| Coastal
Retreat and Elfin Forest |
Robert
Leverett |
| Mar
26, 2007 08:00 PST |
ENTS,
On Friday, Monica and I headed east for a 3-day weekend visit to
Cape
Ann, Massachusetts, a peninsula that protrudes into the Atlantic
Ocean.
The Capes origin is largely of glacial origin. Monica needed a
retreat
before resuming her professor’s duties at Smith College. She
needs to
renew her internal reservoir of energy prior to resuming her
blistering
pace. The sea is for her a source of renewal.
Most
Americans have heard of Cape Cod, Massachusetts, but
probably few, other than New Englanders, know of the smaller
Cape Ann a
few miles to the north. But despite its subservience as a
geographical
feature, Cape Ann sports some famous historically important
towns. Cape
Ann is where the towns of Gloucester and Rockport are located.
Gloucester’s prominence as a fishing village is world-renown.
Many of
the fishermen are of Portuguese stock – a seafaring people,
proud of
their heritage and desirous of continuing their fishing
tradition. Both
Gloucester and Rockport, with their narrow streets are quaint,
but for
me, far too congested to visit except in non-tourist season. So,
voluntary trips to these old towns occur between late October
and the
end of March. Fortunately, Monica feels the same way. Otherwise,
old Bob
would likely be taking some involuntary trips. Monica loves the
ocean
and needs to renew her bonds to it somewhat more frequently than
do I.
There were several highlights on our visit. They began west of
the
coastal area. We stayed in Marlboro, MA on Friday evening with a
close
friend, briefly visiting the historic Wayside Inn, site of a
famous poem
“The Village Blacksmith with its reference to a chestnut tree
by Henry
Wadsworth Longfellow. It was my 6th or 7th time at the Wayside
Inn. I
think it was Monica’s first. There is a nearby gristmill that
makes
floor and corn meal to continue a long, long tradition. In the
back of
the mill there are some moderately large sycamores. I measured
them all
in 1999. There is nothing new to report.
On Saturday
morning, we visited two old sugar maples on what is
considered to have been the largest farm in the colonial states
– the
Weeks farm. I think it was in full swing by the middle 1600s. It
was
attacked in King Phillip’s War and a 14-year old girl at the
farm was
killed. On seeing the maples, they struck me as being somewhere
between
180 and 250 years old. Their dimensions are not overpowering:
(12.6,
82.3) and (12.4, 77.7), but they command respect. One senses
their elder
status and for the vicinity of the Marlboro, MA area where my
friend
lives, their dimensions stand out fairly prominently. Other old
trees in
the area include a scattering of white oaks and white ashes. The
area is
quickly loosing its rural nature in an explosion of upscale,
ostentatious homes. The colonial roots of the area are being
gobbled up
by the aspirations of the newly wealthy.
After leaving
the farm, Monica and I headed eastward toward the
northeast Massachusetts coast. As we passed through Epswich,
Monica
reminded me that the town is the residence of the modern
literary giant
John Updike. I had heard of Updike, but seldom read fiction.
Monica, who
is a prolific reader, filled me in on the details of Updike’s
career. I
am always struck by the sheer number of people of letters who
hail from
Massachusetts or elsewhere in New England. Passing anywhere
close to
Concord, MA, I do silent tribute to the Sage of Concord, Henry
David
Thoreau.
Cultural awareness not
withstanding, it was the natural features
that topped the list of what we experienced: Halibut Point State
Park
and Crane's Beach, to be more specific. I had visited the
latter, but
not the former. I will deal with Halibut first. To my surprise,
Halibut
Point is located at the terminus of a large granite deposit that
juts
boldly out into the Atlantic Ocean. Looking northward, one can
barely
make out contours of Mount Agamenticus in Maine. To the east is
the
endless expanse of the northern Atlantic. But it is the rock
formations
in juxtaposition to the seemingly endless expanse of blue water
that
captures one’s attention and imagination. The rocks help
create a
picturesque blend of stern granite, open sea, and skyscape. I
imagined
sailing eastward toward Europe and then reversing the flow of
time to
when sailing westward was toward the end of the Earth. The great
granite
outcroppings of eastern Massachusetts were once part of the
African
mainland. Similar deposits, well-known to geologists, are found
across
the ocean. The area is also near the site of the largest
recorded
earthquake in the eastern United States - 6.0 to 6.5 jolt about
200
miles east of Cape Ann. That event occurred in November 18,
1755.
Some deep
granite quarries at Halibut Point bear testament to
the role of granite as a building stone in the region's past.
The
quarries add topographical features that are scenic to most
visitors,
but remindful of the human penchant for gouging and scarring the
Earth.
I always have mixed feelings at quarries. Can I experience them
as
impressive rock-hewn features with deep blue waters or just open
wounds
in the skin of the Earth?
