The thing about trees is that they are so very easy to take for granted -- especially when we live in a lovely green insulated bubble like Hanover, a place that the lone pine above Dartmouth College in the Alma Mater symbolizes and constantly reminds us of. There is a strong focus on the out-of-doors at this college that perpetuates the belief that we at Dartmouth are protected by a strong and resilient environment, with trees that will always be out there watching over us, just like the lone pine. It's ironic that the lone pine has fallen. Its trunk rotted and they (that vague and ominous they, who for the purposes of this article are held responsible for every bad thing that ever happened to a tree) chopped it down. A rather misplaced granite obelisk stands in its memory on the spot where that not so immortal tree once stood. There's a lesson to be learned from this irony that generally applies to the state of affairs in the forests of New England today: quite simply that things are not the way they seem, nor are they the way we are told they are. It's always crucial to look beyond the immediate tree line.
We think of the forest area surrounding Dartmouth as relatively safe and unspoiled, which in purely relative terms is true. Nevertheless, there's a great deal of stress, damage and change that we inflict even on this very protected stretch of forest. There is obvious evidence of this fact all over our campus in its constant state of construction and development, particularly seen in the felled trees on the road leading down to the crew boathouse. Yet these little details are largely insignificant when we consider the far graver concerns that face this forest as a whole.
When you drive through the Northern Forest on those wide highways that lead to outlet mall shopping paradises and other wonders offered by the state of Maine it certainly appears to the casual observer as if one of these wonders is the great forest itself. The forest seems lush and dense, a wide uninterrupted expanse of tree cover. Unfortunately, this is only the reality driving through the national parks of the state; more than 50 percent of Maine's forest territory is owned by "them." "They," in this case, are busy timber companies who clear-cut vast expanses of the Northern Forest. They might lack finesse or foresight in their treatment of the forest but they're not stupid when it comes to protecting their interests. They've cleverly come up with the strategy of leaving "beauty strips" between their clear-cuts to preserve the illusion of a vibrant forest ecosystem. These beauty strips are placed alongside frequently trafficked regions like highways, residential areas, and townships. The strips conveniently conceal the stark visual evidence of the gravity of this problem from the observing public who might otherwise protest. Aerial views of the apparently lovely regions we drive through more often than not reveal forest landscapes that have been looted and pillaged of their former richness by the unforgivably short-sighted profit obsessions of lumber companies.
These timber companies have responded to increased awareness of their practices by claiming that their clear-cutting policies have and that they are now practising more responsible forestry based on principles of environmental sustainability. Yet the real evidence suggests that such approaches are implemented on only about 20 percent of this commercially exploited land; in less accessible and obtrusive areas the far more immediately lucrative methods of clear-cutting exploitation continues -- all of which leads to one painfully obvious conclusion if you have even the slightest interest of being a reasonably responsible inhabitant of your environment. Look closer.
We're all far too willing to take things at face value, even when things as crucial as entire ecosystems and a wealth of biodiversity are at stake. The point here is not so much to stop "them" as it is to notice that "they" exist. If we don't stop the problem, how can we ever expect to solve it? Things are going on all around you that have awesome impact. There can be no refuting the importance of forest cover to our environment, no justification for grossly indiscriminate deforestation. But if you don't even notice either of those realities there can be no protection, and there can be no rehabilitation. That esteemed lone pine is gone, and there's a very good chance the rest of those trees that we didn't attach nearly as much sentiment to might fall also. Then there would be no trees above us, watching over us. That's a terribly lonely thought.
