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The Francis Marion
- University of South Carolina Press
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166 The Francis Marion “We’re trying to restore a botanically diverse native system, one that’s pretty close to being lost.” Bill Twomey, fire management officer “There is a good chance that we may be burning tomorrow,” e-mailed Bill Twomey, acting fire management officer at the Francis Marion National Forest. “If you can make it, let me know.” When I called to ask the odds, he said the weather forecast looked good and that he was “about 90 percent sure.” Because of its proximity to major urban centers, the Francis Marion, as it’s known, is smack dab in a wildland-urban interface (WUI) and squarely in the middle of the debate over burns. The burn season in the coastal plain was coming to an end, so I jumped at the chance. Wrapping up my work and chores, I made the long drive to Charleston, where I spent the night. Early the next morning, I drove to Mount Pleasant across the Cooper River Bridge. Beneath lay Charleston Harbor, Patriots’ Point, and the USS Yorktown, a World War II aircraft carrier . Runners jogged on the pedestrian path. Mothers pushed baby carriages. Above it all were fluffy clouds, a blue sky, and the gold sun. A wonderful day for a burn, I thought. Despite the lagging national economy, the city of Mount Pleasant and its visitor center, shopping malls, banks, and building supply stores appeared to be booming. New motels were under construction. The sounds of power tools and hammers rang in the air. The traffic north out of town was heavy, but that headed to Charleston was bumper-to-bumper. I was glad I’d left early. I wanted to make the fire crew’s briefing before the burn. Escapingthecity,IturnedleftontoHighway41,crossedtheWandoRiver, and entered a land of fields, marshes, horse ranches, black-water creeks, ranch-style homes, live oaks, old cemeteries, and double-wides painted peach or apricot. Highway 41 ran straight as a rod. Gravel lanes branched off. The Francis Marion 167 Yellow flowers and toad flax grew alongside. An old couple sat in the shade of an oak. Entering the Francis Marion, I missed my turn onto Copperhead Road and doubled back at the U.S. Forest Service Research Station. Across the road stood old brick columns and a locked iron gate that sported emblems of flying ducks and the inscription “Limerick 1707.” This tract, part of the Santee Experimental Forest, included “parts of the oldest colonized land in the United States. King Charles II granted the land to Thomas Colleton in 1683.” The upland was cleared for livestock and naval stores. Rice and indigo were grown in the bottomlands.1 Beyond the gates a grassy dirt road stretched into a woods of huge live oaks. Resurrection ferns sprouted on the oaks’ heavy limbs, which were garlanded with Spanish moss and ivy vines. I felt that if I walked down the road, I’d step into a forest older than the United States and European settlement and enter the ancient land of the Seewees and Wandos. Standing on a firebreak, a burn crew fills drip torches with slash fuel. Nearby is a brush truck equipped for firefighting. Photograph by the author. [3.227.239.9] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 16:00 GMT) 168 Painting the Landscape with Fire Turning around, I backtracked and turned left onto Copperhead Road. Dense forest bordered both sides of the road. On the right was evidence of a recent burn. Needles were scorched and trunks were blackened up to ten feet. On the left the forest was thick and impenetrable, not like the open woods I was used to walking through at the Carolina Sandhills National Wildlife Refuge. I turned right onto Weatherbee Road and parked at the ranger station beside some green U.S. Department of Agriculture Forest Service trucks. Behind the office was a tall fire observation tower. On the front lawn a Smoky the Bear sign announced, “Fire Danger Moderate Today.” A man in green Nomex pants and a yellow shirt was entering an office building. I followed. Inside, the hall and offices were crammed with copy machines, desks, computers , and firefighters. Several aerosol cans of Repel Permanone—“Repels and Kills Ticks and Mosquitoes”—stood on a table. In the hall I shook hands with Bill Twomey. I had met him the previous fall when he had addressed the South Carolina Prescribed Fire Council concerning burns on federal lands. Bill began his career with the Forest Service by...