[Note: This is the forty-first sample from the rough draft of
my far from finished new book, Wild,
Free, & Happy. The
Search field on the right side will find words in the full contents of all
rants and reviews. These samples are not
freestanding pieces. They will be easier
to understand if you start with sample 01, and follow the sequence listed HERE
— if you have some free time. If you
prefer audiobooks, Michael Dowd is in the process of reading and recording my
book HERE.]
SACRED
FORESTS
Hunter-Gatherers
Long, long ago, we’re
not sure when, a clever smarty pants discovered the magical juju for using
friction to conjure fire. Hominins are
the only clan in the entire family of life to learn and use this dangerous
technology. If the trick had never been
discovered, they would have survived without it, and maybe remained on a simple
sustainable path for millions of years, something similar to the baboons,
maybe. They would have never left the
tropics, most or all of the megafauna extinctions might never have happened,
and the world of today would be remarkably healthy and beautiful. Imagine that.
Fire making enabled
hominin evolution to pursue an unusual and complicated path that led to the
appearance of brainy oddballs like Erectus, Neanderthal, and Sapiens. Since the domestication of fire, hominins
have been dependent on wood as a source of fuel. In theory, it’s a renewable resource, if used
in moderation. Bottom line: no fire >
no civilization > no Earth Crisis.
Hominin hunter-gatherers
emerged in Mother Africa, and eventually expanded eastward into tropical
regions of Asia and Australasia. Their
population was tiny, and so was their use of wood — cooking fuel, simple
lean-tos and huts, weapons, and so on.
They would have had little or no need to kill mature trees, and their
stone tools for chopping and shaping wood were low tech.
Over time, hunter-gatherers began migrating north into
temperate regions, snow country. Here, demand
for firewood expanded beyond daily cooking, to space heating during the chilly
season. Shelters now had to be better at
retaining heat — teepees or mammoth bone huts for example. Snow country was home to extensive regions of
steppe and prairie grasslands, which were prime habitats for herds of large
game, the prey preferred by hunters.
Forests were inferior hunting grounds, because there was less large
game, and hunting was more difficult in the dense woods.
At this point, folks in snow country were overcoming a huge
limit to growth, as they figured out how to survive in climates too cold for
bare naked tropical primates. This
allowed them to advance on a new limit to growth, the availability of large
game. In Australia, their growth was not
limited by the ability to survive in a frigid climate, so they were able to
proceed directly to the limit of large game.
Eventually, the availability of large game presented a firm
limit to growth. Folks had several
options for addressing it. (1) They
could simply continue the status quo of modest overhunting, which gradually
reduced large game numbers, and eventually led to spasms of megafauna
extinctions on every continent.
(2) They could combine foresight and wisdom to develop
methods of family planning in order to limit the size of their bands. Some pursued this option. This was especially successful in cultures
having super-rigid limits to growth, like in Arctic regions, deserts,
rainforests, and islands. The island of Tikopia did
this brilliantly.
(3) They could develop methods for expanding grassland
habitat in order to boost the numbers of large game. To do this, folks engaged in programs of
firestick farming, periodically burning grassland to eliminate woody brush and
sapling trees. In this way, they created
and maintained extensive manmade grasslands.
Over time, burning transformed regions of forest into game habitat, on a
significant scale.
Food
Production
Please bear with me for a few more sentences, while I
radically oversimplify an extremely complex process, and set the stage for a
bit of jabber on large scale forest destruction. As discussed earlier, the eventual perfection
of hunting in many regions put a squeeze on large game hunting. Hunting efforts had to shift to small game,
forest animals, waterfowl, fish, shellfish, insects, and so on.
In the Fertile Crescent, sedentary communities developed
where wild grains were abundant, as were wild sheep, goats, horses, and
cattle. Over time, these grains and
animals were domesticated. This enabled
a growing number of cultures to become far less dependent on hunting and
foraging, and increasingly addicted to food production. Access to wild foods had long served as a
limit to growth. The transition to food
production eventually blew that limit out of the water. Now, the path was cleared for thousands of
years of explosive growth, the development of civilizations, and the conception
of a hideous monster child, the Earth Crisis.
The adventure in food production presented us with new limits
to growth. Agriculture typically began
in soft moist soils that could be worked with digging sticks. Stream banks and river deltas were covered
with alluvium — a moist and highly fertile deposit of clay, silt, sand, and
gravel that was delivered by annual floods.
It was a soft loose soil that was ready for sowing.
