Science Track
A Forest of Their Own
by Julie Titone
| Rosenberg, the self-described "old tree-hugger," felt the same way after his field trip with the students. "I love this," he says. "This is the future." |
"We said, "No, we can't do that ... But would 600 acres do it for you?"," recalls IFI vice president Mike Welling with a laugh. "She just about fell out of her chair." The result of that conversation is a high-school course apparently unique in the country.
Frank had taught high-school science for 14 years and had worked for the U.S. Forest Service when she applied for a four-week internship at IFI in 1993. She wanted to balance her knowledge of public forests with information about the management of private timberland.
She became friends with the IFI staff, and told them she wanted to teach a senior-level forestry field course. Keenly aware that logging and environmental protection are controversial topics in the Inland Northwest, she made it clear that her students would hear many different perspectives. Among her typical guest lecturers: a forester who works for the Idaho Fish and Game Department, a hydrologist from the Forest Service, a wildlife expert from the Audubon Society. Students learn about logging regulations, habitat, forest diseases, and stream protection as well as the importance of the timber industry.
Frank believes that the growing human population will ruin the Earth without wise land management. "I'm a conservationist," she says. But when the students write their plans for managing the IFI land, "I try so hard not to steer them. I want them to consider values and make up their own minds." And she says the timber company has "never sat me down and asked my agenda. I think they trust my integrity as a teacher."
She recognizes that the class will always be open to criticism by those who are uneasy with the company's participation. She's heard from some of them. Her greatest fear is that the class will become "political"--that is, controversial enough that someone will complain to the school board.
"That would kill it," she says. And that would disappoint a lot of teenagers. As many as 75 of them apply each year for the 24 openings in her fall-semester class.
Those who are chosen work extra hard to earn their two semesters' credit. The only way to get an "A" is to report on outside events, such as a hearing on hunting regulations or a forum on protecting state waterways.
Two afternoons a week, the students are bused to "their" land. The acreage selected for the students has been logged in the past and is, company managers believe, ready for more harvest.
Student Kathleen Krapfl said she enjoyed getting away from school and working outdoors. "You don't realize how much you've learned until the speakers start asking you questions," she says.
At one typical field session, it was the students who were asking sophisticated questions of environmental activist Barry Rosenberg from the Inland Empire Public Lands Council, a group that monitors forest management in the region. Rosenberg had gone with the class to the IFI land. With a yellow litter of cottonwood leaves under his feet, surrounded by students in yellow raingear, he talked about the importance of leaving large, fallen trees on the forest floor. He explained how they build up the soil for future generations of trees. "And what do you think is the threshold? How many big logs do you need per acre?" asked student Rachel Stormogipson.
Others asked about the width of buffer zones around streams, the differences between past and present logging practices, and the value of horse logging, which has had a recent resurgence. (By reducing the need for heavy machinery, it alleviates soil compaction.)
Walking back past the previous year's logging site, IFI forester Reid Ahlf said that the students came up with a harvest plan similar to one he would have written.
The company asks only two things of the students' logging plans. They can't cost IFI more to execute than the timber is worth, and they must improve the site. The definition of "improve" is left up to the students.
Each class is allocated around 20 acres from the original 600. The students reach their conclusions working in six four-person teams. Each team writes a management plan. Then they agree as a class on how to log their acreage. Getting a consensus takes about two weeks. One member from each team represents that team in the negotiations, but must keep reporting back to his or her team to make sure everyone is still on track.
The first year's class decided to clearcut five of the acres and selectively harvest the rest. The second year's plan primarily called for thinning, which would allow the remaining trees to grow more rapidly. They also used logging machinery that was less damaging to the soil.
The third year "was a real turnaround," says Frank. The more pristine nature of their acreage made the students more environmentally conscious. The forest canopy provided winter habitat for elk, white-tailed deer, and black bear, and a two-year-old moose. There was a stream running through the land, and the students were excited to find a Coeur d'Alene salamander, a species of "special concern" for Idaho. Their plan had "focused on protecting wildlife, thermal cover, and the riparian areas," says Frank.
Welling is invited to critique the final plan, but he plays the role of an environmental activist looking for flaws. Brad Gilbert, a Forest Service district ranger, sometimes plays the part of an industry forester and also challenges the students' decisions.
"It was fun to see how much ownership the kids had in their plan," says Frank. "They were going to fight for it, tooth and nail." Though there will be no long-term environmental monitoring of the sites, Frank foresees class reunions on the timberland, at which time, perhaps decades from now, Coeur d'Alene High graduates can gauge the impact of their decisions. Recent grads are already visiting the property on their college breaks.
Frank launched the course with a $6,000 Toyota Tapestry Grant, given for experimental science programs. Another grant from the Pinchot Institute for Conservation sent seven students to the 1996 World Forestry Congress in Washington, D.C. Now, when the trees are cut, IFI donates 25 percent of the proceeds to the class. The first year that amounted to $6,000 and $10,000 the second year. (It was more the second year because the acreage was larger and more thickly forested.)
This year, the plan calls for cutting only about three acres and won't bring in much money at all, says Frank. "Maybe a couple of hundred dollars,"
She earmarks some of the money to send students to out-of-town forestry meetings. She has also given money to other school-district programs, including funds to start an advanced forestry class in another high school.
As a means of getting the industry message across to the community, Welling is convinced the class sure beats sending out brochures.
"If you get forestry propaganda, you say, "Oh, yeah, right." But, by God, when they're able to go out there and see it for themselves, it's different." Watching the students work, he says, has renewed his faith in young people.
Rosenberg, the self-described "old tree-hugger," felt the same way after his field trip with the students. "I love this," he says. "This is the future."
Julie Titone reports extensively on land management issues in the Inland Northwest.
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