces dry land cereals on non-calcic soils in the South. Bluebunch wheatgrass bunchgrass.—Grazing land on brown and chestnut soils. Fescue and bluebunch bunchgrass (Mountain grassland).—Grazing land on chernozem-like soils. Giant wild rye.—On the better and alkali-free alluvial lands of the northern desert. Sacaton.—On the better alkali-free alluvial lands of the southern desert. In the valleys of the Pacific Region, on the aeolian lands of the Palouse, and on many of the mountain sides of the Rockies, a rather luxuriant bunchgrass has developed. In the California valleys the pine bluegrass and California needlegrass bunchgrass have all but disappeared. Now annual bromes, barleys, wild oats, and filaree constitute the only cover. As grazing land in the early days, it supported huge herds of Spanish cattle and horses. Now it is grazed for a short period or given over to short-season grain crops. Bluebunch wheatgrass sod of the Palouse region of Washington and portions of adjacent states has been turned to wheat lands or overgrazed and replaced by annual bromes. A drier location produced the bluebunch wheatgrass bunchgrass type characteristic of the Northwest and northern Rocky Mountain grasslands. Most of the land is unsuitable for cultivation. But this bunchgrass constitutes a valuable cover to hold back floodwaters and is valuable as forage. In the central and southern Rockies a similar but more valuable grassland develops, characterized by species of Festuca and Poa. These luxuriant mountain grasslands are characterized by a dark chernozem-like soil and give evidence of having been in place for hundreds of years. In fact, it has the appearance of permanency comparable to the alternate areas of spruce and fir. Of great value as forage lands for domestic livestock and herbivorous game animals, they are also insurance against silt deposits in streams and reservoirs and serve as areas of equalization, preventing torrential delivery of runoff. If properly used, these

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CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

grasslands will maintain themselves and produce a large annual crop of forage. Shortgrass (Plains grasslands) Blue grama, junegrass, and needle-and-thread.—The spring wheat region on chestnut soils. Wiregrass.—The hard winter wheat region on chestnut and brown soils and in the southern part reddish chestnut soils. Blue grama and buffalo grass.—The western edge of hard winter wheat region on chestnut and brown soils. Blue grama, buffalo grass, and bluestem.—The western part of the spring wheat region on chestnut soils of the Pierre series. Bluestem alone or with sagebrush or salt sage.—Grazing land on undeveloped brown and chestnut soils. Blue grama and niggerwool.—Grazing lands on brown soils. Blue grama, junegrass, and selaginella.—Grazing lands on brown soils. Blue grama and pasture sagebrush.—Grazing lands on northern dark brown or chernozem soils. Blue grama and ring muhly.—Grazing lands on brown soils. Shortgrass characterizes areas where there is a long drought rest period and a long cold rest period. T h e growth season is confined mostly to spring and early summer, and the soils are shallow and underlaid by a zone of lime accumulation at from ι to 3 i/ 2 feet. Differing only in degree from the true prairie, they mark out quite distinctly a lower agricultural potentiality. Holdings are larger and crops produced at greater risks of drought. Only on the better types is production of a cultivated crop reasonably assured. Slight differences in seasons are of great significance. Blue grama, junegrass, and needle-and-thread grass characterize the northeastern portion, which is most favorable for spring wheat, and likewise probably the most valuable as grazing land. Weather conditions of drought and heat are not so extreme as farther south, hence an equal rainfall is more productive than it would be farther south. South of this area the wiregrass characterizes the deeper better lands of the Central Plains region, and has become the great winter wheat area of the United States. These two types occupy the western part of the northern and southern chernozems. T h e Pierre shale area in South Dakota is characterized by blue grama, buffalo grass, and bluestem (western wheat). It has

GRASSLAND AND DESERT SHRUB

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a rich heavy soil, valuable as grazing land and under favorable seasons very highly productive of either native hay or cultivated crops. B l u e grama and b u f f a l o grass characterize the Central Plains west of the wiregrass area. T h i s is grazing land of exceptional quality, b u t has n o w been largely destroyed by the plow, for d u r i n g favorable years heavy yields of hard winter wheat are produced. T h e native pastures have been so overused and punished by drought that it may require many years to reestablish a natural grass cover. O n the poorer and often heavy and somewhat alkali lands of the northern plains, bluestem alone or with sagebrush or salt sage marks land of low carrying capacity as grazing land and little value as agricultural land. B l u e grama, junegrass, and Selaginella make u p grazing land of low carrying capacity but usually on soil not characterized by alkali. It should not be overgrazed, since recovery is exceedingly slow. Blue grama and niggerwool are valuable as grazing land. Overgrazing will, however, swing it to less desirable types, and some of this land has changed in recent years to salt sage or to open sparse stands of winter fat. In the Southwest, b l u e grama and r i n g m u h l y occupy the drier, hotter valleys. It is grazing land for part of the year, and non-crop land. Nearer the mountains, b l u e grama and pasture sagebrush indicate a higher rainfall and better grazing land. Overgrazing, however, will soon be evident by the increased production of pasture sagebrush. Occasionally the better portions of the land are used for the production of crops of oats. Shortgrass has given way in the southern portion to the socalled dust bowl. If this land and the sandgrass, sand sage, and shinnery could have been retained as grazing land, w i t h a cultivation of 10 or 20 percent of the better lowland which receives some floodwater irrigation, and the units made large enough—at least two square miles—it w o u l d have developed into one of the most stable and dependable types of agricultural use in the United States. C u l t i v a t i o n not only results in destruction of grazing values b u t favors m o v e m e n t of soil by wind erosion. T h e Shelterbelt, an attempt on a large scale to vary the environment or monotony of a continuous level grassland by tree growth, is favorable alike to the comfort of man, domestic

46

CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

livestock, and wildlife, and has met with signal success. If the area is to be inhabited, such a project is essential, and it should not be judged as an economic production of timber but as an essential modification of an otherwise monotonous environment. Mesquite grass (desert grasslands) Mesquite and desert grass savanna (Desert savanna) Thornbush and mesquite grass.—Grazing lands on reddish chestnut soils. Mesquite and mesquite grass.—Grazing land on reddish chestnut and farther south on southern brown soils. Mesquite grass (desert grassland).—Grazing land on reddish brown soils. Growth period determined by summer and winter rains. Black grama.—Grazing land on well-drained soils. Rothrock grama.—Grazing land on well-drained soils. Curly mesquite.—Superior grazing land on better soils. Tobosa.—Grazing land on heavy soils. Galleta.—Grazing land extends into northern desert shrub on soils similar to those occupied by sagebrush. T h i s grassland is often a savanna with scattered mesquite or thorn trees and resembles the shortgrass, especially where curly mesquite predominates. T h e vegetation is distinct from the shortgrass in habitat and physiological adjustment. Rest periods are due to drought and not to cold. In Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona on reddish brown soils it furnishes excellent yearlong grazing. It is valuable as grazing land and for watershed protection, and careful use avoids the destruction of the more palatable and valuable grasses. It is not suitable for crop production. Alpine meadow.—A mixed grassland above timberline. Short season grazing land. Alpine meadow soil somewhat similar to Asiatic tundra. Above timberline an alpine meadow of grasses, sedges, and flowering plants is little used in this country. Large areas are required as recreational lands. Occasionally domestic sheep graze over the area for a few weeks in summer. Circumpolar plants link this type with polar vegetation and the meadows of the Alps of Europe and the high meadows of Asia. T h e soils are dark, rich in organic matter, and known as Alpine meadow soils.

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Marsh grass (swamp grassland). Swamp grasslands occupy much of the wet meadows of the western valley, some of the natural hay meadows of the sand hills, the swamp land of the prairie, and swamp lands of the East. The value of this land for hay has long been appreciated. They are also valuable in producing grasses and sedges for rugs and matting, but their major value is for wildlife and as a water storage to help to maintain the water tables and as a reserve against devastating droughts. T h e grasslands have given way to cultivated crops over much of the area where rainfall is sufficient to insure crop production without irrigation. T h e prairie soils and the northern and southern chernozem soil regions occupied by tallgrass and the more luxuriant association of the shortgrass have become great corn and wheat and cotton producing lands. Here soils are rich and productive and do not deteriorate rapidly. However, under tillage one of the most important factors of their development is altered very materially, and a few hundred or thousand years of use may reduce them to so low a level of productivity that they will need building back under a relatively permanent grass cover. Probably no grassland is better adapted to permanent grazing use than the shortgrasses of the plains. These grasslands will stand unusually heavy use. T h e indicators of over-use are easily detected, and a check on amount of use would correct or bring use and production into balance. But under favorable climatic conditions much of this land will yield a heavy grain crop. This gambling chance has led to the destruction of much of the shortgrass cover, to soil blowing, and all the discomfort so well summarized when we use the term "dust bowl." A land ideal as grazing land, with small acreage to produce emergency feed for winter, has been destroyed at least partly by economic pressure for land and the chance of a big return in a good year. T h e Pacific and Mountain bunchgrass land has in the more level and better portions given way to grain crops, but much of the area is used for grazing. Many of the grasses are not especially good as forage, and when they begin to give way sometimes to more palatable weeds the economic returns seem in a degree to justify the loss of the permanent cover. California, Oregon, and Washington have lost much of the cover

48

CONSERVATION OF N A T U R A L RESOURCES

and now the areas are occupied by annuals. Even if the food value of the annuals is as great as the bunchgrasses, we should recognize that we have lost the soil-forming and soil-binding grasses, and the whole area is little different than if the sod or natural cover had been destroyed by the plow. H e r e the vegetation, if properly studied and understood, would dictate a more careful grazing program and possibly the retention of m u c h of this land in a permanent perennial grass cover in the interests of flood control and watershed protection and grazing use at a level which will not change the composition as to principal species. Sagebrush (northern desert shrub).—Gray desert soils free of alkali. Sagebrush.—Alluvial soils capable of crop production. Small sage.—Heavy or stony land. Scabland sage.—Scablands. Little rabbitbrush.—Similar to sagebrush but drier. Bitterbush.—Land often sandy, volcanic, or rocky. Coleogyne.—Dry porous soils. Chamiso.—Usually on heavy soils. Snakeweed.—On lands once denuded. Shadscale.—Gray desert soils with alkali and relatively impervious. Winter fat.—Excellent grazing land. Hop sage.—Similar to shadscale land. Bud sage.—Excellent grazing land. Saltsage.—Heavy soil strongly impregnated with alkali; valuable grazing land of low carrying capacity. White sage.—Fine soil with alkali in the lower half of the first foot of soil. T h e deserts have been mostly public domain, a land with no management and no protection, the forage a fair prize for anyone who could get to it first. It is a wonder that the vegetation has maintained itself as well as it has. Many of the important shrubs are unpalatable to livestock. T h i s has protected the area. Some species like bud sage have all b u t disappeared over much of the area. T h e northern desert shrub should be largely winter range. It has a low carrying capacity. Bitter brush in places is a valuable forage plant, and winter fat is ideal as a forage crop. Except under the best sagebrush where short-season grains can be grown, the land is generally unsuited to crop production unless under irrigation. T h i s w o u l d indicate that the area

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should be managed as a range. Deer especially use much of it for winter range. They progressively destroy the species of the greatest value as winter feed. T h e same is true of any other use, be it by wild animals or domestic livestock. A balance of use, by both domestic livestock of various kinds and wild animals of several species, all controlled as to numbers, would afford the greatest return and the least damage to preferred species. T h e latter are not the same for any class of stock or game animals. Excessive use by any one species is wasteful of the resource. Creosote Bush (Southern desert shrub) Desert saltbush.—Best lands for irrigation agriculture, slightly saline. Desert saltbush and mesquite.—As above. Creosote bush.—Red desert soils, usually sandy and free of alkali. Creosote bush and bur sage.—Often rough and stony land. Blackbush.—Porous soils, free of alkali. Yucca and cholla.—Usually rough and stony land. Joshua tree.—Porous soils, free of alkali. Giant cactus and paloverde.—Usually rough and stony land, free of alkali. Lechuguilla and sotol.—As above. California sagebrush and Encelia.—Rough land. Shrub buckwheat.—As above. Mesquite and catclaw.—As above. Mesquite and chamiso.—Good lands for irrigation agriculture. Mesquite and burroweed.—Usually indicates overgrazing. O n the basis of available feed, creosote bush (Southern desert shrub) ranks higher as grazing land than would at first be supposed, since so many of the plants are of no forage value. In the first place there is no non-productive winter period. Drought rest periods, while severe, can be passed by livestock if sufficient plant material is on the land. Usually there are two growth periods, when annuals and weeds are a b u n d a n t and when perennials p u t on their growth. While the capacity is low, it is yearlong. O f t e n these deserts have scarcely enough vegetation to hold the soil. In fact, in many places there is no fixed surface soil, and the raw materials are on the surface of the ground. T h e retention of nutritious species means care in not over-using the range.

