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AMERICAN FORESTRY 



said to crystallize in some instances, cementing the twigs 

 and leaves together in conspicuous masses. A slight rain 

 quickly dissolves the manna from the branches and it may 

 be found recrystallized in patches at the base of the 

 tree. 



"A letter from the Madison Laboratory states that 

 the manna from Douglas fir contains about fifty per cent 

 of a sugar known as melezitose, which in small quanti- 

 ties is selling at $66 a pound. A correspondent had made 

 a request for approximately ten pounds and estimated 

 that three to five dollars per pound could be paid for the 

 collection of this material. It was suggested by the 

 Laboratory that on the basis of the price and yield of 

 melezitose, a higher price than this might be paid. 



"The Douglas fir manna cannot be relied upon as an 

 annual crop. Dr. Weir has seen the manna but twice, 



once in the fall of 191 5 somewhere along the Yaak 

 River on the Kootenai, and in 1916, when he observed 

 and examined a white, sweetish exudation from the 

 branches of a Douglas fir near Metalline, Washington. 

 He doubts very much if it can be found in sufficient quan- 

 tity for collecting in this region. A search for the 

 material would necessarily be made during the dry per- 

 iods of the year. 



"In an article on 'Douglas Fir Sugar,' by Professor J. 

 Davidson, of the University of British Columbia, it is 

 reported that the region in which sugar-bearing Douglas 

 firs are most abundant lies between the 50th and 51st 

 parallels and between I2i-i22 longitude. This includes 

 the driest and hottest part of the dry-belt of British 

 Columbia." 



A FOREST FIRE 



THE following word picture of a forest fire appears 

 in the report of the Ontario Game and Fisheries 

 Commission. It is a graphic description of the 

 mighty tragedy: 



"To the average man, no doubt, the reading of the 

 destruction of miles of standing forests conveys but 

 little of its true significance. He can hardly appreciate 

 the gigantic figures arrayed before him as to the square 

 feet of timber burnt or the estimated value of the same 

 in millions of dollars. He may perhaps be aghast at the 

 loss of life or suffering and hardships endured by those 

 who were fortunate enough to escape their flames. He 

 may even dimly realize that these people have lost their 

 homes, their possessions, their all. But the effects on 

 nature are as a closed book to him. He has not seen; 

 he cannot understand. 



"The stately forest, stretching unbroken for miles, 

 harbors countless wild animals, birds and insects. Life, 

 indeed, is seething in it. The soil on which it stands is 

 nursed and enriched by its fallen foliage and trees, which 

 in many instances cover even the bare rocks sufficiently 

 to allow of the seeds taking root right over them and 

 which form always a natural basin where the raindrops 

 may fall and accumulate, to percolate subsequently into 

 the crevices of the rocks, from which again they will 

 appear in the form of a gushing spring. Just as on the 

 even outpouring of the spring will depend the flow of 

 the brook, the stream and the river, so does the spring 

 itself depend on the existence of its damp and mossy 

 forest reservoir for its waters. The forest fire is capable 

 of destroying all : animals, birds, insects, vegetation and 

 soil. The voice of the forest is hushed, and the death 

 of the trees is not only accompanied by the annihilation 

 of one of nature's great water storages, so vital to the 

 prosperity of some perhaps far distant agricultural com- 

 munity, but by the disappearance of an important factor 



in the regulation of both climate and rainfall over a con- 

 siderable region. 



"The picture of a forest destroyed by fire almost baffles 

 description in its appalling horror. Unrelieved by the 

 accustomed sounds, the cheerful note of songbirds, the 

 chirruping of squirrels or chipmunks, the calls of animals 

 or the humming of insects, deathly silence regins op- 

 pressive and supreme. Great trees and small trees alike, 

 black, bare and gaunt, stand shivering as the breeze 

 soughs a mournful dirge through their ranks, ghastly 

 skeletons of nature's once beautiful handiwork, or else 

 lie prostrate on the ground, charred, burnt and shrivelled, 

 grim spectres of a useful past, proclaiming the passage 

 of ruthless death, the advent of desolation and decay. 

 No butterfly or moth flutters over the withered and 

 blackened leaves ; no little creature or insect crawls from 

 among them, startled by the approaching footfalls. Far 

 down into the accumulation of twigs and decaying vege- 

 tation which has formed the forest bed, into the mossy 

 and spongy soil which in the past has held water to fur- 

 nish life to the trees growing on it, the relentless fire has 

 eaten its way and left its train a mass of useless cinders 

 from which all nutriment has been utterly scorched. The 

 human visitor to this tragic scene will have himself alone 

 for company ; will hear his own breathing ; will be con- 

 scious of his own heartbeats ; will be almost terrified at 

 the sounds of his own footsteps ; for life has been extin- 

 guished, the silence of the grave will surround him, and 

 it will seem almost sacrilege to break the all pervading 

 quiet of the dead. In due course the action of the winds 

 will blow away the cinders, and the bare rocks over 

 which once grew the forest will be exposed to view in 

 all their unbeautiful and grim nakedness, and the region 

 will remain barren and in all probability useless to man's 

 welfare until, perhaps, after the lapse of centuries nature 

 once again shall have succeeded with indomitable patience 

 in recovering the rocks with a fresh soil." 