Ideal locations like these were, of course, limited. Further away from the water’s edge there were
often highly fertile soils that were heavily infested with <bleeping>
annoyances called trees. This critical
limit to growth could be pushed back via a brilliant solution known as
deforestation, and metal axes became the tools of the trade. Unfortunately, forest soils were often so
heavy that digging sticks were useless.
Heavy soils served as a firm limit to growth until clever
madmen invented new tools, like spades and hoes. The eco-doom meters swung sharply into the
danger zone with the appearance of a diabolical new technology, the moldboard
plow. It was a dark turning point in the
human saga. It accelerated the heroic
march of progress, allowing us to proudly become more self-destructive than
ever before.
Over time, folks figured out how to raise crops and graze flocks
on lands formerly home to magnificent forests.
Ideal locations for creating new cropland and grassland were fairly flat
and level, and these, of course, were limited.
The obvious way to push back this limit to growth was to allow the
expansion of deforestation into sloped lands.
Unfortunately, tilling and overgrazing encouraged the exposed hillside
soils to be washed away when the water from heavy rains and springtime snowmelt
sped downhill. Topsoil went first, then
less fertile subsoil. In a number of
regions, bare bedrock was eventually exposed, and the good old days were long
gone, never to return.
Anyway, the transition to food production kicked open a huge
hornet’s nest of stinging challenges that created more and more new limits to
growth. Some could cleverly be pushed
back, others made growth impossible and reversed it. Food production conjured a parade of
nightmares — overgrazing, desertification, salinization, catastrophic erosion,
landslides, disastrous flooding, wildlife destruction, and so on. Sadly, this was just a warm-up. Destruction shifted into high gear with the
rise of empires and civilizations. It
went into warp drive with the rise of the industrial era, the perfection of
food production, the population explosion, and today’s ecological
Armageddon.
The dominant culture became an ecological steamroller,
smashing one limit to growth after another.
Our sacred mission is to grow, faster and larger, for as long as
possible, until the planet is reduced to a wasteland, and the curtains close on
the Age of Cleverness. One way or
another, we should learn that all growth has limits (will we?). It’s tragic that we cannot accept such an
obvious truth, and respond in an intelligent manner. Maybe it’s because ecology is rarely, if
ever, a fundamental subject in school.
Kids are taught that the ultimate goal in life is to live in a trophy
home with a four car garage.
Frederick
Coolidge and Thomas Wynn examined the big history of human intelligence,
and the slippery organ between our ears.
They noted that, “excepting humans,” today’s great apes are in decline
(chimps, bonobos, gorillas, orangutans).
Meanwhile, Old World monkeys are thriving, and almost as
intelligent. The large brains of great
apes are biologically expensive energy guzzlers. “If they no longer yield a competitive edge,
their owners will, predictably, go extinct.”
Craig
Dilworth described many ways in which humankind has become “too smart for
our own good.”
Old
World Forests
After the Ice Age wound down, Western Europe became a region
with a moist temperate climate that was ideal for growing gorgeous forests, so
it did. Forests originally covered 95 percent of west and central Europe. Barry
Cunliffe noted in 7000 B.C., Europe was inhabited by hunter-gatherers. By 4000 B.C., wild Europe was taking a
beating. The Fertile Crescent had
spawned the birth of two devastating experiments that most folks consider to be
great achievements: farming and herding.
These fads spread into Europe, and took a heavy toll on the health of
the land. Both expanded via centuries of
relentless and catastrophic deforestation.
[MAP]
In the transition from hunting and gathering to food
production, forests had served as a limit to growth — grain and grass won’t
grow in the shade. Deforestation cleared
away the towering giants and let the light shine in. When metal axes came into common use,
lumberjacks could produce mountains of dead trees, far more than needed for
cooking and heating. In a painfully
ironic twist of fate, dead trees actually became an accelerator of growth. They were a critical resource for the rise of
civilizations, as a source of biofuel, lumber, and other products.
John
Perlin wrote an outstanding history of deforestation. He described a pattern of destruction that
was common among civilizations in the Mediterranean Basin. The trees were cut, heavy winter rains were
normal, exposed soil was washed into the watershed, and then swept
downstream. Soil in cleared lands tended
to be dryer and harder than forest soils.
It couldn’t absorb much water, so runoff was rapid, and flash floods
were common. Over time, downstream ports
and bays were buried under deep loads of silt.