50

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

Greasewood (salt desert shrub) Greasewood.—Alkali land with a water table within reach of the roots. Greasewood and shadscale.—As above, but surface soils not moistened by the water table. Seepweed.—Usually marks seepage areas high in soluble salts. Pickleweed.—Wet saline soils. Saltgrass.—Saline land occasionally flooded with fresh water. Good grazing land. Alkali sacaton.—Excellent grazing on damp alkali land. Rabbitbrush.—On damp alkali land. Alkali heath.—Damp alkali land. Such lands are usually flat, with a water table at or near the surface. Saltgrass and alkali sacaton are valuable as forage and are not easily damaged by overgrazing. T h e maintenance of a cover and the restriction of use to maintain that cover would yield the best returns. T h e natural vegetation can be maintained and erosion not induced if those who manage wild lands will utilize plants as indicators and especially avoid a change of composition of the plant cover. Such a course would be best in the long run, but it does often cut across social and economic needs. Here again, social and economic needs should be studied and analyzed. Plans for management should be based on such studies an< not influenced by the dictates of pressure groups. First of all, the resource should be protected and every effort used to meet the social and economic demands by means other than excessive use of vegetation, since excessive use of vegetation means diminishing returns and, when carried to unreasonable ends, induced soil erosion and the loss of the land. COMMON

AND

Alkali heath Alkali sacaton (tussock grass) Bitterbrush Blackbush Black grama Bluebunch wheatgrass Blue grama Bluejoint

SCIENTIFIC NAMES MENTIONED

OF

PLANTS

Frankenia grandiflora campestris Sporobolus airoides Torr.

Gray

Purshia tridentata (Pursh) DC. Flourensia cernua DC. Bouteloua eriopoda (Torr.) Torr. Agropyron spicatum (Pursh) Scribn. and Sm. Bouteloua gracilis (H.B.K.) Lag. 'Andropogon sp.

GRASSLAND AND DESERT SHRUB Bluestem (western wheatgrass) Bromes Broomsedge Buffalo grass Bur-sage Bud sagebrush Burroweed California needlegrass California sagebrush Catclaw Chamiso Coleogyne Creosotebush Curly-mesquite Desert saltbush Downy chess Encelia Filaree Galleta Giant cactus Giant wild-rye Greasewood Hop-sage Idaho fescue Joshua tree Junegrass Lechuguilla Little Bluejoint Little rabbitbrush Mesquite Needle-and-thread Niggerwool Pasture sagebrush Peppergrass Pickleweed Pine bluegrass Porcupine grass Rabbitbrush Ring muhly Rothrock grama Russian thistle

Agropyron

smithii

5«

Rydb.

Bromus spp. Andropogon glomeratus (Walt.) B.S.P. Buchloe dactyloides (Nutt.) Engelm. Franseria dumosa A. Gray Artemisia spinescens D.C. Eaton Aplopappus fruticosus Blake Stipa pulchra Hitchc. Artemisia californica Less. Acacia greggii Gray A triplex canescens (Pursh) Nutt. Coleogyne ramosissima Torr. Covillea tridentata (DC.) Vail Hilaria belangeri (Steud.) Nash A triplex polycarpa S. Wats. Bromus tectorum L. Encelia farinosa Gray Erodium spp. Hilaria jamesii (Torr.) Benth. Carnegiea gigantea (Engelm) Britt. and Rose Elymus condensatus Presl. Sarcobatus vermiculatus (Hook.) Torr. Grayia spinosa (Hook.) Moq. Festuca idahoensis Elmer Clistoyucca brevifolia (Engelm.) Rydb. Koeleria cristata (L.) Pers. Agave lechuguilla Torr. Andropogon scoparius Michx. Chrysothamnus stenophyllus (A. Gray) Greene Prosopis juliflora (Swartz) DC. Stipa comata T r i n . Carex filifolia Nutt. Artemisia frigida Willd. Lepidium ramosissimum A. Nels Alienrolfea occidentalis (S. Wats.) Kuntze Poa scabrella (Thurb.) Benth. Stipa spartea T r i n . Chrysothamnus graveolens (Nutt.) Greene Muhlenbergia torreyi (Kunth) Hitchc. Bouteloua rothrockii Vasey Salsola pestifer A. Nels.

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

5* Sacaton Sagebrush Saltgrass Salt sage

Sandgrass Sand sage Scabland sage Selaginella Seepweed Shadscale Shinnery Shrub buckwheat Slender wheatgrass Small sage Snakeweed Sotol Stickseed Tobosa Utah samphire Water grass Western stickseed White sage Wild oats Winterfat Wiregrass

Sporobolus Artemisia

wrightii tridentata

Munro Nutt.

Distichiis stricta (Torr.) Rydb. ί A triplex \Atriplex

nuttallii S. W a t s , o r corrugata S. W a t s .

Calamovilfa Artemisia Artemisia Selaginella

longifolia

(Hook.) Scribn.

filifolia Torr. rigida A . G r a y sp.

Dondia torreyana (S. Wats.) Standley A triplex confertifolia (Torr.) S. Wats. Quercus

spp.

Eriogonum

fasciculatum

Benth.

Agropyron pauciflorum (Schwein.) Hitchc. Artemisia

Gutierrezia Rusby Dasylirion Cryptanthe

nova A . N e l s .

sarothrae

(Pursh) Britt. and

texanum Scheele crassisepala ( T . 8c G . ) G r e e n e

Hilaria mutica (Buckl.) Benth. Salicornia Paspalum

utahensis dilatatum

Tidestrom Poir.

Lappula occidentalis (S. Wats.) Greene Kochia vestita (S. Wats.) Rydb. Avena fatua L . Eurotia lanata ( P u r s h ) M o q . Aristida longiseta Steud. REFERENCES

CAMPBELL, R . S., AND Ε . H . BOMBERGER. O c c u r r e n c e of G u t i e r r e z i a

sarothrae on Bouteloua eripoda ranges in southern New Mexico. E c o l o g y 15:49-61, 1934.

CLEMENTS, F. E. Plant Succession. Carnegie Institute Wash., Pub. 242, 1916.

CLEMENTS, F. E. Plant Indicators. Carnegie Inst. Wash., Pub. 290, 1920. COOPERRIDER, C. K., AND B. A. HENDRIX. Soil Erosion and Stream

Flow on Range and Forest Lands of the Upper Rio Grande Watershed in Relation Land Resources and Human Welfare. U.S.D.A. Tech. Bui. 567:1-88, 1937. PIEMEISEL, R. L. Changes in weedy plant cover on cleared sagebrush land and their probable causes. U.S.D.A. Tech. Bui. 654:1-44, »938·

GRASSLAND AND DESERT

SHRUB

53

SAMPSON, ARTHUR W . P l a n t Succession in R e l a t i o n to R a n g e M a n agement. U . S . D . A . B u i . 7 9 1 : 1 - 7 6 , 1 9 1 9 . SAMPSON, ARTHUR W . P l a n t I n d i c a t o r s — C o n c e p t a n d Status. T h e Bot. R e v . , 5 : 1 5 5 - 2 0 6 , 1 9 3 9 . SARVIS, J . T . E f f e c t of different systems and intensities of grazing u p o n the native vegetation at the N o r t h e r n G r e a t Plains F i e l d Station. U . S . D . A . B u i . 1 1 7 0 : 1 - 4 5 , 1 9 2 3 . SAVAGE, D . A . Grass C u l t u r e a n d range i m p r o v e m e n t in the C e n t r a l a n d Southern G r e a t Plains. U . S . D . A . C i r c . 4 9 1 : 1 - 5 6 , 1 9 3 9 . SHANTZ, H . L . T h e N a t u r a l V e g e t a t i o n of the G r e a t Plains. A n n . Assoc. A m e r . G e o g . 1 3 : 6 7 - 8 0 , 1 9 2 3 . SHANTZ, H . L . AND R . ZON. N a t u r a l V e g e t a t i o n . A t l a s of A m e r i c a n Agriculture, 1924. T A L B O T , M . W . Indicators of Southwestern R a n g e C o n d i t i o n s . U.S.D.A. Farmers Bull. 1 7 8 2 : 1 - 3 5 , 1937. Fic. 1. (P. 54) Types of native vegetation of the United States. The eastern forests mostly deciduous, occupied over a third of the total land area. T h e western forests occupied the Cascade, the Sierras and the Rocky Mountains. T h e desert vegetation is mostly in the intermountain area of the West and along the Mexican border. T h e grasslands are largely between the eastern forests and the Rocky Mountains with outlying areas in the South, on the Pacific and across the southern Rockies. In addition to the legend on the map the following plant communities are designated by number: (1) Porcupine grass, junegrass, and slender wheatgrass; (a) needle-and-thread, junegrass, and slender wheatgrass; (3) little bluejoint (bunchgrass); (4) desert grass savanna; (5) blue grama, junegrass, and needle-and-thread; (6) blue grama, buffalo grass, and bluestem (western wheatgrass); (7) blue grama, buffalo grass, and red three-awn (wiregrass); (8) blue grama and buffalo grass. Fic. 2. (P. 55) Land in harvested crops. A comparison of this figure with Fig 1 shows a striking correlation. T h e heavy acreage on the tall grasslands of Illinois, Iowa, southwestern Minnesota, eastern North and South Dakota, Nebraska, eastern and central Kansas, western Oklahoma, and on the Black Prairie of Texas indicates the desirability of this land for agriculture. T h e eastern edge of the short grassland is also largely in crops. T h e Palouse lands of Washington and the Central Valley of California also stand out on the dot map. The desert shrub and coniferous forests of the West and Northeast are non-crop lands. Fic. 3. (P. 56) Agricultural regions of the United States. T h e corn belt was largely tallgrass land. T h e spring wheat region was the northern portion of the tallgrass and the better northern portion of the shortgrass and the bunchgrass lands of Washington and Oregon. T h e hard winter wheat region was developed on the central western part of the tallgrass represented by the bluejoint bunchgrass and the better central eastern part of the shortgrass represented by the wiregrass and the eastern portion of the blue grama and buffalo grass group. Some of the best cotton land lies in what was the southern part of the bluejoint sod. A large part of the shortgrass, mesquite grass, and bunchgrass lies in the grazing and irrigated land area. Here also lies all of the creosotebush and sagebrush deserts.

GRASSLAND AND DESERT SHRUB

55

u C

56

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

U N I V E R S I T Y OF P E N N S Y L V A N I A BICENTENNIAL CONFERENCE

Dendrochronology and Studies in "Cyclics" By A. E. DOUGLASS, Sc.D.· I. P R E L I M I N A R Y R E S I D E N C E for years in what might be termed borderland climates has led the writer to the feeling that geographers and travelers, visiting all corners of the earth, see perhaps everything with one exception, namely, climate. T h e y can see weather everywhere but not climate. And by climate I mean dynamic climate, not static. For example, people come to Arizona for the winter, but they learn little of the climate technically. T o get that they must stay all the year. We have a temperate zone in winter and dry sub-tropical conditions the rest of the year with a second rainy season when the sun runs nearly overhead. B u t to understand our climate the visitor must get acquainted with the immense climatic effects of our great mountain ranges and table lands in which rainfall increases with elevation for some thousands of feet of altitude, and he must see how very different is the climate on the east and west side of a big mountain mass with a relatively wet westerly exposure and a dry easterly "shadow." A n d lastly the visitor must reside here enough years to see the high percentage of change in any one season from year to year. These successive values form a pattern in successive years and this is the experience on which dendrochronology is founded. In 1 9 0 1 , a trip by wagon from the forested top of the Kaibab Plateau in northern Arizona down to the desert of House Rock Valley several thousand feet below led to the following chain of ideas: (a) We get change of climate by going a few thousand feet vertically up or down a mountain slope; (b) In dry countries there is a high per cent of change of climate, i.e., rainfall, • Director Emeritus of the Steward Observatory and Professor of Astronomy and Dendrochronology, University of Arizona.

