It wasn’t so long ago that there were very few trees in the land I now call Roundrock. Cattle grazed on the abundant grass and sought shade under the occasional tree much as bison must have on the prairie that was here in pre-settlement times. But the cattle, like the bison, are gone now, and the trees have claimed the land.
The forest at Roundrock is mostly oak, and the most impressive of these are the Whites. The White Oaks prefer the best soil and water conditions. Where the Whites find this they tend to take it all for themselves, crowding out competitors and growing a dense canopy to shade out any upstarts. There is some diversity in my forest, of course, mostly comprised of different varieties of oaks, sprinkled with various nut trees that the oaks have allowed to share the land with them. The nuts are a minority and will never take over. They seem to know their place and are satisfied with it — the thinner soil, the drier conditions, the steeper slopes — as though they recognize that Roundrock was always intended for the White Oaks and their kin.
But this balance that the oaks find so comfortable is being upset. There is an alien invasion in the land. You know what I mean. It’s those cedars!
Cedars are different from the regular trees in my forest. You can tell just by looking at them. They tend to begin in the poorest areas, but they will thrive under any conditions and have no sense of staying where they belong. They even change the nature of the soil beneath them, making it unfit for other trees for a long time. The shallow roots of cedars suck up the water and nutrient resources. They reproduce like crazy and will take over anywhere they are given a chance. They are changing my forest.
Cedars are a tinderbox. They are oily; their needles are just begging to be set afire. Packed like a wretched, huddled mass in their dense areas, they are ripe for a careless firebrand or unheeded campfire, burning intensely hot and transferring the fire to all of the trees, ruining the forest for all.
The cedars are an incursion. They are coming into Roundrock from the outside. Smuggled in as seeds by birds. Marching relentlessly across the waste land. Mixing with the scrubby growth and hoping to be overlooked. Always finding new ways into Roundrock. I don’t have much worry from my neighbors to the north. They keep their land orderly and productively tilled. Nor does my western boundary present much incursion. It is a great sea of tall grass.
I think most of the incursion is coming from my neighbor’s land to the south. Much of my southern border is fenced though there is a quarter-mile gap that is unprotected. Not that I think any fence will keep these invaders out. That frontier is porous, and these invaders are legion.
Okay, I’ll admit that cedars can be put to use, if managed correctly. They make an excellent windbreak when planted and kept in neat rows. Some people use them as Xmas trees, and I suppose they have their colorful and festive moments.
And on a cold January day at Roundrock, the cedars provide a welcome relief from the monochrome gray of the forest. Their green vibrancy stands out along the lake shore. While the rest of the trees sleep, the cedars continue to work, providing shelter for the birds and fruits for the forest animals to eat in the bitterest months. Even deer will browse it. Cedars bring in a harvest for the critters when the rest of the trees won’t. Even the oil from the blue cedar fruits is used to flavor gin.
I’m told that cedar makes very sturdy and long-lasting fence posts. You can count on cedar to take on this kind of hard job, to stand fast and do it well. And I don’t want to forget how valuable cedar wood is for chests and closets. Cedar will protect our fine things if given the chance to do the work.
Cedar chips make excellent animal bedding, and turkey farmers in the great state of Missouri prize it for their flocks. So when you sit down to enjoy that great American tradition — the Thanksgiving turkey — you can thank the cedar trees for their contribution to our culture.
Cedars are a fact of life in my forest. It would be silly of me to deny their reality and disingenuous of me to deny their contribution. Studies have shown that there is now more forest in Missouri than in pre-settlement times, and Roundrock itself was once prairie. So from that point of view, even the mighty oaks are invaders to this part of land.
I’ve come to an accomodation with my cedars. I’m learning to speak their language. After all, there really is plenty of land in my forest for all kinds of trees.