After the topsoil was gone, wrecked lands could produce little more than
olives, grapes, and goats. Today, the
Mediterranean is ringed by damaged ecosystems that used to be forests.
In the King James translation of the Bible, the word “forest”
appears 41 times, and the word “grove” also appears 41 times, but only in the
Old Testament. Neither word appears in
the New Testament. Hmmm…
Once the forests of southern Mesopotamia were cleared away, a
new and terrible monster arose, salinization.
It destroyed large regions of cropland in a way that was permanent and
worsened over time. In the region, some
locations were home to salty rocks. As
soil erosion exposed these rocks, normal precipitation moved dissolved salt
downhill into irrigated fields, where it accumulated. When farmers allowed water to flow into a
thirsty field, this elevated the water table beneath the surface, lifting the
salty water up into the root zone of the crops.
Salt restricts the ability of roots to absorb water. Then, as the sun beat down on the moistened
field, water in the soil evaporated, leaving behind the salt.
Eventually salt buildup rendered the soil infertile
forever. Some dead fields look like they
have been dusted with snow. As soil
health deteriorated, wheat could no longer be grown, and folks shifted to
barley, which was more salt-tolerant. As
the salt continued to increase, barley yields plummeted, populations shrank,
and the Sumerian empire disintegrated.
Its once-great cities are now small villages, or quaint ancient ruins
surrounded by barren moonscapes.
Deforestation, erosion, irrigation, and salinization brought
an end to the wonderland described in the glorious legends of King Gilgamesh,
a notorious pioneer in industrial scale deforestation and civilization
building. Today, fanatical members of
the perpetual growth cult, having no understanding of ecology, are likely to
enthusiastically describe similar disasters as miracles of Sustainable
Growth™. Growth is our god word, nothing
else matters.
Now, let’s look at the importance of wood to
civilizations. Folks used wood to build
homes, buildings, bridges, fences, wagons, furniture, docks, barrels, boats,
and so on. When a growing state
eventually wiped out its forests, it had to scramble to import wood from
elsewhere, like the Phoenicians did when they ran out of cedars to murder in
Lebanon. States that had minimal access
to wood were not in the fast lane to power and prosperity, they tended to fade
away and blink out.
Wood was an essential component of military power. It was used to build fleets of ships for
trade and warfare. States having the
strongest fleets could conquer and exploit the weaklings. States with ragged junk yard navies were
sitting ducks. In those days, unmolested
forests looked like mountains of treasure, and they were — like the supergiant
oil reservoirs in Saudi Arabia are today.
Treasure makes civilized folks crazy. Big shots who were delirious with ambition
and greed would soar away into visions of barbaric zeal when they gazed upon
old growth forests thriving in states too weak to defend them. These valuable woodlands provided an
excellent reason for them to fetch the war paint, and mercilessly seize all
they could, by any means necessary, as fast as possible.
Other irresistible targets were mineral treasures, like
deposits of gold, silver, lead, copper, tin, iron, and so on. The development of metallurgy smashed down
many limits to growth, and provided civilizations with powerful new tools for
increasing eco-destruction, manufacturing, trade, warfare, empire building, and
so on.
Minerals are nonrenewable resources, so their exploitation
can never be sustainable. All animals can live perfectly well without gold
jewelry, lead bullets, copper wire, and iron doodads. Our existence depends 100 percent on the most
precious mineral substance of all — topsoil.
Agriculture destroys topsoil far faster than new soil is created, so it
is nonrenewable, from a human timeframe.
If we continue living like there’s no tomorrow, then soil
mining, metal making, fossil energy, and other bad trips must certainly arrive
at a dead end. Out of control growth
trends will screech to a halt, shift into reverse, and stomp on the
accelerator. We know this, but we have a
fervent blind faith that the technology fairy will save our ignorant,
short-sighted asses via astonishing new miracles of divine cleverness. We are fantastic dreamers.
Perceptive readers can perhaps appreciate the tremendous
advantages of hunting and gathering, which left nonrenewable resources
unmolested, and allowed wild hominins enjoy healthy exciting lives for several
million years. Each generation
essentially left the land in the same condition that they found it. Imagine that.
OK, sorry, back to wood.
It has been a primary source of fuel throughout the entire human
saga. Over time, the simple campfire
evolved into the stove, furnace, and kiln.
Wood was used to power industries that smelted ores, forged metal tools
and weapons, made glass, bricks, cement, pottery, and so on. Some industrial processes required
temperatures higher than could be produced by burning plain dry wood. For these, they used charcoal, wood that was
slowly and carefully baked in large dome-shaped kilns.