57

58

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

from year to year, chiefly in the winter precipitation, which is the main source of moisture supply in Northern Arizona; (c) Trees growing on the lower and drier border of forests may show these climatic changes from year to year in their ring widths; (d) In this case, with probable effects of solar activity on rainfall, and certain effects of rainfall on trees, it would be worth while to measure these rings and see if they show, for example, a sun-spot cycle; and finally (e) T h e best way to make such a test would be by cycle analysis of plotted curves of ring growth. Measurement of rings began in January 1904, and it was at once evident that ring patterns could be traced in circuit about the tree. In the following month, similarity of recent patterns 1st ring

2d.ring

ε

3d.ring

L

Fic. 1. Parts of a R i n g . (From "Principles and Methods of T r e e - R i n g Analysis" by W. S. Glock, Carnegie Publication 486, 1938.)

in many trees was observed and their genuineness checked by calculating the cutting date of certain stumps from the ring patterns and then finding that the date was correct. Cuttings from the stumps of seventy trees near Prescott, Arizona, in 1 9 1 1 showed that this similarity of ring patterns extended across fifteen miles of forest. On January 1, 1912, this was carried seventy miles to Flagstaff trees growing under similar general conditions. Thus crossdating was seen to be a general character of the region and not an accident, and all subsequent experience has confirmed this opinion. This led to those rare but inevitable questions whether some one ring is annual or false, or whether another is missing in the radial under examination; in northern Arizona these questions were always settled by comparisons with other trees that grew farther and farther away. After thousands of trees had been examined and compared for cross identification of ring patterns, a few simple rules were found to decide questions of

DENDROCHRONOLOGY AND STUDIES IN "CYCLICS"

59

false or annual rings in this region. T h e chief guide is that in the trees we use, false rings are hazy, that is, not sharply defined on the outside. T h i s applies easily to our western yellow pine, Douglas fir, and pinyon, but our junipers nearly always have indeterminate rings. Crossdating like ours does not necessarily extend outside the " P u e b l o A r e a " of the Southwest, and lack of crossdating elsewhere has no bearing on o u r situation or upon our results. Since it is changing climate f r o m winter to winter that causes these patterns, we can reverse the statement and say that definite ring patterns prevailing over a large area of country through long periods of time are climatic in origin

approximately.

because climate is the common continuous influence over immense areas of forests. Pest and fire effects are easily identified in a sufficiently large area. T h e climatic relation of tree-rings is indeed verified by the actual agreement between rainfall and tree-growth displayed in relative r i n g thicknesses. O u r first test was made in 1905 and 1906 between Arizona trees and Southern C a l i f o r n i a rain, which in most years resembles ours in relative value. T h i s was in the absence of suitable records f r o m Arizona. T h i s did not include individualizing the rings since crossdating had not been applied. In 1 9 1 4 successful comparisons were made between Prescott rain and tree growth. T h e correspondence is excellent in more general tests for northeastern Arizona and in tests of Monterey pines in California. T h e r e is also distinct agreement

6o

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

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O N T O T A L CONSERVATION

»55

TABLE 2 E S T I M A T E D POSSIBLE COST O F SOIL AND WATER CONSERVATION W O R K IN T H E U N I T E D STATES

Classification of Land Needing Treatment

Land suitable for cultivation, but needing moderate treatment Land suitable for cultivation, but needing extensive treatment Land not suitable for cultivation, and which should be retired Land in farms, not in cultivation Public lands, not in forests Totals

Public, I"ederal and S täte Area

Private Operations

Total

Planning

Operations

acres*

dollars*

dollars*

185

III1

I8 5 J

166 yi'

240

264«

480'

444'

ι, 188

75

457

300'

600 ·

945

11

150"

500 300 1,300

50'° 15" 485

dollars*

200 12014 1,285

dollars*

462 Κ

400 '35

1,360^

Total public expenditure for planning, operations, and administration Total private expenditure for operations

$1,770 1,360

Total, public and private

S3,13 ο #

1 at =$ .60 per acre * at = ι .00 per acre * at = .90 per acre * at = 1 . 1 0 per acre 1 at = a.00 per acre • a t = 1.85 per acre T at = .60 per acre I at = 4.00 per acre * at s 8.00 per acre " a t = .10 per acre II at = .40 per acre u » t s .30 per acre 11 at = .05 per acre 14 at = .40 per acre * Jn millions —

tion. It is suggested that a p p r o x i m a t e l y one-half of this s u m be borne b y the private owners. T h a t the steps assumed to be taken in this estimate might well effect virtually complete stabilization of the agricultural lands of the U n i t e d States is attested b y the fact that on demonstration projects intensive treatment has b r o u g h t about 9 0 to 9 5 per cent control.

156

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

T h e degree of accuracy with which this estimate has been made is not the most important point. A n y o n e can substitute for the figures cited others which may appear more dependable. T h e outstanding fact is that we have progressed to the point where those in charge have begun to think of national erosion control as a j o b with an ending, and they have the factual data on which to base cost and time estimates. A n attitude such as this makes playing with the problem increasingly embarrassing. Soil Conservation officials estimate that it w o u l d require twentyfive years in which to accomplish the task if the necessary funds were available, one of the more important among controlling factors apparently being the time required to train a supervising personnel. 7 By contrast with the need expressed in the foregoing estimate, from 1 5 0 to 200 million dollars is perhaps a reasonable approximation of the current total annual appropriations for work of a type that might be considered a logical part of any total soil conservation program. 8 Even if the G o v e r n m e n t assumed the whole estimated cost of three billion dollars f o r total erosion control—or double that if you l i k e — i t w o u l d appear to be a task possible of accomplishment through twenty-five years in view of the fact that federal, state, and local agencies have spent thirty billions on highways and roads (their construction, maintenance, and operation) in the same period. If we add another ten billions for city streets—making a total of forty billions in all—it amounts to ten times what we are told w o u l d be necessary to make the U n i t e d States a reasonably permanent country. In reaching a comparable decision any business man would have in mind Dr. Bennett's estimate that our present annual losses of many different kinds, directly traceable to soil erosion, are something less than f o u r billion dollars, about half of which 7

Labor could be utilized at the rate of: 250,000 man-years the first year, 525,000 man-years the second year (30% increase), and 357,000 man-years the third year (10% increase). (Approximate 10% increase annually, as needed, for remainder of period.) 8 This total is derived from three sources: First, direct appropriations to the Soil Conservation Service which have averaged about 30 millions a year for seven years; second, A.A.A. appropriations which this year amounted to 500 millions, over 25% of which can be considered as contributing to a total soil conservation program; and, third, appropriations to miscellaneous agencies each in their way contributing to the end result, such as the Forest Service, the Grazing Administration, Fish and Wild L i f e Service, and the T V A .

ON T O T A L CONSERVATION

157

w o u l d be saved u n d e r any total soil conservation program (for details see T a b l e 3). TABLE 3

Estimated Annual Cost of Erosion, 1940

Estimated Annual Cost of Erosion after Treatment of 1,300,000,000 Acres

Reduction in Annual Cost

Loss of plant food constituents and plant nutrients contained in 3 billion tons of eroded topsoil and subsoil $3,000,000,000 $1,500,000,000 $1,500,000,000 Damage to highways 180,000,000 155,000,000 25,000,000 Damage to railways 100,000,000 85,000,000 15,000,000 Direct cost to farmers 400,000,000 50,000,000 350,000,000 Damage to reservoirs 30,000,000 20,0000,00 10,000,000 Damage to navigable streams and harbors 29,000,000 19,000,000 10,000,000 18,000,000 Damage to irrigation ditches 3,000,000 15,000,000 15,000,000 Damage to drainage ditches 5,000,000 ΙΟ,ΟΟΟ,ΟΟΟ 5,000,000 Damage to wildlife 1,000,000 4,ooo,ooo Damage within cities (sediments, ntream bank erosion, etc.) 25,000,000 15,000,000 10,000,000 Contribution of erosion to increased flood damage 12,000,000 ι . major floods 7,000,000 5,000,000 30,000,000 2. minor floods 19,000,000 I 1,000,000 Total of major items

$3,844,000,000 $1,879,000,000 $1,965,000,000

(Other damages occur, such as depletion of fish in streams, and damage to the oyster industry from siltation. Eroded lands, reduced yields, and abandonment caused by erosion also have undoubted deleterious effects in terms of reduced railway traffic, reduced value of the tax base, reduced purchasing power and its consequent effect on industrial production, reduced social and educational opportunities, and malnutrition.) If this j o b is to b e attacked man-fashion w e n e e d first of all a general staff 9 for soil and water control, both in field and forest, • T h e general staff idea originating with the German army many years ago was introduced into our army by Elihu Root when Secretary of War (See "Creation of the American General Staff" by William H. Carter, Major General in U.S.A., Senate Document 119, 68th Congress, ist Session, and Military and Colonial Policy of the U.S., by Elihu Root, Harvard University Press, 1916). More recently the Department of Agriculture has adopted the idea in a limited form through the appointment of a Land Use Co-ordinator (See " T h e General Staff of the U.S. Department of Agriculture," in Plan Age, May 1940).

158

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

to provide enlightened leadership and secure public support. T h i s agency should include Government officials and lay representatives of all the groups having an immediate interest in conservation, such as farmers, stockmen, sportsmen, nature lovers, water and power purveyors, railroad men, and bankers. Such an agency could weld together for a common effort the conservation forces somewhat as the wild life interests were brought together some years ago in the W i l d L i f e Conference. In this connection, scientists occupying separate fields must see that their most important interest is their common interest. T h e y must help in giving unity to the drive for total conservation. It is the function of the public official to plan the whole j o b and then press for adequate appropriations. B u t any outstanding success will in the last analysis be dependent on public education and on lay organizations to make vocal public demands. Even in these days of calls for large-scale public financing for a wide variety of important objects—defense, housing, education, and health—there should be no hesitation in launching a considered soil conservation program involving expenditures of say from three to five billion dollars spread over a twentyto thirty-year period and, of course, the taking of all the other steps needed to make these vast outlays effective. M a k e the period longer if you like, but have plans with an ending—both for the enterprise as a whole and for each of the cooperating farms. As far as our grandchildren are concerned, it is wellnigh futile to keep on making appropriations on a scale which permits the situation constantly to get worse. It is, in fact, a nice question whether the appropriation of as yet unrealized billions for defense is warranted unless we make sure at the same time that the country we are defending has a future comparable with its past. T h i s audience, of course, is fully aware that nations and even highly developed civilizations have gone to their eternal sleep because of failure to safeguard their soils. It has been estimated that the United States has only seventy-five to one hundred years to go as a virile nation unless brave remedial measures are set up. 1 0 Our country has a fatal earth disease. It is actually bleeding to death through the erosion of its soils. T h e longer 10 "On Water Planning for the Nation" by Morris L. Cooke, a paper before the American Water Works Association on May 7, 1935.

ON TOTAL CONSERVATION

159 healing measures are delayed, the more difficult and problematical becomes the cure. Let first things be first. The preservation of our soil is the first essential to our national well-being. Notwithstanding the basic function of the soil, from the point of view of total conservation it would be just as illogical to overstress soil conservation as it would be to emphasize unduly any other variety of conservation such as water conservation, forest conservation, or the conservation of fur-bearing animals. For practically all land is capable of producing a great variety of things of value to man. T h e maximum yield of useful products is obtained, as a rule, not by making all other forms of life subservient to a single one, but by building up a balanced community of living forms, each one of which contributes its share toward the area's total yield. T h e wise practice of total conservation will involve the management of land in such a way as to create on it a community producing the maximum continuous yield of valuable products. This means the planning of communities whose organizations roughly parallel the pattern set by nature when free from any human interference or manipulation. "Primitive man disturbed the conditions of the soil no more than did the lower animals." An increasing emphasis on total conservation as against interest in the conservation of special forms would parallel what is happening in the field of the biological sciences. Science today realizes that one cannot understand any type of life except in reference to its natural environment and its associates. Thus such specialties as botany, zoology, ornithology, and ichthyology are all being recognized as phases of the science of ecology—the study of communities from a point of view which regards them as super-organisms in which each plant or animal species can be thought of as an organ with certain definite functions to perform. This was a fair and fertile land when the whites first took over. It is reassuring to know that the task of rehabilitation is probably not beyond our means and our power. Something like an adequate concept of the meaning of total conservation expressed in measured effort over a given period of time will further the accomplishment.

