WEST END, N.C. — Jesse Wimberley sets fire to the forest together with the neighbors.
Using new tools to revive an old communal tradition, they set fire to wire grasses and forest debris with a drip burner, while gathering the embers with leaf blowers.
Wimberley, 65, is rallying groups in eight North Carolina counties to starve future wildfires by lighting leaf litter on fire. The burns clear space for longleaf pine, a tree species whose seeds will not germinate on undergrowth that blocks bare ground. Since 2016, the fourth-generation roaster has fueled a nascent movement to formalize these volunteer ranks.
Prescribed fire associations are proving key to conservationists' efforts to restore an area of longleaf pine that is the backbone of forest ecology in the American Southeast. Teams of volunteers, many of whom work on private property where participants live or earn a living, fill service and knowledge gaps one by one.
Prescribed fire, the intentional burning of wildfires critical to forest health, requires more hands than experts can supply. In North Carolina, the practice sometimes ends with a barbecue.
“Southerners like to get together and do things, help each other out and get something to eat,” Wimberley said. “Fire is not something you do alone.”
According to researchers at North Carolina State University, more than 100 associations exist in 18 states, and the Southeast is a hotspot for new ones. Wimberley's Sandhills Prescribed Burn Association is believed to be the first in the region, and the group reports having helped up to 500 people clear land or learn how to do it themselves.
The proliferation follows federal officials' push to combat wildfires over the past century. The policy aimed to protect the ever-expanding footprint of private homes and interrupt the fire cycles associated with the evolution of the longleaf, which indigenous peoples and early settlers simulated through targeted burns.
“Fire is a medicine and heals the land. It is also medicine for our people,” said Courtney Steed, outreach coordinator for the Sandhills Prescribed Burn Association and a member of the Lumbee Tribe. “It puts us back in touch with our traditions.”
The longleaf pine ecosystem covers only 3% of the 140,000 square miles (360,000 square kilometers) it encompassed before industrialization and urbanization. But some pockets remain, from Virginia to Texas and Florida. The system's greenery still supports bobwhite quail and other declining species. The conifers are particularly resistant to drought, a danger that is becoming increasingly common and serious as a result of climate change.
A marquee of environmentalists, hunters, nonprofits and government agencies recently celebrated a 53% increase in the longleaf pine's range since 2009, which covers an estimated 12,000 square miles. However, these steps fell short of their goal of reaching 12,500 square miles (32,000 square kilometers).
Private landowners are at the center of the coalition's latest restoration efforts. According to the U.S. Longleaf Restoration Initiative, they own about 86% of the South's forested land.
The partnership needs thousands of new landowners to support the longleaf management of their properties. The emerging burn associations are critical to their training, according to a 15-year plan released in November.
Federal agencies support this effort through activities such as invasive species removal and land management workshops. Nearly $50 million in federal grants are available for projects that promote forest health, including prescribed fire management.
The U.S. Department of Agriculture has a “Longleaf Pine Initiative,” which works with burn groups like Wimberley's. The money from agricultural accounts supports planning and planting. Staff can assist with installing firebreaks.
But applicants are increasingly competing for limited funding that cannot cover all needed maintenance burns, said USDA spokesman Matthew Vandersande.
Landowners say states concerned about liability are reluctant to send their relatively few burners to private property and that private contractors cannot meet demand.
“When it comes time to drop the contest, you're kind of on your own,” said Keith Tribble, 62, a tree farm owner in North Carolina.
While the Forest Service offers classes, Tribble credits associations for the hands-on experience and crews needed to confidently manage the pines.
Humidity and wind speed are the biggest factors in a fire plan, according to Hitchcock Woods Superintendent Bennett Tucker, manager of a private forest in South Carolina. The pine's oils allow it to almost always sustain fire and it typically burns at a relative humidity of between 25% and 50%.
“With a prescribed fire, we can control the where, the when, the how and all of these factors by choosing the best conditions,” Tucker said.
Portable weather meters ensure that wind speed, temperature and humidity are within the limits of pre-written plans. The regulations can also reduce potential liability in the event a fire escapes. According to studies by federal agencies and surveys of community burn groups, runaway fires are rare. Wimberley's teams haven't had one yet, even with 40 burns a year.
Climate change reduces the number of safe combustion days. Rising temperatures are causing lower relative humidity in the South and intensifying dry spells, said Jennifer Fawcett, a wildfire expert at North Carolina State University.
As the severity and frequency of storms, droughts, and wildfires increase, longleaf pines may become even more important to ecological resilience in the South. Deep roots anchor them during high winds and extend far into the ground for water. Flames improve soil nutrients.
Furthermore, the surrounding ecosystems have little-known rivals for U.S. biodiversity. Light streams through open canopies on the sparse soil, giving way to flora such as insectivorous plants that need exposure to the sun and wet soil. Gopher tortoises feed on native vegetation and dig burrows of up to 15 feet in which they protect other at-risk species.
“It's more than just planting trees,” said Lisa Lord, director of the Longleaf Alliance conservation programs. “We want to take the time to restore all the values of the forest.”
An educational campaign in the late 1920s known as the “Dixie Crusaders” damaged these interdependent relationships. Federal officials turned Southerners against the practice and the burning disappeared. Flammable needles and wire grasses piled up to dangerous tinder levels.
Wimberley's family resisted, knowing their livelihood depended on fire. His ancestors first used it to extract the lucrative sap of the pine, which was distilled into turpentine or exported as a sealant. Later generations burned to protect crops.
Burning looks different from the times Wimberley's mother would drag kindling, known as a “grease lighter,” through the woods. But public understanding of its importance is returning and its ranks are growing.
“We're all a bunch of pyromaniacs,” says Tribble, the tree farm owner.
Still, Tribble lights up for a reason: he values connecting with people and the land.
Before his burns, brush hit the ground messily, choking the flow of water to parts of the property that were “bone dry.” Now water flows from more swampy areas and the screeching call of the rarely spotted red-breasted woodpecker resounds from mature pines. Wild turkeys appear when smoke fills the air.
Steed, Lumbee's outreach coordinator, is encouraged by the rekindling of this proactive “fire culture” outside the tribe that she says introduced to the region.
She ran through her grandfather's scorched forests as a child, but the expanse lived without fire for about a decade. Steed plans to lead her first fire in the Wimberley woods next year and then manage a family property she recently inherited.
“It feels empowering,” Steed said of prescribed fire. “It feels like a very tangible way to connect with the past and at the same time give direction to the future.”
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Pollard is a corps member for the Associated Press/Report for America Statehouse News Initiative. Report for America is a nonprofit national service program that places journalists in local newsrooms to report on undercovered issues.