Perlin described the copper industry on Cyprus in around 1300
B.C. Copper was used to make bronze,
which was in high demand during the Bronze Age.
For each 60 pound (27 kg) copper ingot produced, four acres of pine (120
trees) had to be reduced to six tons of charcoal. Each year, the copper industry on Cyprus consumed
four to five square miles (10 km2) of forest. At the same time, the general society
consumed an equal amount of forest for heating, cooking, pottery, lime kilns,
and so on. Can you guess what inevitably
happened to the forests, soils, industry, and affluence of Cyprus?
Clive
Ponting noted that in the 1500s, the rising cost of fuel wood in England
was creating a limit to growth. They
were forced to transition to coal, a fuel that everyone considered to be
inferior. Coal was both expensive and
dirty. In the early U.S., excellent wood
was often free for the taking. In 1696,
the construction of warships for the English navy was moved to the U.S.,
because the Brits ran too low on premium lumber from old growth trees.
Shortages also affected the use of wood for heating. In chilly regions, a city of one square mile
might depend on 50 square miles of forest to provide the firewood it consumed
year after year. In the good old days,
this was often possible. Later, as
forest area decreased, it wasn’t. Michael
Williams noted that by 1700, firewood for Paris had to be shipped in from
forests up to 124 miles (200 km) away.
One winter night, the King of France sat in his great hall, shivering as
he ate dinner, the wine in his glass was frozen. Writing in 2006, Williams noted that almost
half of humankind still depended on wood for heating and cooking, and we were
burning twice as much as we did 20 years earlier.
Man
and Nature
George
Perkins Marsh was a brilliant American hero that few folks today have heard
of. The gentleman from Vermont served as
the U.S. Minister to Italy. While overseas,
he visited the sites of many extinct civilizations in the Fertile Crescent, and
what he observed was terrifying and overwhelming. They all seriously damaged their ecosystems
and self-destructed in similar ways, primarily because of deforestation and
agriculture.
Unbelievably massive levels of soil erosion created surreal
catastrophes. He saw ancient seaports
that were now 30 miles (48 km) from the sea.
He saw ancient places where the old streets were buried beneath 30 feet
(9 m) of eroded soil. He stood in
mainland fields, 15 miles (24 km) from the sea, which were formerly located on
islands. He saw the sites of ancient
forests, formerly covered with three to six feet (1-2 m) of soil, where nothing
but exposed rock remained.
Far worse, Marsh was acutely aware that every day back home
in America, millions were currently working like crazy to repeat the same
mistakes, glowing with patriotic pride at the prosperity they were
creating. In a noble effort to cure
blissful ignorance, he fetched pen, ink, and paper and wrote a book to
enlighten his growing young nation, and it was published in 1864. Sales were respectable for a few decades, but
America did not see the light and rapidly reverse course. Folks thought that the cure was worse than
the disease. Intelligent behavior was
not good for the economy. Tom Brown’s
mentor, Stalking Wolf, lamented that our culture was “killing its grandchildren
to feed its children.”
Marsh’s book has stood the test of time fairly well. It presented a wealth of vital information,
none of which I learned about during 16 years of education. Forests keep the soil warmer in winter, and
cooler in the summer. Springtime arrives
later in deforested regions, because the land takes longer to warm up. Forests absorb far more moisture than cleared
lands, so after a good rain, runoff is minimal, and flash floods are rare.
Deforestation dries out the land. Lake levels drop, springs dry up, stream
flows decline, and wetlands are baked.
In the fourth century, when there were more forests, the water volume
flowing in the Seine River was about the same all year long. When Marsh visited, water levels could vary
up to 30 feet (9 m) between dry spells and cloudbursts. In 1841, not a drop of rain had fallen in
three years on the island of Malta, after the forest had been replaced with
cotton fields. And on and on. The book is a feast.
Walter
Lowdermilk was deeply inspired by Marsh’s work. Spooked by the 1930s Dust Bowl, the U.S.
Department of Agriculture sent him to ancient sites in the Old World to study
soil erosion. In 1938-39, he travelled
more than 25,000 miles (40,000 km), took photos, and wrote a short, easy to
read summary of his findings. [HERE]
In Tunisia, he observed the site of Cuicul, a grand city in
Roman times, which had been entirely buried, except for three feet (1 m) of one
column poking out of the soil. It took
20 years of digging to expose the remarkable ruins. The Minoan city of Jerash, a village of 3,000
people, was once home to 250,000.