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA B I C E N T E N N I A L CONFERENCE

Natural Resources and the States By SAMUEL T. DANA, Sc.D.· IN THEORY, the relation of organized society to natural resources is perfectly clear. T h e first responsibility of any commonwealth is to assure its own prosperous perpetuity. An abundant and continuing supply of natural resources is essential for its material prosperity. Therefore society has not only the right but the duty to take such measures as may be necessary to prolong the supply of those resources which are exhaustible and to perpetuate the supply of those which are renewable. In practice, it is far from easy to decide wisely just what these measures should be, or, once the decision is made, to administer them efficiently. This would be true even if all natural resources were in public ownership. It is still more so when tlicy are for the most part in private ownership, and in a democratic country where free enterprise is the order of the day. Among the major difficulties which hamper the adoption and execution of an adequate conservation program are public apathy, "rugged individualism," and governmental ineptitude. In spite of these handicaps I think it reasonable to assume: First, that the American people can be brought to realize that a liberal and permanent supply of natural resources is indispensable for the prosperity and comfort of the nation. Second, that private property is a social institution which has not yet outlived its usefulness, and that private ownership both of land and capital constitutes the best means so far discovered for stimulating the most productive use of man's brain and brawn; but at the same time, in the words of former Chief Justice Shaw of the Massachusetts Supreme Court, "every holder of property, however absolute and unqualified may be his title, holds it under the implied liability that his use of it shall be so regulated that it shall not be . . . injurious to the rights of the community." • Dean, School of Forestry and Conservation, University of Michigan. 161

i6s

CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

Third, that democracy must and can find ways of making the machinery of government function more intelligently, more economically, and more effectively than is now the case. If these assumptions are valid, conservation must be sought in a social order where most of our natural resources remain in private ownership, but with increased public participation in their regulation or management. Such participation may take the form of education and assistance, of social control, or of public ownership. T h e extent to which each method will be used and the agency by which it will be administered will naturally vary with the nature, condition, and basic importance of each resource. In order to keep this presentation within reasonable limits I shall confine my attention chiefly to the forest as the particular resource with which I am most familiar, and to the state as the basic unit of government in this country. Public assistance in the protection of forest lands from fire, insects, and disease is justified as a means of safeguarding an asset of prime importance to the community and should constitute a governmental service for which taxes are raised and spent. T h e states vary widely in the extent to which such protection is now afforded out of public funds. It would seem reasonable to insist that forest owners avoid the creation of a special fire hazard, or take adequate steps to minimize that hazard wherever its creation is unavoidable in the use of their property, as a responsibility inherent in ownership. Beyond this the state can properly be expected, with appropriate financial cooperation from the federal government, to handle other activities connected with the control of forest fires. These include educational and preventive efforts of all kinds, maintenance of a fire-control organization, and actual fire suppression. T o assist in reducing losses from insects and disease the state should endeavor to locate potential outbreaks in their early stages by means of well-distributed sample plots examined each year and supplemented by other studies by competent observers. It should also have an emergency fund which can be drawn upon to control incipient infestations before they have a chance to develop epidemic proportions. Such a program would be relatively inexpensive and would certainly result in greatly reducing the net loss from insects and disease, which at present is probably greater than from fire.

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Another major form of state cooperation should be the furnishing of technical advice to private owners. T h i s will involve the employment of foresters who can make personal examinations of the properties concerned, since forest management is preeminently a local matter in which the specific practices adopted must be fitted to local conditions. Blanket recommendations with respect to forest practice are consequently apt to be not only useless but actually misleading. T h e ideal arrangement is for each concern to have on its own staff one or more foresters with adequate training not only in the biological and engineering but also in the business and administrative aspects of forest management, to develop a sound plan for the handling of its property. N e x t in desirability comes the use of the consulting forester, in the same way that attorneys, chemists, and engineers are commonly retained for advice in their respective fields. A third alternative, which deserves more attention than it has so far received, is for the state to make available in an advisory capacity, and at a reasonable charge, the services of well-qualified technical men in its own organization. T h i s is already done in a limited but as yet totally inadequate way for the owners of farm woodlots. T h e expansion of this work by including more forestry in the training of county agents, and by stationing men with full professional training in forestry either as county agents or preferably in addition to county agents in districts where farm woodlots are a major asset, is highly important. Whether the activities of these men can be administered most effectively by the state extension service in close coöperation with and under the technical direction of the state department of forestry, or directly by the latter, is a matter for local decision in each state. I n addition, the state department of forestry should have a force of foresters available to advise with owners of forests not connected with farms, and particularly to assist them in the preparation of management plans. It is essential that this group be comprised of men who have not only sound training but practical experience, and whose knowledge of the economic as well as of the silvicultural aspects of forestry is such as to command the confidence of the private owner. A reasonable charge, probably either on a time or a size-of-property basis, should ordinarily be made for their services. Beyond the direct

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aid which such an arrangement would provide, it gradually should have the highly desirable effect of convincing the larger owners of the value of adding similar men to their own staffs. In connection with these activities the state may find it desirable to provide technical assistance in the organization and operation of forest cooperatives. This is a movement that may well prove as valuable in forestry as it has in the production and marketing of other crops. T h e extension of credit, either to cooperatives or to individual owners, can probably be handled most satisfactorily by the federal government through existing agencies. A third field in which state assistance is essential is that of taxation. T h e handicaps imposed on forest properties both by the nature and the administration of the general property tax are too well known to need elaboration. T h e solution of this problem, as Professor Fairchild has so ably pointed out in the report of the Forest Taxation Inquiry, lies primarily in the field of public finance and public administration. T h e tax burden must be adjusted to the ability of the property involved to contribute to the support of government, and the administration of the tax system must be equitable, economical, and efficient. Because comparable assessment of properties with comparable values is so essential to an equitable tax system, an ideal development would be the use of foresters, or other qualified personnel, trained in assessment techniques, either to assist the local assessors in their work or preferably to take over the assessment of forest properties under a system similar to that used in some states for the centralized assessment of mineral properties and public utilities. It would also be helpful for the state to try out much more widely than has so far been done the various methods which have been suggested for removing the extra burden imposed by the general property tax on forests with a deferred yield. Not until public assistance in the three fields of protection, technical guidance, and tax reform has been offered on a really adequate scale and found wanting, can it fairly be said that the cooperative approach to private forestry has been tried and failed. Human nature and business being what they are, however, it is unlikely that all forest owners will voluntarily handle their lands in a manner that is reasonably satisfactory from the public point of view, no matter how much cooperation the state

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may provide. Some form of social control of the activities of the more backward owners consequently seems inevitable. What shape it will take and how far it will go are still unanswered questions which deserve careful consideration. T h e primary aim of such control is to keep forest lands productive. In practice it should be simple, flexible, relatively inexpensive, and reasonably effective in protecting the public interest without undue interference with the business objectives of forest management. T h e s e criteria can in my judgment be met most satisfactorily by legislation requiring that all forest properties not connected with farms, and above a m i n i m u m size to be determined separately for each state, be handled under plans approved by an appropriate state agency. T h i s agency would normally be the state department of forestry or department of conservation. It should have the assistance of an advisory council composed of representatives of the forest owners, local officials, professional foresters, and the general public, which should have the duty of advising the department on matters of policy and perhaps on specific plans for the larger properties. Such a council would be exceedingly useful in making available to the state the services of the groups most concerned with the program and best qualified to assist in its execution. It would thus help to guide the department's actions along sound lines and at the same time would provide a means of interpreting those actions both to other forest owners and to the general public. Ix>cal councils could be set u p so far as might prove advisable to pass on questions of such local or m i n o r importance as not to justify reference to the state council. A l l decisions by the state administrative agency with respect to specific plans would of course be subject to appeal to the courts; but such appeals would probably not be numerous, particularly in view of the assistance that would be rendered by the advisory councils in adjusting differences between the department and individual owners. Studies throughout the country have shown that the basic requirement for maintaining the productivity of forest lands, whether for wood, wildlife, protective influences, or scenery, is the prevention of uncontrolled burning. Management plans must therefore provide first of all for such items as the disposal of slash along roads and railroads, in the vicinity of settlements,

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and in other places of exceptional danger; the maintenance of a special patrol force in recently cut-over areas in locations and at times of unusual hazard; the closing down of logging operations during particularly dry periods; and perhaps the prevention of clear cutting over large contiguous areas. Many of these are already in effect in most states. T h e next step is the inclusion in the plans of methods of logging to eliminate unnecessary damage to young growth and of simple silvicultural measures to assure better restocking or increased growth. Such practices could reasonably be required after they have been sufficiently tested by the more progressive owners to establish their practicability. Whatever the ground covered by the plan, it is highly important to recognize that every property presents a separate problem. Physical conditions and the objectives of the owner vary so widely that any attempt to prescribe general regulations, even for different forest types, would defeat its own purpose. This situation is met by allowing each owner to prepare his own plan of management, subject only to the requirement that it give adequate promise of keeping the forest in growing condition. One great advantage of this form of regulation would be its educational value. Society cannot for a long time, if ever, hope by legislative fiat to enforce intensive silvicultural practice or sustained yield management by private owners. T h e forest situation is not sufficiently critical, and the biological, economic, and administrative difficulties are too great, to make this feasible even if it were desirable. Better practice can, however, be materially encouraged by insisting on certain minimum standards which in many instances will undoubtedly result in the voluntary adoption of more intensive measures. T h e mere fact that a man has to make a concrete plan for the management of his property, however simple, will force him to study the problem, and will frequently, I believe, lead him to the conclusion that good forestry is a desirable investment from the strictly business standpoint. T h e profit motive may actually need the stimulus of smne external irritation to increase its effectiveness as an incentive to thinking through a question to the best all-round answer. There is every reason to believe that, within the limits set by the law of diminishing returns, the expenditure of more effort to bring about better

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management w i l l yield increased net returns in the handling of the forest just as it does in every other business. As I see it, regulation of this sort would gradually lead to the preparation of forest management plans by competent foresters in the employ either of private owners or of the state. T h e larger owners would doubtless build up their own staffs or turn to consulting foresters, while the smaller owners would depend chiefly on the advisory group maintained by the state department of forestry. Plans drawn u p by such men would normally be approved by the department without further formality, but of course with sufficient field inspections to make sure that they were working out satisfactorily in actual practice. Such a program should impose little if any hardship on the individual owner, to whom it is more likely to prove an actual benefit, and no heavy financial burden on the state. It would be both flexible and simple in operation, would make possible the gradual raising of standards as experience warranted, and would encourage further voluntary action on the part of individual owners. T h e possibility of court appeal would provide an adequate safeguard against arbitrary or unreasonable action 011 the part of the state. One other aspect of the problem of state regulation has to do with protection forests, in which cutting must either be prohibited or limited to a greater extent than elsewhere in order to control erosion or to regulate streamflow. T h e s e forests should normally be in public ownership, but where delay in bringing this about is encountered, their management would naturally and properly be subject to stricter control than with forests not exercising any such protective influence. Should this impose a real financial hardship on the owner, as might readily be the case, provision should be made to compensate him for the loss. Incidentally, this raises the whole question as to what constitutes social values; how they can be determined and appraised; and how private owners can be compensated for providing them when they involve no direct return to the owner himself. T h e subject is one that urgently needs thoroughgoing investigation as a basis for determining public policy both in the handling of publicly o w n e d forests and in the control of those privately owned.

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As a supplement to state cooperation and control, state ownership of forest land can and should serve a wide variety of purposes. Perhaps it is most conspicuously necessary in the case of lands primarily valuable for their social rather than their monetary returns. These include forests on slopes where heavy cutting is likely to result in serious erosion or in irregularity of streamflow, forests which hold shifting sand in place, and forests which are chiefly valuable for recreational purposes. There is also ample room for state ownership of forest lands in which timber production is the primary objective. These can be used to test out and to demonstrate various methods of forest management, and to guide and stimulate the better handling of lands in private ownership. In this connection I should like to see a suggestion made several years ago by Alf Ζ. Nelson of the Forest Service tried out. In brief he proposes that . . . economic demonstration forests be established to show primarily the manner in which sustained yield might be obtained under the rigid stipulations of the profit system. . . . Forest management on the demonstration forests would contemplate specializing in those products bringing the greatest net income while the intensity of forestry practice would be guided by the relative costs and returns resulting from such practices. Multiple use would be developed to take advantage of all incidental sources of revenue. To keep the enterprise solvent only minimum forest practices might be practical in some instances. The sample areas ultimately should be so well distributed as to demonstrate the many different forms of management. Although Mr. Nelson suggested that these economic demonstration forests be handled by the federal government, I believe that they have equal merit as a state enterprise. If established throughout the country they would provide extremely valuable proving grounds as to the economic practicability of various methods of forest management, and would have a far-reaching influence on the thinking and practice of private owners. They would serve to indicate the kind and amount of public assistance and of public control which the state should provide, and would give foresters in state employ the practical experience that is indispensable for the efficient discharge of their responsibilities. It should be emphasized, however, that financial profit should not be expected or even sought from a large part of the state's

