One of the misconceptions we have about nature is that we are somehow separate from it, that we can organize humans into one box and nature into another us. Humans like to think of ourselves as special, and the idea of unadulterated wilderness is an appealing myth. Yet, to truly grasp nature, we have to put ourselves in it, to understand our role as a part of that system.

So let us take a journey––through time, through space and through trees.

Courtesy of Chris Anderson

Some trees still keep secrets: Braude discussed how there is still no scientific consensus on why tapped maples only release their sap in the daytime. His working theory involves dissolved CO2 producing pressure when released in daytime, but the mechanics by which trees release the precursor to syrup are still untested and unknown.

We can start 20,000 years ago, during the last ice age––St. Louis was just south of the polar ice that went as far as Des Moines. The environment in Missouri then would have seemed completely alien to you, comparable to central Canada now. A coniferous tundra dotted with tall spruces and a blanketing of snow.

Once the planet warmed, the more recent “natural environment” of Wash. U. emerged. Tall grass prairies, native sedges and low scrubs dominated the landscape, mixed with open woodlands of oak and hickory. In 1820, American geographer Henry Rowe Schoolcraft described the scenery of the remaining woodlands: “Wild grass covers the whole country, in which the oaks are standing interspersed, like fruit trees in some well-cultivated orchard.”

This was the natural environment of Wash. U., yet it was no untouched wilderness (if such a thing ever exists). As long as there has been nature here, there have been people––and there has been fire.

Doug Ladd, an ecologist teaching in the Master of Landscape Architecture program at Sam Fox, emphasized the role of humans in shaping the landscape of Missouri.

“Native Americans had managed the landscape for the last 14,000 years, which included a longstanding regime of deliberate aboriginal fire,” he said. This frequent use of controlled fires created the tall grass prairies and open oak woodlands––without them a thicker forest would have grown instead.

“The only ‘natural’ systems we have in the modern era are those that involve and intimate association with humans,” Ladd said. “There is no such thing as nature apart from people.”

This equilibrium lasted more than 13,000 years. Then 1763 arrived, and European settlement in the area began. The level of development over the coming centuries was too fast for nature to keep up with. They would be defined by domination over nature, not coexistence with it.

The Danforth campus, built in the early 20th century, was not a complete departure from nature. Yet, this early campus was certainly a low point for biodiversity. Pin oaks dominated the early landscaping, easy-to-grow trees prioritized to fill in young areas quickly. Effective, but kind of boring. The following years brought a trickle of biodiversity: a bur oak here, a basswood there, a Ginkgo Allée in 1927.

It took until the 21st century for the Wash. U. forest revolution to begin. The effort to turn Wash. U. into an arboretum, an outdoor museum of trees, brought variety and perspective to the landscape. Not only were trees planted for shortview ornamentation, but for long-term diversity, sustainability and holistic beautification.

Both Chris Anderson, Wash. U. grounds manager and horticulturist, and Stan Braude, professor of Biology teaching a class on the trees of Missouri, emphasized the influence of Kent Theiling, Chris’ predecessor.

“Kent was planting this forest for the last 20 years and I think people didn’t appreciate it until recently,” Braude said. Trees work on a different timescale than we do––this is the difficulty of visualizing landscape design. They take decades or even centuries to mature.

“We look long term, we look 10, 20, 50 years out when we are planting these things,” Anderson said. Lots of credit was also given to Cody Azotea, who heads the Focal Pointe contractors on campus, the nuts and bolts team of the landscape. They are extremely knowledgeable about each specimen and the unique care it requires.

As of last month, Wash. U. became an accredited level 2 arboretum, having catalogued 120 distinct tree species on campus––and those are only the ones registered. The focus is on “native adaptive trees,” trees which come from comparable climates and can thrive here. This category comprises over 70% of all campus trees, no small achievement.

It is worth the time to do the Arbor Tour, a self guided walk of the campus arboretum. Students without time for the full tour can check the online arbor map and see which trees are near their classes. The whole campus is dotted with these huge, complex organisms, yet many students pass them everyday without giving them a second glance. Learning just a little bit about them can completely change your perspective.

Braude has his students “learn to describe the trees,” to deepen their understanding: “There is principle that…if you have a name for things, words for things, that allows you to then think about them.” With some observation and research you can tell a tree’s health from its bark or when a bud is about to flower. Trees speak through their anatomy, if you know how to listen.

The diversity on campus speaks for itself––it is a testament to great landscape design that you do not notice all the work and planning that went into it. Yet the design behind the campus landscape, and its hidden mechanics, are as impressive as the results.

Anderson described the philosophy behind Wash. U.’s landscape as “a balance between history and progression”––they preserve historic elements of the university while incorporating modern techniques for sustainability and diversity. He expounded the mantra of “right plant, right place,” and the understanding of purpose in landscape.

Perhaps the most meaningful purpose of the landscaping is sustainability, and the ability of a human-created landscape to react to circumstances beyond human control. The right sedges, soils and gardens in the right places can absorb and utilize rainwater––beautifying the campus while improving drainage (right plant, right place). Native adaptive plants improve the long term botanical health of the campus, while the preservation of endangered trees provide a seed bank for future generations.

The forest is still growing, and rapidly at that; every spring at least 500 trees are planted, in an attempt to reach the goal of 34% tree canopy by 2034, a goal which Anderson said we are on track to reach.

Even if you care nothing about the planet this is still pertinent to you. As Ladd said, “recent direct studies show that human mortality is directly linked to the ability to interface with nature.” So you heard it here first––even if you hate nature, you should spend some time there. Your life might depend on it.

There is a long future ahead for the Wash. U. forest; the bur oaks, those trees on campus with the huge acorns, can easily live 500 years. Even climate change had been accounted for in its planning.

“50 years from now, while a lot of things growing in St. Louis right now might not be able to make it,” Braude said, “we are very intentionally planting things that will be able to make it in the changing climate––so Wash. U. should be proud that we are being smart about it.”