Lebanon was once covered with 2,000 square miles (5,180 km2)
of ancient cedar forests, now reduced to four small groves. In Syria, he observed a million acres
(404,685 ha) of manmade desert, dotted with a hundred dead villages.
New
World Forests
Richard Lillard described how early white explorers
experienced the ancient forests of America.
When standing on mountaintops, they were overwhelmed by the fact that as
far as they could see in any direction there was nothing but a wonderland of
trees. It was stunning to observe an
ecosystem that was not in any way controlled and disfigured by human
activities. The intense experience of
perfect wildness was almost terrifying.
Walking beneath the canopy at midday, the forest floor was as
dark as a cellar, few sunbeams penetrated through the dense foliage. At certain times, some sections of the forest
were places of absolute silence, a spooky experience that bewildered the white
folks. They saw vast numbers of chestnut
trees were nearly as big as redwoods.
British visitors to early settlements were stunned to see wooden houses,
sidewalks, fences, and covered bridges — something rarely seen back in their
heavily deforested homeland.
William
Cronon noted that in other regions, Native Americans had created extensive
manmade grasslands, via firestick farming, to expand habitat for large
game. Forests had been eliminated at
Boston and along Massachusetts Bay.
Settlers with iron axes went crazy on the forests, cutting them down as
if they were infinite in number. Lots of
excellent wood was simply burned, to clear the way for progress. They built large houses, and heated them with
highly inefficient open fireplaces. By
1638, Boston was having firewood shortages.
As clearing proceeded, summers got hotter, and winters
colder. As stream flows dropped in
summer, water-powered mills had to shut down, sometimes permanently. In winter, upper levels of the soil froze
solid on cleared land, and snow piled up on top of it. When springtime came, the frozen land could
not absorb the melt, so the runoff water zoomed away, and severe flooding was
common.
Stewart
Holbrook wrote about the fantastically destructive obliteration of ancient
forests in the U.S. upper Midwest. On
the same day of the great Chicago fire of October 8, 1871, a firestorm
obliterated the backwoods community of Peshtigo, Wisconsin, killing five times
as many people as in Chicago. On this
day, the new word “firestorm” was added to the English vocabulary. Holbrook interviewed John Cameron, an
eyewitness to the Peshtigo fire.
Deforestation dries out the land. Cameron noted that there had been little snow
the previous winter, and just one rain between May and September. Streams were shallow, and swamps were drying
up. Logging operations left large
amounts of slash in the woods (piles of discarded limbs and branches). Slash piles were eliminated by burning, even
when it was very hot, dry, windy, and extraordinarily stupid.
The morning of October 8 was hotter than anyone could
remember, and the air was deadly still.
At noon, the sun disappeared. By
nightfall the horizon was red, and smoke was in the air, making their eyes run. At 9 P.M., Cameron heard an unusual roaring
sound. The night sky was getting lighter
by the minute. A hurricane force wind
howled through. Suddenly, swirling slabs
of flames were hurtling out of nowhere and hitting the dry sawdust
streets. In a flash, Peshtigo was
blazing — maybe five minutes.
Cameron saw horses, cattle, men, and women, stagger in the
sawdust streets, then go down to burn brightly like so many flares of
pitch-pine. He winced when he spoke of
watching pretty young Helga Rockstad running down a blazing sidewalk, when her
long blond hair burst into flame. The
next day, he looked for her remains. All
he found was two nickel garter buckles and a little mound of white-gray ash.
The river was the safest place that night. People kept their heads underwater as much as
possible, so the great sheets of flame wouldn’t set their heads on fire. Within an hour, the town was vaporized. Big lumberjacks were reduced to streaks of
ash, enough to fill a thimble. In this
village of 2,000, at least 1,150 died, and 1,280,000 acres (518,000 ha) went up
in smoke.
Also on October 8, 1871, numerous big fires raged across the
state of Michigan, where it had not rained in two months. These fires destroyed 2.5 million acres (1
million ha) — three times more timberland than the Peshtigo blaze. This was an era of countless huge fires. For example, in just the state of Wisconsin,
tremendous fires destroyed huge areas in 1871, 1880, 1891, 1894, 1897, 1908,
1910, 1923, 1931, 1936. Holbrook’s book
described numerous similar disasters in other regions of the U.S.
Paul Shepard
wrote, “Sacred groves did not exist when all trees were sacred.”
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