Ghost of the Aspen Grove

Ghost of the Aspen Grove

The tall, thin, black and gray ghost of the Aspen grove stand alone. Even the sky today is gray and eerie looking. Like towering unearthly warriors, they remain standing even though death has already taken the spirit, the life of the tree. Death came suddenly and without warning. It came in the twinkling of an eye. It came with the Missionary Ridge wildfire in south western Colorado.

The Quaking Aspen, as it is known, has adapted to be quite the survivor. It grows tall and straight, reaching for the sunlight in it’s cool climate. It grows where the conifers have not yet taken over, where there is enough room for it to open it’s branches to receive the life giving sunlight. Its delicate bright green leaves will pick up the slightest breeze and become the voice and music of the forest. It grows where there is room for several to grow together from one root system like protective brothers and sisters, where it’s branches become the nesting places of the birds and where it’s small new shoots are one of the favorite foods of the deer and elk.

The aspens I saw today are but ghostly reminders of their former being. The once white bark is scarred in darker shades of gray, marred by the black of the scorching fire. There are no leaves to speak in the breeze. No nesting area tucked between branches. They are mostly just sticks now. Sticks, still holding on to the earth as if they refuse to let go of their last hope. Spirits of the Forest, these ghost of the aspens, holding on as long as possible to past sunny days, past snow falls, past springs when they would continue their growth. Holding on to past seasons, and holding memories that man would never understand.

Missionary Ridge began to burn on Sunday, June 9, 2002. With only 20% of the yearly normal snow pack, only 1.3 inches of precipitation, high temperatures and relative humidity below 10 %, the setting was perfect, dry and ripe for a fire. It burned in the beginning at a rate of a thousand acres per hour. It burned approximately 6500 acres the first day alone. Flames jumped to heights of 500 feet at times, claiming a total of over 72,000 acres of forest, 56 homes, and much wildlife and fauna. One brave fireman gave his life for the forest he was trying to save. Monetary cost for the fight and destruction was close to forty million dollars. Smoke from the fires billowed into the sky at heights of up to 44,000 feet. It could be seen for miles. The blush in the night sky glowed like a cheap neon sign. Several firestorm related tornados were reported, leaving trees and anything else in their path ripped apart and uprooted. All of Colorado was watching, as was every news broadcast in the U.S. Watching, wondering, hoping and praying. Watching the devastation, seeing so much of the forest hungrily feeding the fire that seemed to have no end in sight. So much speculation, so many why’s and so few answers.

Missionary Ridge was home to the ghostly remains of the Aspen trees I saw today. It was also home to Rocky Mountain Juniper, Douglas Fir, ancient Ponderosa Pines, Gambel Oak and many others. Home to many shrubs, wild flowers, herbs, berries and grasses.

It was home to the secretive bear, mountain lions, the bugling elk and cautious mule deer, home to the curious raccoons, the pretty but malodorous skunk, bob cats, coyotes, the cottontail and jack rabbits. It was the home and dening area of the endangered lynx.

Countless birds called it home also - the Brown Thrasher, Hummingbirds, Robins, Magpies, Stellar’s Jays, Ravens, several types of Hawks and Owls, and the majestic Bald Eagle. Too many to name, many I don‘t know.

Butterflies were here, as were the ants, grasshoppers, cicadas, beetles and moths. Even the lowly grub had called this area home. All and everything known to them as home was destroyed. Many of the animals lost their lives as well.

It is now a little over 3 years later. The beetles and bugs are beginning to return to make a living in the dead, decaying wood of all that has burned. The woodpeckers and other birds have returned for the beetles. The wildflowers are beginning to return and have brought the butterflies and hummingbirds with them. The grasses, herbs, shrubs and berries are growing again, bringing the rabbits, skunks, and raccoons, and they, in turn, bringing the coyotes, hawks and eagles. Slowly, this will be home again. Slowly, the new shoots of the Aspen will grow into new trees. Slowly the conifers will again move them out. Slowly the animal life will return to a somewhat normal state. The circle of life will continue, with one species feeding, protecting, or housing another.

Even though things will eventually return to what we know as normal, never forget that some of the Ponderosa Pines who succumbed to the flames were several hundred years old. No one now living will see the return of such splendid trees. The forest may regain it’s former splendor in time, but it will never be the same. Never forget the lost firefighter. We will never know what this brave man would have done in his lifetime, nor how his life would have affected others.

Say a prayer for the forest. For the ghost of the forest. Let them know it’s now ok for them to go. They can let go of the earth now, to allow others to take their place. To allow time to continue it’s march through the ages. For everything there is a time………