Next to the aspen and poplars comes the canoe birch, and further north the yellow birch, and such other trees as have provision for scattering their seeds. I have seen acorns and nuts germinating in clusters on burned lands in a few instances. They had evidently been buried there by animals and had escaped the fires. I have seen the red cherry (Prunus Pennsylvanica) coming up in great quantities where they might never have germinated had not the fires destroyed the debris which covered the seed too deeply.
A careful examination around the margin of a burned forest will show the trees of surrounding kinds working in again. Thus by the time the short-lived aspens (and they are very short-lived on high land) have made a covering on the burned land, the surrounding kinds will be found re-established in the new forest, the seeds of the conifers, carried in by the winds, the berries by the birds, the nuts and acorns by the squirrels, the mixture varying more or less from the kinds which grew there before the fire.
It is wonderful how far the seeds of berries are carried by birds. The waxwings and cedar birds carry seeds of our tartarean honeysuckles, purple barberries and many other kinds four miles distant, where we see them spring up on the lake shore, where these birds fly in flocks to feed on the juniper berries. It seems to be the same everywhere. I found European mountain ash trees last summer in a forest in New Hampshire; the seed must have been carried over two miles as the crow flies.
While this alternation is going on in the East, and may have been going on for thousands of years, the Rocky Mountain district is not so fortunate. When a forest is burned down in that dry region, it is doubtful if coniferous trees will ever grow again, except in some localities specially favored. I have seen localities where short-lived trees were dying out and no others taking their places. Such spots will hereafter take their places above the timber line, which seems to me to be a line governed by circumstances more than by altitude or quality of soil.
There are a few exceptions where pines will succeed pines in a burned-down forest. Pinus Murrayana grows up near the timber line in the Rocky Mountains. This tree has persistent cones which adhere to the trees for many years. I have counted the cones of sixteen years on one of these trees, and examined burned forests of this species, where many of the cones had apparently been bedded in the earth as the trees fell. The heat had opened the cones and the seedlings were growing up in myriads; but not a conifer of any other kind could be seen as far as the fire had reached.
In the Michigan Peninsula, northern Wisconsin and Minnesota, P. Banksiana, a comparatively worthless tree, is replacing the valuable red pine (P. resinosa), and in the Sierras P. Murrayana and P. tuberculata are replacing the more valuable species by the same process.
In this case, also, the worthless trees are the shortest lived. So we see that nature is doing all that she can to remedy the evil. Man only is reckless, and especially the American man. The Mexican will cut large limbs off his trees for fuel, but will spare the tree. Even the poor Indian, when at the starvation point, stripping the bark from the yellow pine (P. ponderosa), for the mucilaginous matter being formed into sap wood, will never take a strip wider than one third the circumference of the tree, so that its growth may not be injured.
We often read that oaks are springing up in destroyed forests where oaks had never grown before. The writers are no doubt sincere, but they are careless. The only pine forests where oaks are not intermixed are either in land so sandy that oaks cannot be made to grow on them at all, or so far north that they are beyond their northern limit. In the Green Mountains and in the New England forests, in the pine forests in Pennsylvania, in the Adirondacks, in Wisconsin and Michigan—except in sand—I have found oaks mixed with the pines and spruces. In northwestern Minnesota and in northern Dakota the oaks are near their northern limit, but even there the burr oak drags on a bare existence among the pines and spruces. In the Black Hills, in Dakota, poor, forlorn, scrubby burr oaks are scattered through the hills among the yellow pines. In Colorado we find them as shrubs among the pines and Douglas spruces. In New Mexico we find them scattered among the piñons. In Arizona they grow like hazel bushes among the yellow pines. On the Sierra Nevada the oak region crosses the pine region, and scattering oaks reach far up into the mountains. Yet oaks will not flourish between the one hundredth meridian and the eastern base of the Sierras, owing to the aridity of the climate. I recently found oaks scattered among the redwoods on both sides of the Coast Range Mountains.
Darwin has truly said, "The oaks are driving the pines to the sands." Wherever the oak is established—and we have seen that it is already established whereever it can endure the soil and climate—there it will remain and keep on advancing. The oak produces comparatively few seeds. Where it produces a hundred, the ash and maple will yield a thousand, the elm ten thousand, and many other trees a hundred thousand. The acorn has no provision for protection and transportation like many tree seeds. Many kinds are furnished with wings to float them on the water and carry them in the air. Nearly every tree seed, except the acorn, has a case to protect it while growing, either opening and casting the seeds off to a distance when ripe or falling with them to protect them till they begin to germinate. Even the equally large seeds of other kinds are protected in some way. The hickory nut has a hard shell, which shell itself is protected by a strong covering until ripe. The black walnut has both a hard shell and a fleshy covering. The acorn is the only seed I can think of which is left by nature to take care of itself. It matures without protection, falls heavily and helplessly to the ground, to be eaten and trodden on by animals, yet the few which escape and those which are trodden under are well able to compete in the race for life. While the elm and maple seeds are drying up on the surface, the hickories and the walnuts waiting to be cracked, the acorn is at work with its coat off. It drives its tap root into the earth in spite of grass, and brush, and litter. No matter if it is shaded by forest trees so that the sun cannot penetrate, it will manage to make a short stem and a few leaves the first season, enough to keep life in the root, which will drill in deeper and deeper. When age or accident removes the tree which has overshadowed it, then it will assert itself. Fires may run over the land, destroying almost everything else, the oak will be killed to the ground, but it will throw up a new shoot the next spring, the root will keep enlarging, and when the opportunity arrives it will make a vigorous growth, in proportion to the strength of the root, and throw out strong side roots, and after that care no more for its tap root, which has been its only support, than the frog cares for the tail of the tadpole after it has got on its own legs.
There is no mystery about the succession of forest growths, nothing in nature is more plain and simple. We cannot but admire her wisdom, economy, and justness, compensating in another direction for any disadvantage a species may have to labor under. Every kind of tree has an interesting history in itself. Seeds with a hard shell, or with a pulpy or resinous covering which retards their germination, are often saved from becoming extinct by these means.