Applegater., July 01, 2017, Page 14, Image 14

14 Summer 2017 Applegater
Discover Stories on the Land
In 1995 George McKinley and Doug
Frank wrote  Stories on the Land: An
Environmental History of the Applegate
and Upper Illinois Valleys for the Bureau of
Land Management (BLM). It has languished
on the BLM website ever since. But in 2018
Applegate Valley Community Newspaper,
Inc., will be publishing this fascinating book
to make it more widely available. Following
is an excerpt; look for more excerpts in future
issues of the Applegater.
The Applegate and Illinois
valleys, at the beginning
The story of the origin of the Applegate
and Illinois valleys begins 200 million
years ago, when the continental land
mass of which they now form a part was
submerged beneath the Pacific Ocean,
shifting west from the African continent.
The accumulated debris at its forefront,
transformed by heat, pressure, and time,
eventually produced the Klamath Geologic
Province of today. By about two million
years ago, the basic topography of the
region was similar to that of today.
The arrival of the early Holocene Epoch
in southwest Oregon, about 10,000 years
ago, brought a climate significantly cooler
and moister than at present. During this
time the conifer species of today expanded
their range upslope from riparian bottoms.
During the hotter, drier mid-Holocene,
beginning 7,500 years ago, oak savannah/
woodland communities probably spread
across the area, taking residence in places
they dominate still. The late Holocene,
from approximately 4,500 years ago to the
present, brought a return of cooler, moister
weather to the region.
Is it a coincidence that the consensual
date for the presence of resident humans
in the Applegate and Illinois valleys
approximates the onset of the Holocene
epoch? Because the first humans almost
certainly were in southwest Oregon by at
least 9,000-8,000 years BP, we find a parallel
between evolution of the ecosystems and
that of humans in southwest Oregon. It is
interesting to speculate upon the formative
influences these partners in evolution may
have had on each other in this earlier era.
Contemporary discussion has focused
upon fire as a medium of interaction
between the earliest humans and the
young environment. One commentator,
C.R. Clar, writing in 1959, before the
recent paradigm shift in understanding
prehistoric human-plant relationships in
North America, suggests that the native
inhabitants showed little interest in fire,
calling the notion that these peoples
consciously used fire as a tool “fantastic”:
It would be difficult to find a reason why
the Indians should care one way or another
if the forest burned. It is quite something
else again to contend that the Indians used
fire systematically to ‘improve the forest’…
yet this fantastic idea has been and still is
put forth time and again.
In his classic study, Fire in America:
A Cultural History of Wildland and Rural
Fire (1982), S. J. Pyne takes a stand at the
other end of the spectrum, suggesting not
only that natives had a profound interest
in and understanding of fire, but that their
use of fire virtually created the fire regimes
and forest stands that existed throughout
the Pacific Northwest prior to European
settlement.
However, James Agee, in Fire Ecology
of Pacific Northwest Forests (1993), reacts
against such broad generalizations, saying
that Pyne pushes to its “illogical extreme”
the idea that native cultures utilized fire in
so sophisticated a manner. In his view, “the
role of human beings in the ignition and
spread of forest fires is important, but this
importance varies from place to place and
from culture to culture.” Agee gives three
examples: At least three common patterns
of Native American burning were found in
the Northwest: frequent burning in west
side prairies and adjacent dry Douglas-fir
forest, maintenance of small patches of
open prairie for agriculture or hunting
by coastal or mountainous tribes, and
widespread burning by inland or ‘plateau’
tribes east of the Cascades.
In the Applegate and Illinois valleys
specifically, evidence exists that natives
burned their landscape for a variety of
reasons: to control pests; to stimulate
new plant growth for a number of uses;
to provide browse, grasses, and berries for
game; to reduce undergrowth as an aid for
hunting; to more easily hunt insects; and
to reduce wildfire hazard, particularly in
residential areas.
Of greatest interest, however, is the role
these fires played in environmental change
in the region. It is less important to isolate
anthropogenic fire from the evolution
of plant communities than to note its
participation in that evolution. Indeed,
since anthropogenic fire has been so
intimately involved in the environmental
history of the region, Wayne Rolle, in a
watershed analysis prepared for the US
Forest Service, claims that “its role in the
development and maintenance of pre-
settlement plant communities cannot be
segregated from that of fire from natural
causes.”
Note: Excerpted by Diana Coogle from
pages 5-14 of Stories on the Land: An
Environmental History, by George
McKinley and Doug Frank.
Applegate Valley history
Hippy communes revisited—Part 2
BY DIANA COOGLE
Molto Bene commune residents. Photo courtesy of Mike Kohn.