T H E STATES

forest holdings. Other returns in the form of forest influences, recreational opportunities, and community stabilization will often fully justify the cost of obtaining them; and there are in many regions large areas of cut-over and depleted lands coming to the state by the tax delinquency route, or even by purchase, where the restoration of forest productivity constitutes a social service difficult to evaluate in dollars and cents. Plans for the development of state and of federal forests should be worked out in cooperation between the agencies concerned. How far such ownership should eventually go is still an open question. For the present it would seem wise to restrict additions to existing areas in public ownership largely to tracts necessary for protection, recreation, demonstration, and rejuvenation. If, however, socially satisfactory management of private lands proves impracticable even with public cooperation and a reasonable degree of public control, greatly increased public ownership would appear to be in order. For many reasons this might be less desirable than retention of the bulk of the forest area in private hands, but certainly preferable to the destruction or serious impairment of a basic resource. An absolute prerequisite for the successful discharge of the increased responsibilities which this entire program would place on state departments of forestry is the employment of an adequate staff of thoroughly qualified technical men. Action along three lines is needed to make this possible. Schools of forestry, without in the least weakening the training of their students in the biological, physical, and engineering sciences, must at the same time give them a better knowledge of the business and administrative aspects of the work which they will actually be called upon to do. Forest owners must give graduates of these schools an opportunity to obtain the practical experience necessary to supplement their professional training and to understand the problems by which the private operator is faced. T h e states must make public service attractive to the best men in the country by removing their conservation activities from the influence of partisan politics, insisting on high standards of professional training, paying adequate salaries, and providing reasonable security of tenure and opportunity for advancement. Textbooks, bulletins, and rules of practice have their place in forestry as in any other profession; but they can no more take the place of the forester in preparing and executing plans

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for specific properties than they can do away with the need for doctors, lawyers, and engineers. T h e best intentions and the most elaborate policies on the part of industry and government alike will be of little value except as they are implemented by a personnel with the technical and practical ability to put them into effect. With respect to other renewable natural resources, a state program similar to that suggested for forest lands would appear to be applicable to range lands. State cooperation, control, and ownership could reasonably progress along much the same lines and with the same objectives. For both resources joint programs of management between private and public owners are urgently needed in the case of intermingled lands, and should lead to the development of many cooperative sustained yield units. With farm lands the problem is somewhat different. This is partly because farming is still largely a way of life, partly because the major crops are annual in character, and partly because of the probability that neither the state nor the federal government will undertake the permanent ownership of areas primarily valuable for agriculture. T h e need for wise use of the land by the private owner is, however, no less urgent. Soil erosion is most widespread and most destructive on the farm lands of the country; soil depletion continues to result from poor crop practices; and woodlots generally are in bad shape. From the private and the social point of view the average farmer is failing to make the best use of his resources in spite of the fact that public assistance has been developed through the county agent system and other forms of cooperation to a far greater extent than with forest lands. This situation indicates that sound plans of management are just as much needed with farm lands as with forest and range lands. Many agencies are now working on the problem of how best to bring about their adoption. Notable among these are the Bureau of Agricultural Economics, the Farm Security Administration, the Agricultural Adjustment Administration, the Soil Conservation Service and soil conservation districts, county planning committees, and the state extension services. With all of this expert advice at their service the chances seem reasonably good that the farmers of the country will more and more handle their lands under definite plans which are adapted to local conditions on their individual properties, and

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which at the same time fit into broader regional and national agricultural programs. T h e relative emphasis on cultivated crops, pasture, woods, and wildlife, all of which constitute an integral part of the f a r m enterprise, will be determined largely by soil, topography, and markets; while methods of production will be those demonstrated by investigation and experience to be most suitable f o r each resource. If voluntary action of this sort does not become sufficiently widespread to safeguard the public interest, should consideration be given to r e q u i r i n g that all farms be operated under plans of management approved by an appropriate state agency? T h i s is essentially the program followed by the F a r m Security Administration in providing assistance to distressed farms and farmers. Is it either feasible or desirable to apply it more generally? Or should direct control in the handling of f a r m lands be limited to r e q u i r i n g that areas too steep for safe cultivation be retained in protection forest or protection pasture? Is increased public ownership of submarginal agricultural lands desirable; and if so, should it take place chiefly by purchase or by tax delinquency? I raise these questions as to how f a r the parallel between f a r m and forest lands holds good without pretending to know the answers. W i l d l i f e and water fall in a somewhat different category f r o m trees, forage, and soil both because of their nature and because of the greater control already exercised over them by the state. As state property, the taking of wildlife is completely controlled by the state authorities in spite of the fact that it occurs for the most part on private lands. T h e outstanding problem in its management is to induce private owners to adopt such measures as will increase the supply and make this supply available to the h u n t i n g public. T h i s means that due consideration should be given to w i l d l i f e as an important resource in all plans for forest and f a r m management, and that the owner should receive an adequate return for any expenditures made for its production, either by the hunter or fisherman or by the state itself acting in behalf of the general public. State ownership of lands used primarily for w i l d l i f e refuges and public hunting grounds, and the production of wildlife in state forests, constitute an important part of the broad program of state ownership of wild lands. T h e problems involved in the use of water for municipal

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and industrial purposes, for power, for irrigation, for navigation, and for recreation are too numerous and too complicated for detailed discussion here. I wish simply to suggest two directions in which further public action is imperative. I n the first place, prompt and decisive steps should be taken by the states to check the pollution of streams by sewage and industrial wastes. T h i s is essential from the standpoint both of health and recreation. In the second place, legislative action in the form of water codes should be taken to make streams and lakes more generally available to the public for recreational use than is now possible in view of the rights exercised by riparian owners under the common law. Such action should be supplemented by increased state ownership of frontage on streams and lakes, but public ownership alone can hardly go far enough to meet the situation. In this talk I have emphasized the importance of the state as the governmental agency which is primarily concerned with the conservation of renewable natural resources. T h i s is partly because that was the topic assigned to me, and partly because I believe the state can and should play a more active röle in this field than it has so far done. As the basic unit of government, it has more power and is more efficient than the counties and the towns. It is closer to the people than the federal government, and can more readily adapt its action to local needs. Different policies and different methods can be tried out experimentally in the various states, and those which prove their value in one can be adopted elsewhere so far as they may be applicable to local conditions. T h i s emphasis on the state does not, I wish to stress, indicate any lack of appreciation of its weaknesses or of the important part which should be played by other public agencies. County, town, and school forests all have their place, primarily for educational and recreational purposes, in a well-rounded conservation program. T h e federal government is involved not only because of the interest of the entire nation in natural resources wherever they may be located, but because of the interstate character of some of the problems involved, as for example in erosion and flood control. It can and should exercise constructive leadership in the establishment of conservation as a national policy through its management of the national forests, national parks, grazing reserves, wildlife refuges, and other

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areas in federal ownership; through research; and through substantial moral, technical, and financial assistance to the states in their educational, cooperative, regulatory, and ownership programs. It may even have to take a direct part in regulatory activities if the states fail to meet satisfactorily their responsibility in this direction. I believe, however, that it would be preferable for the states to handle administrative matters not involving federally owned lands unless they demonstrate such incompetence as to make federal intervention essential in the national interest. In many respects the conservation of natural resources is largely a problem in the fields of economics and political science. A knowledge of biology and engineering is of course essential in the handling of organic resources, but it must be utilized in ways that are economically, administratively, and socially sound. T h e average business man no doubt needs a broader social perspective and a clearer realization of the ills which result from unrestricted exploitation of nature. T h e average legislator and public administrator need equally a keener appreciation of values and costs and of the limitations imposed on industry by competition and social controls of all kinds. T h e difficulties resulting from cumbrous governmental machinery, poor organization, partisan politics, and widespread operation of the spoils system make the inefficiency of democratic government notorious. T h e strengthening of state and federal agencies alike, without undue concentration of arbitrary authority in the hands of public officials, is urgently needed in order to establish confidence in their ability to assume increased responsibility not only in conservation but in other fields. Better teamwork between the various states, and between the states and the federal government, is also of prime importance to keep the United States a true nation and not a mere assembly of jealous units each seeking what it regards as its own best interests at the expense of its neighbors. With progress in these directions, a reasonable degree of social participation in the management of renewable resources should prove not only a workable and effective means of assuring their perpetuation, but also of m a k i n g f u l l use of the advantages which are generally believed to reside in private ownership. A n adequate conservation program will naturally require

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money, but so does any worthwhile activity. In no field is the investment more thoroughly justified or the permanent returns more certain. We readily spend billions of dollars to prevent our natural resources from falling into the hands of a foreign enemy. Have we not the vision to spend a far smaller amount in assuring their perpetuation in the ownership of our own people, with ample opportunity for individual initiative under a democratic system of government? "Foresight," says Alfred North Whitehead, "is the last gift of gods to men." It is high time to prove that the gift has been accepted, both individually and collectively, by the people of the United States of America.

UNIVERSITY OF BICENTENNIAL

PENNSYLVANIA CONFERENCE

Federal Responsibilities in Total Conservation* By M I L T O N s. EISENHOWER, B.S.· I_AST February I visited Puerto R i c o to study conservation, rehabilitation, agricultural adjustment, and related work being carried on there. O n an island less than one hundred miles long, I saw crop areas with eight inches of rainfall, and a forest area with 250 inches. I saw land drained and land irrigated. I saw great plantations of thousands of acres, and thousands of tiny farms. A s I studied Puerto R i c o I felt that here I was seeing all the land-use problems of the United States compressed to comprehensible size and accentuated. Here, with a vengeance, were low prices and pressure of population on inadequate resources. H e r e were rural unemployment, destroyed forests, tenancy, soil erosion, and floods. Here were all the modern consequences of man's exploitive use of the land. In Puerto R i c o there are a great many people, but only a few productive acres. Of course, not all Puerto Ricans actually work the land. B u t in a very real way they all depend on the land. T h e industries—sugar mills, coffee mills, and the l i k e — all depend directly on farming. Y o u must go up in an airplane to see this mountainous island in perspective. From the air you see how nearly two million people are trying to make a living from one million acres of land. T h e y cultivate over the mountain tops, and in scattered patches a m o n g the rocks. Y o u see people spending the equivalent of $650 an acre in labor terracing 90 percent slopes to produce a little food to eat. H o w well these people get along is determined by a great multitude of forces, some of them beyond their own control. From the air you see boats leaving San Juan, Ponce, Mayaguez. • Land Use Coordinator and Director of Information, United States Department of Agriculture.

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If many boats leave with sugar, tobacco, coffee, fruit, the employed on the island may get 10 cents an hour for their labor. If some boats remain tied up at the docks, the employed may make 8, 6, or 5 cents an hour; and the ranks of the 400,000 unemployed may swell. In Puerto Rico one is deeply impressed by the influence of many forces that bear upon the land and the people who work the land. How we use the land of the continental United States is determined by many circumstances, by many forces from beyond the fence lines of individual farms and even from beyond the continental shores. Historically, these forces and circumstances combined to induce our people to develop this country with reckless abandon, with unbelievable waste. Today, some forces and circumstances are combining to cause us to be less wasteful and to begin to husband what we have. Government is consciously helping land users redirect or change some of the forces. But if we are to achieve what Mr. Cooke has so excellently termed "total conservation," we shall have to deal consciously and directly with many more. II I should like to state in terms of a national land policy what I believe Mr. Cooke implies in the phrase "total conservation." By conservation I do not mean, and of course Mr. Cooke does not mean, merely preservation. Conservation of resources implies use, but wise use, as well as preservation. So the central aim of our national land policy should be to enable man to derive from the land the maximum benefit and satisfaction consistent with the permanent maintenance of the land itself. This is a goal that even the oldest civilizations have failed to reach. Indeed, only one area—Western Europe—has succeeded in doing so. The skeleton of the earth has been laid bare in the Near East. Africa suffers acutely from the ravages of man-made erosion, and the United States is not far behind. Asia, Australia, Eastern Europe, South America—all are using up the stored values in the soil. Western Europe has kept her soil on a maintenance basis. That is partly due to the fact that Western Europe has been able to hold much of her cherished landscape in soilconserving crops, while trading for soil-depleting crops from other countries, including the United States.

