On the trail: Graham Swamp, in 3-D

Palm Coast Observer
Opinion

I seem to remember a scene in the “Wizard of Oz” in which Dorothy steps out of her house, puts on a pair of 3-D glasses and enters the magical world of Oz. Then she swims in a pond of molten chocolate and ends up turning into a huge blueberry.

I have to admit, it’s been a while since I’ve seen the movie all the way through.

It’s also been a while since I’ve ventured out of my cubicle and into the real world of nature that is Palm Coast. So, I arranged for a short tour of Graham Swamp recently. I wanted to step into the world, like Dorothy, and revel in the wonders of nature. My guides were Carol Bennett, the city of Palm Coast’s urban forester, and Denise Bevan, environmental planner.

Pardon the tree pun, but I was determined to stump them. Whenever I drive around town or visit a park with my kids, I wish I knew more about the trees and wildlife. For some reason, I’m particularly interested in plant deformities and sicknesses.

“What’s that?” I asked, as we walked along the trail. I pointed to a softball-sized growth on a tree branch high above us.

Bennett explained it was an insect gall. Essentially, it was a huge egg sac. Just knowing what it was, despite the implications that a gazillion bugs were waiting to hatch at any second, was oddly comforting.

I said I’d received emails from residents who said their trees were being killed by a type of beetle. Bennett has heard the same complaints. She explained that ambrosia beetles, which are the size of the head of Lincoln on a penny, carry a fungus called laurel wilt, which clogs the xylem and phloem in trees. However, laurel oaks aren’t usually impacted; that’s a common misconception because of the name of the fungus. In essence, the affected trees’ “arteries” become blocked, resulting in serious damage because the water and nutrients can’t travel up the tree.

I marveled at the thought of water being absorbed by the roots and traveling 20 or more feet into the air, defying gravity. It happens, in part, because of capillary action. But Bennett added that also, the leaves release oxygen, creating a negative pressure that helps pull the water up the tree, as well.

Another resident told me her trees looked like they were being suffocated by a vine. Again, Bennett had the answer. She stood by a tree that looked like it was covered with tangled spaghetti. It was grapevine, she said. Typically, it doesn’t harm the tree, but it can weigh it down and make it susceptible to strong winds. At least, I think that’s what she said. I was trying to hear it through the grapevine. (Sorry.)

As a result of the nature tour, I’m now able to tell the difference between a slash pine and a sand pine. I tried to wow my wife, Hailey, with this new knowledge later that day. “See that?” I said. “That’s a slash pine. It’s not a sand pine.” She said something like “OK,” without any effort to conceal her boredom. But someday, if I’m on “Jeopardy!” or being held hostage by a terrorist who demands to know what kind of tree that is — or else! — she’ll be sorry she doubted me.

Speaking of terrible things, fire is not one of them. Bevan pointed out that saw palmetto fronds have volatile oils that make them prime fire fodder. That might sound like a bad thing to residents, but in nature, fire plays an integral role in a healthy Florida ecosystem, she said. It replenishes the nutrients in the soil and clears out the underbrush. She said that, as far as nature was concerned, the whole area around Graham Swamp could use a good burning. Fortunately, I was able to talk to her out of it.

We saw some prickly pear, and Bevan went on to tell me about gopher tortoises. “The gopher tortoise is a keystone species,” she said. Burrows built and then abandoned by gopher tortoises are often taken over by mice or snakes. Sometimes both, temporarily.

Bennett said she was on a golf course one day inspecting trees after a fire. The ground was smoldering, with smoke still rising. At the edge of the course, she saw a snake emerge from a hole in the ground. Then, a rabbit came out. Then, a gopher tortoise crawled above ground — all from the same hole, which was originally burrowed by the tortoise.

We didn’t see any tortoises that day, but we did see several birds: A red-shouldered hawk, a wood stork, some hooded mergansers, a great egret, a snowy egret and a roseate spoonbill were all visiting the water-filled ditch in Graham Swamp at the same time we were. Later, we were investigating the adaptations trees make in a wetland area, e.g., buttressed trunks and cypress knees — when Bevan asked for silence.

Under the bridge at Graham Swamp, about 30 yards away, we watched a few wild turkeys crunch along the dead leaves and saunter away, out of sight.

On the way back to civilization, back out of Oz, I was educated in one more vital skill: scatology. By the time the day was over, I was able to identify raccoon droppings on the trail. Bevan said she could give me a card to help me find “evidence” of other animals.

Bevan said: “(Bennett) calls me the scat expert. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

I feel great about that. I’d love to be so knowledgeable. If my wife doesn’t care much about pine trees, maybe she’ll be impressed when I can correctly identify a dropping on the side of the road — in 3-D.