by R. Kelly Coffey
A curious characteristic of Appalachian geography is the number of features- creeks, knobs, hollows, etc. - with “buffalo” in their name. This beast from the western plains seems as out-of-place in the forests of Appalachia as a saguaro cactus on the Blue Ridge. In colonial times though, buffalo were found throughout much of eastern North America. Observers frequently noted their presence in and around the mountains. Herds were small (a few dozen to 300 at most), compared to the multitudes witnessed in the west decades later. While native to western North America, buffalo were actually recent immigrants east of the Mississippi, with their numbers peaking in the seventeenth century before dissipating around the time of the American Revolution. Their relatively brief, two-century foray into the East is perhaps unique in our natural history, and reveals a dynamic and varied environment already being modified by humans even before Columbus set sail.
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by Jeff B. Feaga
West Virginia, for those that have never been there, is deserving of its famous description. Indeed, the Mountain State is wild and wonderful, with varied terrain, unique habitats and pristine streams. A particularly remarkable area is the high elevation plateau located in the northern part of the Monongahela National Forest, just under three hours west of the United States capital. Throughout this laurel covered wilderness on the Eastern Continental Divide, the headwaters of the Potomac and Cheat Rivers flow through countless wetlands, bogs, glades and high gradient streams before ultimately forming well-known rivers. Although far from any major population centers, these wetlands are important to wildlife and to water quality far downstream. Figure 1 shows Red Creek, a tributary to the Cheat River, while Figure 2 shows one of numerous mid-size tributaries located throughout the laurel covered highlands.
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by R. Kelly Coffey
In 1807 Thomas Jefferson planted a tulip poplar near the west entrance of his home. Over the course of two centuries, this tree and another nearby have grown to massive proportions, perfectly framing his impressive house.
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by David Payne Sr.
As coyote populations increase, they begin preying more heavily on livestock— lambs especially.
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by Jim Minick
Pine trees receive a large share of bad press in environmental circles, and sometimes rightly so. Their use in plantations has been linked to increasing global warming, habitat destruction, and many other problems. But the tree is not the problem, how we humans use it is. And not all of these “uses” are bad.
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by R. Kelly Coffey
Traveling around the southern Appalachians, I occasionally glimpse a peculiar plant that does not seem to fit into any conventional category. It is tall enough to be a tree, yet has not other “tree” characteristics.
The plant’s grassy foliage is attached to rigid (though not woody) stems that resemble corn stalks. These individual stalks grow so close together in dense patches that no other vegetation can compete within the jungle-like colony.
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by R. Kelly Coffey
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by R. Kelly Coffey
Range maps of firs and magnolias generally show the trees to be located hundreds of miles apart. The flowering magnolia is popularly associated with the balmy South; the fir- a conifer- with the frigid North.
Yet, as is true of so many other plants, the unique geography of the Southern Appalachians has brought two species of these trees together: Abies fraseri (Fraser fir) and Magnolia fraseri (Fraser magnolia). The only place in the world where these particular species are found is in the southern mountains.
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by R. Kelly Coffey
Sugar Mountain. Sugar Grove. Sugar Hollow. Sugar Knob. The word “sugar” appears on maps of almost every region within the southern mountains. A bit of our pioneer past is evoked every time these place-names are spoken, and the names themselves reveal the natural history of those particular locations.
“Sugar” refers to the sweetener made from the sugar maple tree (Acer saccharum), an important forest food resource to the early settlers of the Appalachian frontier. Although popularly associated with New England, the sugar maple is a common, native tree in southern Appalachia, and an significant part of our cultural heritage as well.
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by R. Kelly Coffey
One day as 18th-century botanist William Bartram traveled on horseback through the southern mountains, he discovered he had entered a field so thick with strawberry plants that the crushed berries had dyed his horse’s legs deep red.
At one point he rode for two miles across an area he described as “strawberry plains.” The scattered patches of strawberry plants seen today in no way compare to the expansive fields of berries that were once a common sight. Yet, even though the wild strawberry is only a modest part of the modern natural landscape, it had a significant influence in the development of today’s domesticated varieties.
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by R. Kelly Coffey
As summer begins to fade, pokeweed begins to dominate open areas of the southern Appalachian landscape. The plant is a familiar feature in traditional mountain cookery, and widely used as a folk remedy. Paradoxically, folklore also identifies pokeweed as a lethal poison. Even today, modern medical researchers believe that pokeweed may lead to dramatic medical breakthroughs, while at the same time, warn of its carcinogenic characteristics.
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by R. Kelly Coffey
The witch hazel tree is one of the strangest plants native to the Southern Appalachians. It blooms around Halloween and “spits” its seed with a startling pop. Its gnarled and misshapen limbs confirm that the tree is appropriately named. It creates a tingling sensation when applied to the skin. Its wood supposedly has special powers to detect underground water and salt, as well as gold, silver, and other precious metals. Such characteristics lend an eerie quality to the witch hazel tree, making it an intriguing plant to observe around Halloween.
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by R. Kelly Coffey
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Center For Ursid Research Checks Out Denning Bears
by Tiffany Trent
It’s the time of year when human thoughts, especially mine, turn to spring. Looking out at the snow-silhouetted trees, the birds and their fluffed feathers, the glassy knives of icicles dangling from the eaves, it is difficult to imagine that green, growing things exist. But change has already begun. Since the winter solstice, the days have lengthened. The earth is tilting our hemisphere toward the sun; snowdrops dangle white earrings above the snow. And in the depths of the Southern Appalachian forests, female American black bears have given birth.
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by R. Kelly Coffey
In a wooded area near my house stands a large, impressive American beech (Fagus grandifolia). Curious about its age, I measure the tree’s girth and consult a simple table developed to estimate the age of beech trees. This method is not entirely reliable, but useful nevertheless for determining a broad age range.
From the formula, I guess the tree to be over 200 years old. Another clue to its age is a name carved into the trunk with the date “1942.” The tree was probably already a significant size 61 years ago, since the engraver would likely be attracted to an old, large tree. I am attracted to this particular beech because it epitomizes all of the species’ distinctive traits.
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