The hippy communes in the Applegate
Valley, like other communes of the 1970s,
were founded with inspiration from
Woodstock and in response to the Vietnam
War and the riots of the time. In the face of
those events, says Mike Kohn, co-founder
of Molto Bene, “it felt good to try to live
an ideal.”
One ideal, of course, was “peace and
love.” East Side House was known as the
“good-vibe commune.” Co-founder John
Hugo says, “It was all ‘come up, kick back,
relax.’ No one would judge you. There was
no drunkenness, no fighting—it was all
peace and love.”
But life is never all peace and love
(except maybe at East Side House).
Even the spiritual orientation of Trillium
Farm, where each household hosted a
spiritual day a week without advocating
any particular religious path, did not
eliminate friction caused by “the difference
in people’s ability to manifest their dreams
and do what they said they would do,” as
co-founder Chant Thomas says.
Another problem, Mike says, was
simply the difficulty of holding land in
common.
For Bryan Newpher, at Laser Farm, the
most difficult thing was “the emotional
part of it, stuff that happened between
people.”
Neither Molto Bene nor Laser Farm
had much of a structure for dealing with
conflict, but, Mike says, “Blowups were
rare. If you sat on a thing for a while, you
realized the other person had legitimacy for
whatever the thing was.” Something similar
worked at Laser Farm. “There was always
somebody to turn to, to talk to,” Bryan
says, then added, “Life is not an easy one,
whether you’re on a commune or living in
standard-type relationships.”
One of the greatest benefits of living
in community was for the children. Mike,
whose two daughters were born and grew
up at Molto Bene, says, “There were lots
of adults who treated them like human
beings, interacted with them constantly,
didn’t put them down in front of a
television.” Childcare was shared by all
the parents.
Children at Trillium attended Trillium’s
own school, where I used to teach, but
Molto Bene children went to Applegate
School. Lori Hava, co-founder of Molto
Bene, said about her relationship with
other parents in the school, “Some of the
ladies in the Applegate School were quite
cool to me,” adding “but the teachers and
staff were very nice.” Mike’s election to
the school board—long hair and scraggly
beard notwithstanding—proves the larger
community’s tolerance and acceptance of
the commune.
Applegate businesses were another
lasting benefit. Even East Side House, with
all its laid-back attitude, helped start (along
with folks from Trillium and others) Co-
operative Forest Workers, a tree-planting
company. “We took care of our families by
working in the woods,” John says. Indeed,
he is still in that business. Laser Farm
started two seed companies, Peace Seeds
and Seeds of Change. Lori bought and
ran what was known as the “hippy store”
in Ruch. With his knowledge of wood-
burning stoves gained in his years at Molto
Bene, Mike started a chimney-sweep and
stove sales business. Other commune
members have built good businesses with
their crafts.
Both Mike, from Molto Bene, and
Bryan, from Laser Farm, cite “tolerance”
as the most lasting influence of communal
living. Bryan says, “Welcoming people into
your life: I carry that with me and I live
that today. Our house is full of people every
weekend—a dozen or more, sharing the
preparation of food, eating together, the
camaraderie. It’s very much a communal
living experience.”
But if it was all so good, why did the
communes disappear?
“It’s difficult for humans to share fully
all their resources,” Lori says. “There
is a nuclear focus in raising children.
People don’t want to make that effort of
communal living.”
Chant says, “Community has to have
people who are out for the greater good,
not people who are out for themselves.”
Mike points to the lack of engagement,
socially, in the outside world.
Essentially, though, as Tolstoy said in
Anna Karenina, “Every unhappy family
is unhappy in its own way.” Eventually,
people just found other ways to live.
Nonetheless, nostalgia runs deep. “If
there was a major snowstorm or freeze,”
John says, “those were the nights we
gunned up the sauna, then walked down
to the river across a few feet of ice and
jumped in.”
“We were together for a long time and
are still friends,” Mike says, “so something
worked right.”
Chant has just sold Trillium to another
intentional community who will continue
Trillium’s legacy of cleaning up the land
and forest activism.
“The decision to disband Laser Farm
came in the wintertime,” Bryan says. “My
wife decided to leave and move from the
farm. There was only a small group of
people left. I was pretty much worn out.
We sold the land for twice what we paid
for it. I gave all the money to my wife and
wandered off to the world.”
Diana Coogle • dicoog@gmail.com
Four communes in the Applegate
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Laser Farm (1969 - 1974) on Thompson Creek Road
East Side House (1973 - 1979) on the Applegate River
Molto Bene (1974 - 1990, or thereabouts) on Slagle Creek
Trillium Farm (1976 - present; now called “Friends of Trillium”) on the Little Applegate