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Here we have been thoughtless in our use of soil-depleting crops. T h e wealth such crops have taken from the soil has helped build this country and much of Europe too. A t the same time they have let the winds and rains strip this nation of its topsoil. Y o u are familiar with the inventory of damage: 50 million acres ruined; three-fourths of the topsoil gone from 225 million acres; one-fourth to three-fourths gone from 775 million acres. My own t h i n k i n g about what we must do to achieve total conservation begins with the fact that we wish, as we always have, to seek m a x i m u m benefits from our basic resources by encouraging private ownership of most of our land and its development by private initiative and private capital. But we must not close our eyes to the fact that the individual owner of land is usually free, under our fee-simple philosophy, to abuse, misuse, or conserve his land, as he sees fit. One's neighbors may persuade, public institutions may educate or induce by financial grants, but by and large the individual uses his resources according to the dictates of his own judgments and decisions. A n d so do land users collectively. B u t the individual's or the group's decisions in using the land are influenced, I repeat, by many forces and circumstances. A m o n g these we may list state and federal policies, fluctuations in industrial activity, international trade and prices, tradition and cultural patterns, the closing of a long-receding frontier, population trends—these and many other factors enter into individual and group decisions. In the end, such factors determine whether we abuse, misuse, or conserve our basic resources. If we wish to act in concert for total conservation, obviously we must treat correctly, and at the right time, with the principal forces that directly or indirectly lead to destruction of resources. Some of these forces—the cultural pattern and individual habits, beliefs, and k n o w l e d g e — c a n be influenced by education. Others can be dealt with constitutionally only by state action. Some can be dealt with by federal action. A n important question for a democratic freeholding people, then, is this: Is conservation of sufficient importance to us that we are w i l l i n g to treat with the principal forces? W e know our abundant resources distinguish us from many other countries. T h i s abundance is basic to our democratic way of doing things. W e know that dictatorships spring partly from the apathy of a hopeless people trying to squeeze a livelihood from scanty

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resources, and we want none of that. T h e entire world, outside of Western Europe, is drawing on its capital asset, the soil, for current living. So are we. As we see endangered the resources on which we depend for the abundance and the human freedom and dignity we want, we have in a typically American way decided to "get going" and do something about it. The American people want action, and good results. Ill Good results in total conservation will require total, dynamic planning. It will not suffice to plan meticulously the use of appropriate physical measures, such as structural works and vegetative cover, and overlook the ever changing economic and social factors, or the cultural pattern. I should like to glance very quickly at some of the dominant forces that shaped our attitude toward the land during the development period extending from colonial days to the early ig2o's. T h e objective of our national land policy in this period was directed toward enabling man to derive immediately, with no delay, the maximum benefit from the land; the idea of doing this in such a way as to maintain the land permanently was something a few people wrote speeches about. The simple truth is that American agriculture developed by individual trials and errors. T h e colonists found here only corn, tobacco, and a few lesser crops. They brought seeds from abroad and attempted to grow crops along the Atlantic coast in the light of their experience under other soil, climatic, and related conditions. In a typical New England county, for example, farmers first practised a self-sufficient type of agriculture. Each family had a garden, cows, sheep, and poultry, and met practically all of its needs from its own land. As towns sprang up throughout the East, markets grew better for wheat and beef, and farmers changed to wheat farming and beef production for cash. They cut the trees and pushed square wheat fields up the hills. Within a few decades, however, they had begun to feel sharp competition from Western New York and Ohio. Moreover, the hills had started to wash. New England farms were small, and slopes were steep, and the farmers couldn't produce as cheaply as farmers in the West who cultivated smoother slopes and larger

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farms. A n d they couldn't meet the competition of corn-fed and grass-fed cattle from the prairie country. So they put the hills into grass and changed to sheep farming. B u t free grazing land in the West forced farmers to change again, this time to producing market hay and cheese. T h e North Central States finally won the cheese and butter market, and the automobile destroyed the local hay market. So this fairly typical county changed once more, and finally, to producing fluid milk and some fruit. A n d so, as we marched across the continent: Wisconsin once produced mainly wheat, but is now a dairy center. Eastern Ohio also put much acreage to wheat; now there is very little. In the Southeast the farmers started with a self-sufficient type of farming, then changed to cotton. T h e y cleared the hillsides and planted more and more cotton. In some southeastern counties, the final stages of erosion, the boll weevil, and low cotton prices struck almost simultaneously, and forced the people to seek self-sufficiency once again. On across the country, to the free western lands, we marched, our policy shaped by the Homestead Act of 1862. Drawn by men who knew the land in the humid East and what it was capable of producing, but nothing of the arid and semiarid West, the homestead policy failed, and laid up trouble, the effects of which we feel today. In the East 160 acres was ample land to care for the needs of a family. In the arid and semiarid sections of the western plains 160 acres could produce not even a bare subsistence for a family. Here was an early demonstration that our land policies could cause confusion, misery, and general misuse of the land. T h e y caused settlers to plow grassland suited to livestock farming, and nothing else, against the dictates of a misunderstood climate. Kit Carson County, Colorado, presents a fairly typical result. Settled by people who understood humid farming, cash grain dominated. T h a t paid out so long as the rains fell. But eventually there came a prolonged drought. Six hundred families were driven out of Kit Carson County by dust and other adversities. N o w the people who remained have decided that only grass and livestock will provide a permanent, safe means of livelihood. But the farms, large enough if cash grain-farming could have succeeded, are too small in grass and livestock to support a family. T a x delinquency and debt delinquency are rampant.

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The dust still blows during spring droughts, but the people have begun the tedious process of blocking up units of economic size, changing the whole system of land use. Our early timberland policies were even less successful than our agricultural land policies. For more than a century no policy at all was formulated to prevent wastage of timber resources. The Timber and Stone Act of 1878 did little more than authorize a legal procedure for selling timberland, in blocks of 160 acres, to private individuals for $2.50 an acre. Through abuse of this act and bold subterfuge, corporations and others acquired thousands of acres of our finest forest lands, and promptly devastated them. It was not until 1891, when Congress authorized setting aside timber reserves, that conservation of resources became a part of the nation's land policy. Forty years was to pass before this policy was extended to embrace conservation of soil and water on agricultural and range lands. The development of a conservation policy in this country was long overdue, but the delay is not, in retrospect, surprising. The natural resources that met the eye first of the colonists and later of the western pioneer were so magnificently extensive as to wipe out any thought of the need for conservation. Andrew Jackson, facing west, is quoted as saying "It will take seven hundred years to settle this land." The task of the pioneer was to destroy the wilderness and make a home for his family. Trees only hindered him. His desire was to remove them cheaply and quickly; and he knew no better way of clearing wooded land for crops than to burn it. How he handled the land after he cleared it was the concern of no one but the settler; and to him it mattered very little. If he wore out the soil quickly he could move on and clear a better place on the frontier. Our national attitudes toward land were formed in this period when resources were so great as to appear limitless. The World War must share the blame for delaying the development of a balanced land use and conservation policy. Many of the land-use problems we face today had begun to appear long before 1914. The trend of tenancy had been steadily upward. The march of cotton from East to West across the South had left behind a trail of erosion-scarred abandoned farm land. As long ago as 1878 Major J . W. Powell, reporting to Congress on the lands in the arid regions, warned of the illeffects of the homestead policies. In 1904 the Public Land

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Commission reported the over-grazed condition of the public domain. B e f o r e 1 9 1 4 foreign outlets for our farm products had been gradually tapering off, and farmers had begun to adjust their production accordingly. Slowly the nation was awakening to the need for conservation when war broke out in Europe. T h e war temporarily diverted attention from the developing conservation policy, reversed the market and land-use trends, and let loose a succession of forces that led to the catastrophe of 1932. Spurred on by patriotic urgings and wartime prices, farmers put practically every available acre to use with little knowledge of or little regard to how well the land was adapted to its new use. Plows swept west over the western grasslands. In the South, eroded, abandoned cotton farms healing under a dressing of young trees again were plowed. Natural pastures became wheat and corn fields. M o r e cattle and sheep than they could support were turned on to the forests and grassland ranges in the effort to utilize every bit of forage to produce beef, mutton, and wool. T h e growing power of farmers to produce, now augmented by almost general use of mechanized implements, met the need of the period, and brought settlement to a close in a dramatic burst of production. T h i s wartime effort definitely marked the end of one period in the development of our national land policy. IV In this glorious, reckless conquering of a continent the federal government has taken part. Federal services, indeed, are but a mere reflection of the spirit, opportunities, and problems of the times. D u r i n g our settlement period farmers asked for free land and help with problems of production. T h e y wanted the opportunity to produce, and plenty of factual information on how to produce more at less cost. Congress passed the Homestead Acts and the experiment stations and cooperative extension acts to meet these demands. A f t e r the W o r l d W a r farmers discovered that research and advice on production were not enough. T h e production problem had been pretty well solved for the time being, when the problem of markets reared its head. It was no longer possible to sell all that we produced at a handsome profit. Also the problems of public land disposal had given way to problems of agricultural credit.

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Congress responded again, but even the new actions were not enough. As agriculture sank deeper into the difficulties induced by world-wide dislocation, more direct public action toward adjustment became necessary. T h e decade of the thirties ushered in a vast public effort to meet the problems of land destruction, burdensome surpluses, sinking farm incomes, rural unemployment, and diminishing forest resources. Throughout the development period, one overwhelming fact had blinded the people and government alike to the truly alarming problems that were developing: Most of the time until 1930, there had been a market at home and abroad ready to absorb all the food, fiber, and timber we produced. No matter how many mistakes we made—how recklessly we cut our timber, how seriously we let erosion proceed, how intensively we tried to farm land unsuited for cultivation; no matter how rapidly tenancy and rural poverty spread—it was usually possible to sell the products from the land at a reasonable profit. It has not always been possible to do this since the war. Since the fall of 1920 surpluses of many of the staple farm products have overhung the market, depressing prices and driving down income. The first World War, as all wars do, upset the established channels of trade. Up to the very beginning of the conflict Europe had invested heavily in the United States, sending its surplus capital here to build railroads and factories and develop the land. We paid part of the interest on these loans and paid back part of the capital by exporting agricultural commodities to Europe—by exporting our soil resource. T h e war changed this. The Allies made not only large purchases of farm products but even larger purchases of factory goods. Five years after the first shot was fired, Europe owed the United States huge sums of money—debts she was unable to repay. The United States had become a creditor nation. This was a change so overwhelming that few apparently understood it. Few, if any, changed their debtor-thinking to creditor-thinking. Certainly American agriculture did not. Surpluses of farm commodities accumulated. Meanwhile our farm plant had continued to expand under the impetus of technical advancement and the cultivation of new land. Automobiles and tractors were releasing thirty to forty millions of acres formerly used to grow feed for horses and mules. Many of these acres were put to use producing more of the crops of which there were surpluses.

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T h e foreign market continued to contract. European nations especially, through tariffs, bounties, and other forms of subsidy to their own farmers, were doing everything possible to increase their own farm production in order to be less dependent on foreign supplies; for memories of short rations in wartime were vivid. Meanwhile newly settled countries, such as Australia and Argentina, made a bid for a larger share of the world market, already shrunken by the efforts of the more populous nations to become self-sufficient as to food. Surpluses of wheat, cotton, corn and hogs, tobacco, and other crops accumulated, and as the surpluses grew prices slid lower. Wheat prices reached new lows; some farmers rather than buy coal burned corn; cotton reached a nickel a pound, and whole crops of tobacco remained unsold. Desperate, farmers did not ask for conservation. Later, industrial depression set in. The surplus population in agriculture could not find jobs in cities. The number of farm foreclosures mounted. Tenancy grew. Erosion spread. Rural purchasing power dropped still further. T h e country then embarked on a new program. The first effort was to aid farmers get rid of price-depressing surplus supplies and adjust their use of land to the contracted market. A part of this new policy was first expressed in the legislation establishing the Federal Farm Board; then more completely in the Agricultural Adjustment Act of 1933. A little later this initial assistance was expanded to include help to farmers in making numerous physical, social, and economic adjustments. Now, as I have already said, to make adjustments in land use is not a new idea. Agricultural land-use adjustment has been going on without the direct aid of government ever since the eastern seaboard was settled. Why, then, was government assistance needed in making land-use adjustments in the i93o's, when always in the past farmers had made them of their own accord? Here, for brevity, I shall have to over-simplify. First, in a sense the entire nation had finally come to a point in its history where national adjustment was needed, just as each small internal area had adjusted many times. National adjustment could not be made by individuals. As a creditor nation, with foreign outlets closing to it, the United States faced the need for national adjustments, regional adjustments, and local adjustments. It stood in a period

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of transition. It could look backward to a long development period in which, no matter how many mistakes were made, agriculture as a whole usually obtained a profit. It could look forward to a new period in which a permanent system of farming in a mature, creditor country was desired. T h e period in between obviously called for far-reaching changes. A second reason for governmental help in this was the suddenness of the need for change. Violent readjustments such as those called for in the post-war deflationary period could not be made by the slow and costly trial-and-error method without inviting mistakes that might make bad matters worse. A third reason lay in the disappearance of the frontier, formerly a haven of rugged safety for those forced from the East by competition. A fourth reason was that, unlike previous circumstances, there were no alternative systems of production to shift to, which promised profit from the land. A fifth reason lay in the disappearance, at least temporarily, of opportunity in cities. Surplus farmers in the past had moved to town, taking jobs in factories and offices. During the depths of the depression people fled the city for the country. As a result there has been a change in the trend of the ratio of farm population to total population. The ratio had declined steadily up to 1930, and if it had continued to decline at a uniform rate and industrial opportunity had continued to increase, from four million to six million now on the land would most likely be earning their livings in the cities. So population pressure on the land has increased. Thus it was that Congress responded with a score of major acts and many minor ones—all part of a new pattern to build for permanent use. Some of these acts attacked primarily the economic phases of the problem (agricultural adjustment, surplus disposal, marketing agreements), some the physical (erosion control, flood control, farm forestry, water facilities), others the social (rehabilitation, tenancy). Lumped together, these acts were designed to help those who use the land to stabilize their incomes in good balance with the non-farm income; to conserve their basic resource, the soil; and to achieve greater security of tenure. These three objectives may be expressed in the single broad generalization I mentioned in the beginning: T h e purpose of

