90 & 91: Texas Remnants
T E X A S
The jolly pilot announces we’re currently flying over Paris, Texas and should be landing in Dallas soon. Looking north, I spot the Red River – a dividing line between Texas and Oklahoma. Now oriented, I search for the two main destinations of this Texas trip – Clymer Meadow and Lennox Woods. But from high above, I can’t differentiate features within the homogenous flatness, and it makes me question why I chose to add two Nature Conservancy (TNC) properties in east Texas to my collection. Usually, TNC sites look very dynamic from the air. But Clymer and Lennox apparently lie hidden in the flatness.
Though I can’t identify specifics, what is apparent is a change in the landscape occurring near Paris. Ever since leaving Washington, DC, our flight has crossed mostly a forested landscape, but at Paris, trees give way to prairies. And it’s these adjoining landscapes I’ll be visiting, both of which reveal Texas as it was before westward population expansion.
Clymer is a remnant prairie – a tiny holdout from the original Great Plains. Still pure and untouched - never plowed or settled by man. Lennox is a remnant old growth forest typical of the undisturbed floodplains throughout the state prior to the arrival of settlers. Though vastly differing landscapes, Clymer and Lennox are survival brethren.
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| Clymer Meadow, Celeste, Texas |
The route from Dallas to Clymer passes through Blue Ridge – a tiny town and home to the aptly named Cattleman Café. I stop here for pancakes and coffee. Farmers trickle in over the next half hour after presumably taking care of morning chores. They all know each other and fill seats at the same table. The waitress can mostly guess what each wants to eat. These cowboys mark one of many challenges to Clymer’s survival. Their plows, chemistry, runoff, and mono-cultured fields all surround Clymer’s pristine existence.
After breakfast, when I pull into Clymer’s non-descript office driveway, sparks are flying. Today’s host, Brandon Belcher, is busy grinding metal into who-knows-what. Brandon is the preserve manager; a job requiring jack-of-all-tradesmanship. He’s an eloquent speaker, master naturalist, prairie expert, educator, father, researcher, and scientist… but also a skilled operator of spark-throwing lathes.
As we planned this visit, Brandon’s schedule allowed for an hour to provide an overview of the property. He then said I’d be free to explore it. But after our one-hour overview, he suggests we hop on a UTV. For the next three hours we zig zag across the property stopping frequently for detailed explanations regarding the subtleties of this amazing meadow. That one-hour overview morphs into a four-hour whirlwind.
We enter a section of meadow peppered with small mounds in honeycomb formation. Brandon says this is a very rare occurrence worldwide. Called Gilgai, they are formed by the shrinking and swelling of clay soils. Essentially, it’s a field of tiny ephemeral pools and makes for a bumpy ride - like driving across the surface of a giant golf ball.
Prairies are known as upside down forests since much of their biomass is rooted underground. One such deeply rooted prairie plant that catches Brandon’s attention is a touch-me-not (Mimosa pudica). He shows how when this ground-creeping plant is touched, the leaves in self-preservation, fold inward and droop like a benign Venus flytrap. He loves showing his daughter this plant.
He explains the multi-pronged approach used to keep this meadow pristine. The most important tool is prescribed burns. Burning the meadow every few years mimics the natural cycle that allowed this ecosystem to thrive. Long ago, huge bison herds roamed across this meadow as did occasional lightning-ignited fires. Both controlled the influx of non-native species and helped recycle nutrients back into the soil. The prescribed burns that Brandon manages now take the place of bison and fire.
Near the end of our tour, we stop beside a metal shipping container near his workshop. He unlatches the large metal doors and asks me to step inside – he’ll need to close the door behind us. I’ve completely trusted Brandon up to this point, but now he wants to lock us into a shipping container? Inside though, it’s a cool 68 degrees – a welcomed relief after spending the last three hours in triple digit Texas heat. Brandon explains the container has been converted into a temperature-controlled, mouse-resistant seed storage building. It smells like a hoppy brewery. Inside are shelves containing bags of various native plant seeds collected mostly by volunteers. These seeds will be precisely re-planted to strengthen the nativity of this meadow - a Johnny Appleseed type tool in Brandon’s belt.
Lennox Woods (#91)
Lennox Woods, Red River County, Texas
Before leaving Clymer, I ask Brandon what to expect at Lennox Woods – my next TNC visit. His advice is direct - big trees, overgrown trails, wild tusked pigs, armadillo, and if you veer off trail…cottonmouths. Plus, this more direct warning about pig: if charged, get up the closest tree as soon as possible.
At Lennox, two hours later, I arrive on high alert. Pig tusks and cottonmouths fangs… need I say more? Not what I was expecting to worry about on a simple forest trail. This Texas forest, from a zoomed-out view, essentially connects to the same green you see along the eastern third of America. Lennox essentially marks the western edge of that green. Continuing just a little further west, the landscape opens, dominated by prairies.
If tusks and fangs aren’t enough, today’s walk includes 100-degree heat and a proliferation of spider webs across the trail. Seems no one has followed this path recently allowing spiders time to set traps. Every few yards I walk right into their clingy silk. But soon after, I grab a stick and become Luke Skywalker slicing webs and clearing the way with my wooden saber.
The Martha Lennox Memorial Nature Trail loops 1.5 miles through the woods leading past several giants – post oak, loblolly pine, red maple, and hickory. Some are three feet in diameter and as much as three hundred years old. Standing at the base of a loblolly giant is humbling. This beauty sprouted around the time of the Civil War, and some of the oaks nearby sprouted before America was a country. Slow and steady, one ring at a time, these massive trees have endured.
About halfway around
the loop it intersects a tributary of the Pecan Bayou which flows into the Red
River. On the far shore are several animal
tracks held firm in the mud and heat.
Pigs, perhaps? I spot a hardy-orange
shrub, pluck one of its fruits, and dig a fingernail in. The citrus burst is a smelling-salt-type refreshing
respite from the humid Texas heat.
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| Nine-banded Armadillo |
A little further on, rustling in the undergrowth, I spot an Armadillo. No need to climb a tree – these guys are quite docile. I snap a few pictures. It doesn’t even notice my presence. Or if it does, it realizes I'm no threat. Suddenly, I notice how incredibly quiet and peaceful Lennox Woods feels. Perfectly still. I’m no longer on high alert. The woods have accepted me, and I realize meandering beneath the magnificence of this old growth forest has been a rare privilege.
Flying over this part of Texas a few days ago, from 30,000 feet, I was unimpressed by the flatness. But on the ground, especially so during intimate encounters at places like the Cattleman Café, the lushness of Clymer Meadows, and humbling history of Lennox Woods, an unexpected richness of character has been found in east Texas.
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