Applegater Summer 2025
The Upper Applegate
Fire Area is in bloom
BY SUZIE SAVOIE
Native plants respond to wildfire in
many different ways, and the vegetative
response from last summer’s Upper
Applegate Fire has been interesting
to observe. Like many botanists and
naturalists who flock to post-fire
environments for the often-spectacular
wildflower blooms, I enjoy watching
the natural recovery after wildfires. I
have hiked off-trail throughout the burn
areas of every wildfire that has burned in
the Applegate in the past 24 years and
have learned about the way different
native-plant communities respond to
wildfires, depending on elevation, soils,
aspect, and many other conditions. Post-
fire environments are among the most
fascinating, abundant, and botanically
rich habitats for people who study
native flora.
Wildfires are not all the same. The
slow-moving, beneficial 2017 Abney
Fire burned up to my property in the
Upper Applegate. This fire provided fuel
reduction, habitat enhancement, and post-
fire super blooms like you wouldn’t believe.
However, I have also watched my mother-
in-law deal with the trauma of losing her
home in the 2020 Almeda Fire in Talent.
Last June’s Upper Applegate Fire was a
little too close for comfort for many local
landowners in the Applegate. Thankfully,
it didn’t do too much damage to human
infrastructure, but like all wildfires in the
Applegate, it has had positive influences
on the natural ecosystem—after all, we
live in a fire-dependent and fire-adapted
landscape. The Siskiyou Mountains have
long evolved with wildfire, and sediment-
core studies done at Acorn Woman Lake
show that wildfires have been a regular
occurrence in the Applegate for thousands
of years. Native plants have evolved to take
advantage of them!
Although many people describe
the aftermath of wildfires as having
“destroyed” the landscape, that is typically
not the case in natural ecosystems. The
post-fire environment is rich in wildlife
and botanical biodiversity and is usually
a boon for pollinators. In fact, firefighting
bulldozers usually do more ecological
damage in natural ecosystems than the
wildfires themselves.
The Upper Applegate Fire area has had
such a beautiful wildflower response this
year that many locals have been out hiking
the area to check out the gorgeous blooms.
Species blooming this year include grass
widow, spring gold, Tolmie’s cat’s ears, blue
dicks, western buttercups, Pacific hound’s
tongue, woodland star, western trillium,
Shelton’s violet, Douglas’ monkeyflower,
lomatiums, popcorn flower, Henderson’s
fawn lily, California poppies, seablush,
blue gilia, meadow larkspur, and many
more, including the endangered Gentner’s
fritillary and its relatives scarlet fritillary
and checker lily. All these species have
responded positively to the wildfire. In
fact, many are growing much larger, in
more abundance, and with more blooms
this year, precisely because of the fire, the
deposition of nutrient-rich ash that acts
like fertilizer, and increased sunlight and
changes in soil pH.
Conversations with the land
Many wildflowers, trees, and shrubs
growing in the Upper Applegate Fire
footprint are simply growing from an
existing root system that survived the fire
unscathed. Trees can be underburned and
survive, or if they are a stump-sprouting
species and were top-killed in the fire,
they can sprout from their root systems, a
phenomenon called epicormic sprouting.
Madrone, Oregon white oak, black oak,
live oak, and other hardwood trees are
putting on abundant growth. Many even
started to sprout within a few weeks after
the fire was out. Some are also responding
with seed germination—under many
madrone trees in the Upper Applegate
Fire area, thousands of tiny madrone
seedlings are emerging under the shade
of fire-scarred snags. This two-pronged
strategy for renewal—seed germination
and epicormic sprouting—aids survival.
Many stump-sprouting shrubs are also
growing quickly, including silk tassel, deer
brush, mock orange, serviceberry, and
mountain mahogany.
Most of the wildflowers that are
blooming this year in the fire footprint are
also growing from existing root systems
that made it through the fire: bulbs, corms,
rhizomes, tubers, and fibrous root systems.
The annual species that are in bloom,
including popcorn flower, seablush, blue
gilia, and others are growing from seeds
that germinated this spring, right out of
the ash and burned soil.
Native seed germination can be
triggered from the flames of a wildfire
itself. Species like manzanita have thick
seed coats that need to be scarified to
trigger germination; the serotinous cones
of knobcone pine open from the heat of
fire. But in the post-fire environment,
changes in soil chemistry, a different
pH, increased sunlight, and more subtle
changes trigger massive seed germination
and super blooms. With increased native
21
Scarlet fritillary (Fritillaria recurva) blooming
in the footprint of the Upper Applegate Fire
in April 2025. Photo: Suzie Savoie.
Bluedicks (Dipterostemon capitatus)
blooming in abundance in the footprint
of the Upper Applegate Fire in April 2025.
Photo: Luke Ruediger.
seed germination come more biodiversity
and more beautiful wildflower blooms in
the Applegate!