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the federal programs is to help put our lands in order so that they shall yield the maximum benefits and satisfaction consistent with the permanent maintenance of the resource. T o date, some thirty-five million acres have been taken out of soil-depleting, erosion-inducing crops and put to closegrowing soil-conserving crops. About ten million acres have been contour-cultivated. Half a million gullies have been stabilized. About 1,800,000 miles of terraces have been constructed. T w o million acres have been strip-cropped. And all over America, millions of trees have been planted. Incomes have been improved, eleven million acres of submarginal land have been retired from agriculture, the grazing lands of the West have been brought under partial control, and many destitute farm families have taken a firmer grip on themselves and their resources. We are building back. Total conservation plans have been prepared for numerous watersheds under the Flood Control Act, and the first of these, for the Los Angeles River watershed, is now ready for action. Public responsibilities in total conservation reach far beyond those of the federal government. Public responsibility must be met by all levels of government, by all public institutions. In a democracy it is important, to maintain divided powers. It is equally important to get done a given job, such as the one we are discussing here today. T o get it done calls for full cooperation of all levels of government with the people who use the land and make a living from it. T h e states are beginning to do their share. For example, thirty-seven states have enacted soil conservation district acts, which permit local land users to cooperate among themselves and with public agencies to carry on conservation programs. A number of states have passed rural zoning laws, creating instruments that, properly used, will do much to prevent recurrence of past mistakes. A few states are tackling the tenancy problem in an experimental way, attempting to work out better landlord-tenant relationships so as to reduce the rural floating population of more than one million families. Some states have considered state legislation to regulate forest practices. I have said enough, I think, to indicate the complexity of the forces and circumstances that must be dealt with, and the complexity of the administrative task. Yet I have not even men-

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tioned such impediments to total conservation as tax laws, tax delinquency, the new unmanaged public domain in the form of tax-reverted lands, debts, and local institutions and services keyed to an earlier situation but unsuited to current conditions. A discussion of these would merely lend emphasis to the need for total planning, aimed toward concerted action in a single direction, with each of the forces labeled for correct treatment, at the right time. Three things seem to me important in moving in the right direction, by democratic methods, toward total conservation. First, the millions of private land users, whose actions are to be influenced for the public good, must participate in studying the evidence and in making key decisions. Second, government must quickly respond to their needs in helping them to carry out those portions of their plans which they as individuals cannot cope with singly; third, this public response must not come exclusively from one level of government. It seems to me it is just as important, if we are to keep and strengthen democracy, for local units of government, for state governments, and the federal government to respond in a balanced way in their respective fields, as it is for government to respond at all. But the response of local, state, and federal governments is far from being a simple thing. There are certain governmental powers which the states may constitutionally exercise and which the federal government cannot. These include rural zoning, determining state and local real-estate taxes, regulating landtenure relationships, permitting land-use ordinances, consolidating local units of government, managing state lands, and so on. State agencies, like federal agencies, are not under a single roof. In some states as many as half a dozen agencies are legally and functionally concerned in meeting the conservation needs of their citizens. Even though this arrangement may deter a state from accepting its full share of the responsibility for achieving conservation, it is none the less the situation. T h e federal government has its peculiar problems. Here, too, the conservation objective requires many attacks. T h e federal government has provided tools for use in tackling the economic, physical, and social phases of conservation. But the nation is so huge, conditions vary so, that no matter how well we organize, it is necessary to functionalize activities to some extent. One agency therefore deals mainly with the price and income phase

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of the problem; another mainly with the physical land-use phase; and another directly with the human problems that have risen partly out of land misuse. T h e work of these agencies is not mutually exclusive, of course. Indeed, the interdependence of their programs, both in concept and in actual administration, is more noteworthy than their specialized approach. T h e n , too, a single department of the federal government cannot do all that is required. Since international trade, transportation, industrial activity, and many other factors influence the way the individual uses his land, it follows that the federal agency concerned primarily with the agricultural aspects of total conservation must work in harmony with agencies responsible f o r foreign affairs, industrial recovery, transportation, and other segments of the total problem. In addition to these governmental and social phases of the problem, there is the purely technical phase of conservation. T h e scientific process requires specialization. T h e conservation objective requires synthesis of many of the sciences. N o w , when a great many people and a great many agencies set out to achieve coordinated action, they must find a way, first, to integrate ideas, judgments, and objectives, and, second, to time effectively the various actions designed to reach the objectives. Even these precautions will not guarantee infallibility. It is possible to make mass, as well as individual or group, mistakes. Apparently everyone in Andrew Jackson's time agreed that it would require six hundred to seven hundred years to push back the frontier and settle the country. T h e land policies of that day were shaped accordingly; yet how wrong everybody was. T o d a y , in a complex economy, the need is to keep planning dynamic, keyed to current and long-time needs as we can best discern them. Probably few of the land policies we are formulating today will last as long as those formed first by Hamilton, later modified by Jackson, and changed entirely by Lincoln. Democratically organized and operated planning institutions are essential to concerted action toward a single conservation objective. T h e planning institutions must bring those who use the land—the farmers and forest owners; those who develop additional facts—the research specialists; those who disseminate information—the educators; and those who are entrusted with administering the public aids for the land users—the administrators, into a cooperative j o b of fact-finding and interpre-

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tation. All o£ these groups, moreover, must help to establish judgments and define objectives, and, finally, make specific recommendations for action. I am happy to be able to say that a land-use planning institution such as I have advocated here is now in operation. About two years ago the Land Grant Colleges and the Department of Agriculture came to an understanding which we speak of as the Mt. Weather agreement. Under this agreement the colleges through their county extension system and the Department agreed to help farm people set up local planning groups to prepare for each locality a truly comprehensive plan of action— action directed toward the objective I keep repeating—to derive maximum benefits and satisfaction from the land, consistent with the maintenance of that resource. As a consequence, in half the agricultural counties in the country, and in some forested counties, community and county land-use planning committees are at work, planning the adjustments which they must make in their use of the land to achieve conservation and a balanced income from wise use of the land. These committees are made up primarily of local farmers and forest owners, with the various public programs, local, state, and federal, represented by their local administrators. Some seventy-five to two hundred people in each county participate in preparing the plans for action. Thus, with farmers, technicians, and administrators working cooperatively together, the judgments basic to action satisfy those who must take the right action, as well as those who manage the public aids for action. The work these people are doing is a manifestation of the power of democratic processes to meet intricate problems. Here, at the farm, agreements are hammered out in the educational process of general discussion. If we in the United States are to preserve democracy, and if we are to preserve those resources on which our democracy rests, it is imperative that a great many people be responsible for its successful functioning. Education, local planning, and local administration are obvious essentials to achieving this ideal. Through adequate organization local people can, first of all, carry their share of the load, rather than wait for or permit any other level of government to assume the task. Second, they may draw to their aid, at the right time, necessary state and federal helps, thus contributing to timing. Third, they can

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cooperate in the administration of all state and federal land-use programs, whether applying to crop, forest, or grazing lands, thus insuring local coordination. This would contribute, in practice, to balanced responsibility and to the balanced program of action toward conservation that we all seek to create. No one would be so rash as to say the current programs and policies are in any sense final. Indeed, we have in recent years been somewhat neglectful of our obvious duty to speed efforts to achieve a permanent forest economy. A Joint Congressional Committee is now considering ways and means of doing so. New national efforts in forestry will, I am sure, be launched. Moreover, all current federal programs will change as situations change, as new discoveries are made, as world forces affect them. But it is to be hoped that, now that the broad policies of stability of income, conservation of resources, and security of tenure—or, more simply, "total conservation"—have earned a more prominent place in the thinking of the public, these policies will carry through until the people's needs and the use of land reach harmony and balance, and permanent agriculture and forestry are assured. True, our nation is at this moment still losing its resources faster than it is rebuilding them. Most of the corn, and cotton, and potato rows still run up and down the hills. Our rivers still churn with muddy waters. T h e thin life-sheet of our continent is still growing thinner. But for the first time in our history we have reversed the trend. Waste is being fought. In rural America, education by discussion, by planning, by formal methods, is changing our traditional attitude toward the land. All levels of government have discovered and are accepting wholly new responsibilities. But most important, our people have risen to their own responsibilities; they know that total defense encompasses total conservation, for abundant resources are, not the essence, but surely a foundation stone of democracy. They are setting out to rebuild, in a new world, with the same spirit and completeness that characterized our first era of development.

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA BICENTENNIAL CONFERENCE

The Forest Problem Can Be Solved by Increased Production and Use By JULIAN F. McGOWIN, A.B.· THF. factors influencing the development of forestry in this country are so varied and diverse that the task of any one attempting to write on the subject or suggest solutions to forest problems is to select those which are most important in deciding on long-range policies. In presenting to you the factors which seem most important to a commercial forest manager, I have a double interest in wanting to see the adoption of sound policies that will maintain and perpetuate our forests. In addition to a commercial interest, I have the same concern that every citizen has over the proper care and use of our natural resources. Foresters point out to us the Near East, China, and the Dust Bowl area in this country as tragic examples of what may be caused by failure to maintain a balance between forestry, grazing, and agriculture. If stringent measures are necessary to maintain this balance in certain areas, certainly no one can object, and landowners must realize that ownership does not carry with it the right to destroy values that must be maintained if our country is to remain habitable. If we start then with the assumption that a certain proportion of the land area of this country must remain forested and a supply of timber assured for future generations, we should ask what this will cost. Will it be a drain on our national economy, or is it possible for our forests to contribute to the national well-being by yielding a necessary raw material, paying their proportion of the tax burden, paying fair wages to the people employed in forests, and leaving a reasonable margin of profit that will permit the managing of forests as long-time investments? • Secretary and Treasurer, W. T. Smith Lumber Company, Chapman, Alabama; Chairman, Advisory Board, Alabama Department of Conservation.

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Most of o u r forest land can be managed on a sustained yield basis, a n d the general considerations affecting such managem e n t may be summarized as follows: 1. I n the South the proportion of the total area in forest l a n d is increasing, a n d in the o t h e r timber-producing regions this p r o p o r t i o n exceeds the m i n i m u m necessary. 2. W e n o t only have in this country an indefinite timber supply, b u t the total a n n u a l growth is almost in balance with t h e a n n u a l drain. 3. T h e p r o d u c t i o n of forest products can be increased, particularly in the South, to a figure far beyond the foreseeable r e q u i r e m e n t s of this country. 4. Commercial experience indicates that the production of a t i m b e r crop can yield its proportion of the tax b u r d e n , pay fair wages to the workers involved, a n d at the same time increase the volume and improve the quality of the present stands. 5. T h e accomplishment of this is being delayed because it involves, particularly in the South, changing the habits and p o i n t of view of a whole generation of r u r a l people who, in t h a t region, are the principal owners of forest land. 6. T h e most urgent step necessary is effective, region-wide fire protection. I n the U n i t e d States there are 630 million acres of forest land, which is one-third of the total area. Leaving o u t the Great Plains a n d desert areas, this p r o p o r t i o n is m u c h h i g h e r for the timber-producing regions. I n the South the t i m b e r e d area is being increased each year by the a b a n d o n m e n t of marginal agricultural land. It is now 57.8% of the total. I n the N o r t h eastern states the timbered area is 55.8%, the Lake states 44.9%, the Pacific Northwest (Washington, Oregon, Idaho, a n d Montana) 39-7%· For comparison, I was told in G e r m a n y i n 1936 t h a t 2 7 % of the land area in that country was in forests a n d t h a t this p r o p o r t i o n represented a m i n i m u m below which they should n o t go. I n his speech on August 27, accepting the R e p u b l i c a n n o m i n a t i o n for Vice-President, Senator M c N a r y said, "Everyone knows that American timber resources are b e i n g swiftly depleted." Most people are u n d e r the same impression. T h r e a t s of timber f a m i n e were heard almost fifty years ago, b u t i t is only in the last few years that anything like an inventory of