As Monica and I
sat near a large granite boulder at Halibut
Point, the Atlantic surf relentlessly pounded the big rocks. The
sounds
of gulls intermingled with the surf and wind in our ears created
a
symphony of nature sounds, lulling yet concurrently invigorating
and
energizing. I was struck by the dichotomy. For a time I stood
mesmerized, watching waves crash into the rocks, casting spray
plumes
into the air, the residue of foam washed upon the rocks then
dissipating
– a mini-event recreated countless times. The feeling of the
sea being
our primordial home was present and unforgettable.
The trail to the rocks through the little state park has other
delights. The path to the quarries, an overlook, and the
vastness of the
Atlantic, all mega-landscape features is lined by gnarled black
cherry
trees - a stunted forest of unknown age, but almost certainly
aged
prematurely by the elements and scant soils. Other species
including
hickory, red maple, and white oak are present, but in places,
the forest
is almost pure black cherry. I was reminded of the stunted black
cherries that I had seen on the tops of the far away Catskill
Mountains
of New York, a very different place and ecosystem, to be sure,
yet
sporting the same dominance of black cherry. Monica and I will
answer
Halibut Point’s call a few more times before we are each
called back to
the Earth's bosom.
If Halibut Point reveals the raw power of the sea, Crane's Beech
is a
very different place. The sand dunes and elfin forest of Crane's
Beach
are as unforgettable as the granite scenes of Halibut, but the
sea
announces its presence in a far different and much gentler way.
The
barrier islands of Crane's Beach, keep the mighty Atlantic at
bay and
create a region of gentle contours that don’t change much over
time.
Plum Island in the distance announces itself as a protector of
Crane’s
long shore. The surf is but a distant sound and the dunes at
Crane's
Beach are on a human scale. Yet neither loses its appeal. The
big
surprise was the miniature forest of pitch pine, red maple, and
swamp
white oak with a scattering of black and red oaks that we walked
through. I had not explored the forest on my preceding trips. I
was
hardly conscious of its presence on my first visit in the 1970s
when I
was in search of pounding surf, which is not to be experienced
at
Crane's Beech. But the Bob who visited this past weekend is a
gentler
more reflective Bob and I was open to all landscape subtleties.
As we
entered the magic little forest, I suddenly felt primal. Monica
was
treated to a spontaneous upwelling of ape calls from yours
truly. I
totally surprised myself, if my friends can believe that.
The
diminutive forest starts on the far, down-slope side of a
dune formation and continues into a shallow wetland where
dwarfed red
maple dominates - very natural in appearance and feel. A rich
bed of
pitch pine needles carpets the dune formations at the entrance
of the
woodland. The needles make for easy walking on what is otherwise
pure
sand. I should point out that large parts of the surrounding
dunes have
partial coverings of grasses that I do not know. One reminds me
of a
type of sage that I see in the West. It isn't that, of course,
but looks
similar, and reminds one of the similar survival strategies of
plants
growing in sandy pure sand. I was reminded of how precious
little I know
of dune grasses and the associated grass and shrub-based
ecosystem. But
I was completely at home in the miniature forest. It spoke
soothingly
yet compellingly to both Monica and me. The age and development
of the
pitch pine-red maple forest is refreshing. We felt the
forest’s balance
and persistence, even in its changes. Balance and persistence
are
characteristics that contrast sharply with the over-worked,
chewed up,
beat-down woodlands of so much of eastern Massachusetts. It is
hard for
me not to turn critical when I look at the tough life endured by
woodlands in the eastern part of the bay state.
The ride back to western Massachusetts on Sunday afternoon was
uneventful, but even as I floundered in the congestion of
eastern
Massachusetts, I constantly reminded myself of the great variety
offered
by this small New England state. Most outsiders think of places
like
Boston, Salem, Concord, and perhaps Cape Cod, Nantucket Island,
and
Martha's Vineyard when they think of Massachusetts. Or they
think of
Massachusetts in a strictly political context, as the bastien of
liberal
thought, as I once did. There are so many rich places that
distinguish
the bay state historically and culturally, giving it its
unmistakable
character described on license plates as the spirit of America
that
natural Massachusetts is lost in the shuffle. Regrettably much
of
modern-day Massachusetts is being swallowed up in bland
over-development
associated with our society that manifests as strip development.
But
there is another pernicious kind of over-development that is
concurrent
exercised by the wealthy in their building of estates wherever
they can
latch on to land. Agricultural land is sacrificed. These two
land-gobbling trends put a premium on open space and is proving
to be a
stimulus for preservation movements. I was reminded by a small
plaque
within the pitch pines-red maple forest at Crane’s Beach that
heralded
the care and dedication of one of many conservationists who
looked and
saw the beauty and naturalness of his land disappearing and did
something about it. I thought of Will Blozan and Jess Riddle in
far off
North Carolina and Tennessee working to save some of the last of
the
great eastern hemlocks and I felt a rush of pride in being part
of the
Eastern Native Tree Society and the missions we spawn to
document,
study, educate the public about, and save special trees and
woodlands.
Bob
Robert T. Leverett
Cofounder, Eastern Native Tree Society
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