Suzie Savoie
klamathsiskiyou@gmail.com
There was a summer ritual in my family
as I grew up.
Preparation began when north-facing
snow on the bumpy dirt road leading
to the peaks cleared. Wax-papered
sandwiches, apple juice, oranges, peanut
butter saltines, and pickles were tucked
into the wooden basket pushed up
against a square box in the station wagon.
The box wasn’t for us. Its homemade
cookies, wine, peaches, cheese, and the
Sunday paper were destined for others.
Elsewhere, jackets, sneakers, a first-aid
kit, binoculars, canteens, a canvas bucket,
a shovel, and a USGS map were secured.
Last, but not least, were Parrot and Beagle.
One last check that nothing and no one
had been forgotten, car doors slammed
shut—one, two, three, four—and we
were off.
As unending sea-green forests swept by,
the wind pushed back my bangs and filled
my lungs with the breath of cottonwood
and Douglas fir. Then, suddenly, the
vista transformed. We were catapulted
into the dazzling green of the subalpine
world strewn with orange, magenta,
and yellow wildflowers. In low gear, we
crawled up a nail-bitingly steep and narrow
trail. My brother and I unconsciously
leaned forward as if to help the car’s
struggling progress. Finally, we made it.
We had arrived.
We sat awestruck by the mountains’
peace. Then a banging screen door and
cries of welcome from Mr. and Mrs.
Von Stein, veteran viewers of Dutchman
Peak, broke our reverie. They wrapped us
in a huddle of hugs. After a few minutes
of chattering friendship, the box was
handed over.
One particular day of this yearly ritual
stands out. That day, I had an experience
that would shape my entire understanding
of life and the wondrous beings with
whom we live.
On that first picnic of the summer,
my parents, brother, and I set out for
our favorite spot, a little roadside space
overlooking the meadows below. While we
unpacked, my mother spread a tablecloth
on the grass and laid out lunch. That day,
though, we weren’t alone. An unexpected
guest arrived.
“They know you, don’t they,” I
said. The man replied, “Yes, we’ve
become good friends, but it takes a
lot of listening and understanding.”
Sensing my puzzlement, he explained,
“Belonging somewhere isn’t just up to
you. The animals and the land have to
feel you belong. You can live in a place,
but you don’t belong until the land
says so.”
We watched the bears sleep and
Lupine growing wild in the Applegate Valley. the eagles glide. After a few minutes,
Photo: Gay Bradshaw. I turned and asked, “Do you think I
belong?” The man answered with a
Carrying a small rucksack and hiking question, “First, what do you hear when
staff, his long gray hair tucked behind you walk in the forest?” “Nothing,” I said,
his ears, the stranger nodded a warm “just my breath and the wind.” He shook
greeting. My parents waved him over, his head, “No, I don’t mean the wind.
handing him a sandwich and a bottle of There’s something else. When the land feels
beer. My brother stood near, lunch in one you belong, the trees will keep talking—
hand, binoculars in the other. I sat by the and you’ll be able to hear what the trees
stranger, watching a pair of Golden Eagles are saying.”
As morning turned to afternoon, the
soar in casual circles, almost at eye level.
While looking for ant lions and stranger rose to leave, saying his goodbyes
arrowheads, I felt the stranger’s hand touch as he went down the hill and disappeared
my shoulder as he whispered, “Look over into the grove where the bears had played.
I’ve thought a lot about what he told
there.” I followed his gaze, and there, in the
shadow of a nearby grove, were a mother me. It’s taken time, a lot of listening, and
black bear and two young. The man and a lot of care—just like he said. I listened
I exchanged grins. The bear looked up, and waited, and now, when I wander in
raised her nose in greeting, then settled the mountains where he walked, the trees
down in the long summer grass with her keep talking.
Gay Bradshaw • bradshaw@kerulos.org
frolicking cubs.
■ TRANSFORMATIVE POWERS
Continued from page 16
• They are helping to keep the air
conditioner running and the lights
on, so that our entire community can
join together in learning, celebrating,
and creating.
• They are celebrating joy and sharing
memories through parties, baptisms,
weddings, and memorial services
held at JCC.
• They are finding friends and building
networks of support.
• They are sharing their special skills
with others.
• They are taking steps to enjoy and
extend their lives in healthy and
creative ways.
• They are learning, thinking, pondering,
and sharing ideas.
JCC offers each of our community
members a place to find themselves, to find
others, and to build a more satisfying life.
We encourage you and all our neighbors to
drop by and see the possibilities for yourself
in answering life’s big questions through
service, philanthropy, volunteerism,
When the trees keep talking
BY GAY BRADSHAW
participation, and celebration at JCC.
If you need ideas, check out our website
for summer classes and events, or find
information on donating and volunteering
at jacksonvillecommunitycenter.org. We
happily take calls as well at 541-702-2585.
Julie Raefield, JCC Executive Director
jraefield@
jacksonvillecommunitycenter.org