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the nation's timber supply has been attempted, and the figures available f r o m this inventory do not indicate the probability of a shortage. It seems that the fears expressed in the past did not take into account a continuing decline in lumber consumption (from 40 billion feet in 1923 to 27 billion feet in 1937), the introduction of many wood substitutes, and the growth of new forests on cut-over areas. Here are two sentences taken from a Congressional Forestry Committee report in 1924: Southern pine still dominates the general Eastern market; and the region as a whole, including the states from Virginia to Texas, produces 10 billion feet of pine lumber annually in excess of its own requirements. Gradually, however, as the cutting of southern timber declines the territory which it formerly supplied is being invaded by western woods, and it is probable that within from fifteen to twenty years the Southern pineries will cease to be an important factor in national trade. T h i s prediction has not come true, as the Southern pine region is still producing approximately 8 billion feet of l u m b e r per year and the Southern Forest Survey reported in 1936 that the forests of the lower South alone (excluding Virginia, North and South Carolina) contained more than 254 billion board feet of volume suitable for the manufacture of lumber. M r . W . G . T i l t o n , a Forest Engineer on the Pacific Coast, reported recently: Six hundred billion board feet of merchantable timber—that is, trees over 16" in diameter—are standing in Western Washington and Oregon, on some 14 million acres of land. . . . This timber is ready for use. T h e land is, for the most part, not active. It is, in effect, a 14-million-acre timber storehouse. . . . It is being cut at a rate of eight to nine billion board feet a year. . . . As we cut the present overmature timber stands, now in storage, the lands they occupy will begin to produce; and even if we continued to cut timber as has been done in the past, with no thought for future growth, the evidence is that this region will produce the eight billion feet. . . . With intensive forestry, the region will annually grow fourteen or fifteen billion board feet, or enough for at least a 50 percent expansion. T h e following quotation is from an analysis made of the Forest Service data available on this subject by Dr. Wilson

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Compton, Secretary of the National L u m b e r Association:

Manufacturers

T h e national commercial timber supply in 1938 was 520 billion cubic feet. T h e annual removal by cutting is 1 1 billion; through destruction by fire, insects and disease 2 billion; and the estimated annual drain, therefore, 13 billion, or about one-fortieth. Offsetting this drain is a present annual growth of 11 billion cubic feet; and a prospective growth on lands now bearing old growth or virgin timber, of an additional 3 1/3 billion cubic feet. This means a total present and prospective annual growth on the commercial forest lands a billion cubic feet greater than the present estimated annual drain from all sources. There is and there will be no national shortage of timber supply in either softwoods or hardwoods. There are and will be some important local and regional timber shortages which gradually ought to be rectified. T o balance timber drain with timber growth, we need only to keep the fires out of the woods, a reasonable protection of forests from destruction by insects and disease. T h a t will provide permanently a quantity of saw timber, cordwood and pulpwood substantially greater than the present timber drain. It should be added that present consumption is making important changes in the quality of the remaining timber stands. Naturally the heaviest cutting is in virgin stands of commercial species, but our standards of j u d g i n g desirable species and sizes are constantly changing. Much of the timber now being used would not have been salable a few years ago, and there has been f o r some time a steady trend toward the use of smaller trees and less desirable species. T h e market for timbers is shrinking, but the use of plywood, wood-fiber boards, and paper is increasing. I think we can be safe in saying that w o o d will always be used as a basic raw material, but no one can predict the f o r m in which that material will be used; so a forest management plan must remain flexible to produce the species and sizes which can be sold. T h e most important single factor, to me, in any discussion of forest problems and policies is the enormous gap which exists between current production and the amount our forests ought to be producing. In discussing what might be done to increase our production of timber, I shall limit myself to the South, which is the region with which I am most familiar. T h i s region, including the states

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from Virginia to T e x a s , contains, however, 4 4 % of the commercial forest area in the United States. It has ample rainfall, a long growing season, and every condition to make it one of the world's most favorable areas f o r forest growth. It includes a total of 380 million acres, of which 238 million are in forests. N o one can say just what the South is capable of producing, but contrast the possibilities here with those of a country like Finland, where forest products, grown on a sustained-yield basis, have been its most important source of revenue. If the South were producing 200 board feet per acre per year, the result would be 47 billion 600 million feet per year. If the production were one cord of wood per acre per year, it would be more than the annual timber requirements of the entire country. It would mean that Georgia alone is capable of supplying the paper requirements of the entire country, or A l a b a m a could supply all of the p u l p mills which have been built in the South d u r i n g the past few years and maintain permanently its present production of l u m b e r and other forest products. T h e s e figures are not impossible of attainment. According to a survey made by the Southern Forest E x p e r i m e n t Station, the land owned by the Ozark-Badger L u m b e r C o m p a n y in Southern Arkansas is now growing more than 400 board feet per acre per year. T h e following quotation is f r o m Occasional Paper No. 57 issued by the Southern Forest E x p e r i m e n t Station. T h e figures given show the growth data f r o m twenty-five sample plots in even-aged old field stands which constitute a large percentage of southern forests: T h e average annual growth in pulpwood volume for a five-year period in thinned stands has ranged from .07 to 2.7 cords per acre with most stands averaging from 1 to 2 cords annually. T h e similar growth in unthinned stands has ranged from .01 to 2.9 cords per acre, with approximately the same median growth in the thinned stands. It seems, therefore, that in approaching the forest problem our energies should be directed toward realizing the f u l l productive capacity of the land rather than toward cutting restrictions. In the South our forests are now yielding only a fraction of their potential production. Less than half the area is under

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any organized fire protection, and on a much smaller percentage is the protection adequate and effective. Sadder still is the fact that most of the forest fires which are such a familiar sight each winter are deliberately set by rural people. Because of these fires, thousands of acres lie idle and unproductive year after year in a region where the average annual income per farm family is about $200.00 and where the standards of living are the lowest in the country. This human element is the real obstacle that must be overcome if forestry is to progress. Fire protection and the introduction of the elements of management involve more than the building of look-out towers or the passage of cutting regulations. It means changing the habits and customs of a whole generation of rural people who are accustomed to seeing the woods burn, and many of whom do not want to see a crop of timber grow up that will interfere with free grazing on an open range. It is difficult to understand the reasons for delay in controlling these fires. T h e appropriations for forestry and conservation items for 1941 total 349 million dollars, and in addition to this all of the millions paid out by the A A A are made as soil conservation payments. We are told that forestry and soil conservation are impossible without fire protection, and yet Congress has never appropriated more than two million dollars of the nine million dollars specified by the Clark-McNary law as being the share of the Federal Government in the cost of a nation-wide fire protection system. More than enough state and private funds are available to match the full nine million dollars if and when it is appropriated. It is my contention that fire protection should be required as a condition of any agricultural subsidy, Farm Security Administration payment, or Federal Land Bank loan. This would not involve any hardship on the farmers and no increased appropriation, but that one requirement would go a long way toward solving the forest fire problem in the South. Perhaps this remark by Representative Fulmer of South Carolina at a special hearing on pulp-wood prices held by the Joint Congressional Committee on Forestry expresses the attitude of many people and may show why progress in fire prevention is being delayed:

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T h e serious question before this committee is whether or not the Congress of the United States is going to continue to spend millions in the States for fire protection, the eradication of pests and tree diseases, without doing something about the ruthless destruction of the forest resources, and the highway robbery which is now going on under the monopolistic buying and selling to innocent farmers and consumers, which is bringing poverty to millions of people, as well as bringing about unemployment of millions of people. I do not believe this attitude takes into account the fact that farmers are the principal owners of forest land and that forestry is b o u n d intimately with the general economy of farm management in the South. In Alabama, for example, the average farm consists of about seventy-two acres, half of w h i c h is in woodland. T h e management of this woodland is in no way different f r o m the production of cotton and livestock w h i c h constitutes the other sources of the average farmer's income. T h e care of his cattle affords almost an exact parallel to the management of his forest. A wise farmer keeps his herd of cattle at a n u m b e r that his pasture will support, selling each year the increase. A tract of woodland should be handled the same way, cutting periodically the defective and crowded trees and leaving a growi n g stock that will make full use of the productive capacity of the soil. T h e science of forestry involves many complicated considerations, but taking out defective and crowded trees and leaving e n o u g h to form a growing stock on the land is not difficult or b e y o n d the comprehension of a farmer w h o is interested in m a i n t a i n i n g his property. T h e r e are many cases of destructive cutting, b u t the same farmer who finds it necessary to sell his t i m b e r in this manner has probably already allowed his top soil to wash away, sold his cattle, and mortgaged his land. A farmer w h o makes a living out of his livestock, cotton, and other crops is not likely to be interested in destructive cutting or the liquidation of his forest capital. Figures f r o m the Southern Forest E x p e r i m e n t Station show that p u l p w o o d accounts for only 4 % of the total drain on our southern forests; lumber accounts for 5 3 % ; f u e l wood and other domestic uses 2 4 % ; and all other uses 1 9 % . T h e developm e n t of the p u l p and paper industry in the South holds more promise for sustained-yield forest management than any other factor since it affords a market for thinnings in producing a

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CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

final crop of saw logs. According to testimony before the J o i n t Congressional Committee, pulpwood stumpage prices range f r o m 25ff to $ 1 . 5 0 per cord, which is the highest price such wood has ever brought, and this market is the only one that gives it any value. A l o n g with the poverty and destructive cutting in the South, there is ample evidence to show that farmers are beginning to realize the possibilities of their forest land and to demand fire protection. In May 1939 there were only 1 1 3 landowners in Alabama who were paying for fire protection. Almost all of these were the owners of large tracts. On J u l y 1, 1940, a little more than one year later, there were approximately two thousand and, in addition, two counties have voted a tax of i f and 24 per acre for county-wide fire protection. A l l of this increase has come from farmers and the owners of small tracts. T e n other counties and many additional landowners are ready to put u p funds for fire protection, but these must wait until federal and state funds are available to match their payments. Few people seem to realize that landowners are a separate group from the owners of the mills using or processing forest products. I think it is desirable that something like the present proportion of ownership be maintained so that the smaller landowners will be the chief beneficiaries of any increased forest development. If this is true, in attacking the forest problem we must reach the landowner who sells rather than the processing plant which buys. T h e r e are almost ten thousand sawmills located in the South, and only a few hundred of them have or expect to own enough forest land to insure themselves a permanent operation. T h e balance are dependent on logs and timber bought from other owners. Montgomery, Alabama, may be cited as an example. Here the various sawmills and concentration yards ship about ninety million feet of lumber each year; yet none of these mills owns any forest land and all of them are dependent on logs and timber bought chiefly from farmers. Almost all of the larger tracts in industrial ownership are already under some form of management designed to keep the land continuously productive. A t least seven or eight m i l l i o n acres in the South are now being managed on standards that will compare favorably with those of any foreign country. T h e experience of these owners shows that in localities where there is reasonable hope of fire protection, fair taxation, and protec-

THE FOREST PROBLEM

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tion f r o m trespass and theft, forests will yield a fair return as long-time investments. Even where these conditions are not now obtainable, some companies are making management plans in the expectation that they can be obtained later. For example, the stockholders of the Denkmann L u m b e r Company at Canton, Mississippi, one of the largest in the South, voted unanimously this year to adopt a forestry program, even after the management estimated that this might add as much as $2.00 per thousand to the cost of operation. If their experience is the same as other companies similarly situated, there will be no extra cost involved, but the success of their program will depend on the effectiveness of the fire protection system to be installed and the cooperation of local people. I will not go into detail on the question of taxes beyond the statement that in many counties they are a barrier to sustainedyield management, and obviously this must be corrected. N o discussion of forest policies would be complete without some mention of the connection between wage rates and conservation. On the West Coast, where wage rates in the lumber industry average 82^ per hour, fine logs containing more than 1,000 feet are left to rot in the woods. In the South few mills cut logs that will average over 100 feet, and the average log cut by many of the portable mills will scale only 50 feet. T h i s is possible because of lower wages. If the 30^ m i n i m u m required by the wage-hour law were enforced in the South, it would bring some important adjustments in lumber production. I am not suggesting what wage should be paid, but do ask that the wage-hour law be strictly and impartially enforced, or modified so that it can be enforced. For the nation as a whole I think the answer to the forest problem lies in fire protection and the introduction of some form of management designed to keep forest land in productive condition. I n accomplishing this, the enormous funds available to the Agricultural Adjustment Administration, the F a r m Security Administration, the Extension Service, the Federal L a n d Banks, and other federal agencies constitute the most p o w e r f u l and important factor today in land management. T h e i r power to influence the thinking and customs of rural people is a new and very real force in the life of this country. T h e operation of these agencies affects directly most of the forest land now

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CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

being neglected, and they already have the funds and authority to require fire protection and the elements of management as a condition of the benefits they bring. Furthermore, should we not look to their department for help and leadership in: (1) Urging Congress to appropriate the full nine million dollars required by Section 2 of the Clark-McNary Law (2) The adoption of stock laws ending open ranges for live stock in the Southern states (3) Withholding federal funds from states or counties failing to establish protection from fire and theft or persisting in taxes that make sustained-yield management impossible. These steps must be taken before much more of our forest land can be brought under sustained-yield management.